ReVival 72

At the start of The Almasy, PRIME UNIVERSAL Champion, Cecilworth Farthington addressed the field. He welcomed all 32 competitors, and challenged them to run the gauntlet and cross the finish line.

That was Round 1.

Night one.

This is Round 2.

Night two.

Being so, you get The Golden Ticket. And where The Golden Ticket is, well, an actual, giant, wall spanning Golden Ticket also is. Though, I suppose “hangs” would be more appropo.

Cancer Jiles: Hello, crumbs. It is I, The Golden Ticket, here to say I’m contractually obligated to welcome all of you to the next round of the Seymour Almasy Invitational Tournament. Unofficially dubbed this year as Bounty Bowl.

Vickie Hall jolf-claps off screen.

Cancer Jiles: The field, much like Joey Crumbo later on tonight, has been cut in half. Only sixteen of PRMES’s finest remain. Names like “COOL” Cancer Jiles, Ivana Stanislob, and… and… Hiccup Harrison… and… and…that rookie kid with no Dick, and… “The Emerald Duplex” Casey Casablanca… and “Sugarless” Sage Pontiff… and… and…

Confusion quickly sets it. Jiles looks over at Vickie, and it’s almost as if he doesn’t know who else is competing in this year’s Almasy.

Cancer Jiles: …others remain.

A shrug.

Cancer Jiles: All of us, from COOL to crumb, have one thing on our mind.

A beat.

Cancer Jiles: Win.

A snort.

Cancer Jiles: Now, it won’t be easy. This is Round 2 after all. There are no more layups. Everyone wants it and no one is going to just give it away. This round has to be taken. The cream has, much like the stakes, risen, and it’s time to see who really wants to come out on top.

Jiles motions to someone offscreen not named Vickie. In actuality it is Chris Chickentenders who is holding massive cue cards for The Manhunter to read from.

Cancer Jiles: Will it be Max Shell, or The Little Neck Clam? Can Hayes Hanlon continue on his way to third, or will Scott Hunter throw him out at second base? Will Chandler Tsonda find nirvana, or will Budda do the world a favor and take the T out of his last name? Can Bryan Dawkins finally prove his worth to the Red Army? Will Steve Lemieux’s funeral be an open or closed casket? Will Daytona’s glorious return to the ring be ruined by an out of season Snow storm?

The irony.

Cancer Jiles: Can Joe Fontaine do the UNTHINKABLE and take my GOLDEN TICKET away from me? Can he end my career and send me to the jolf course?

King COOL turns to look at the gigantic Golden Ticket hanging behind him. He runs his hand over it, maybe wondering while doing so how many times he can wrap Joe’s body up inside of it.

Ten, easy.

He comes back to attention.

Cancer Jiles: Or will I cave in his skull with my salted boot, collect the precious bounty on his head, even the score against Glue some, and continue to climb up a mountain named COOLOSSUS?

The King of COOL smiles at the thought, so just imagine how he will react if and when it becomes reality.

Cancer Jiles: As the cool kids say, stay tuned.

Ha.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/14GcsaG-h9Tf4id4U5OA77u2VtYkbWJMZ/view?pli=1

We are in Chicago. There are signs.

IF STEVE LEMIEUX WINS, EVERYONE GETS A SHOT OF MALORT / IF IVAN WINS, EVERYONE GETS TWO
IF FRED DICK WINS, FOUR LOKOS AND PAINT CANS FOR EVERYBODY
I DID THAT LIQUID DIET AND ALL I GOT WERE THESE SMALL BALLS AND RAGE ISSUES AND THESE JESUS ABS
I THOUGHT IT WAS THE “ALL NASTY” TOURNAMENT AND NOW I FEEL AS THOUGH I’VE DRESSED FOR THE WRONG DRESS CODE

The shot cuts to the ring, where we find Sage Pontiff has already entered the squared circle. He anxiously paces in his corner, anticipating the coming battle.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is a second round match within the Almasy Tournament! Introducing first, already standing in the ring… hailing from Joshua Tree, California and weighing in at two-hundred and one pounds… he is the BODHISATTVA of TRANSFORMATIVE EXPERIENCE… SAGE PONTIFF!!

Pontiff ignores the crowd reaction, eyes fixated on the curtain.

“I said ‘kiss me, you’re beautiful’
These are truly the last days'”

The weathered voice from the beginning of Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s “Dead Flag Blues” fades into the short acoustic section that begins Coheed & Cambria’s “Welcome Home.” After twelve seconds, the guitars thunder in and start to kick ass, as gold and green pyro goes off in perfect timing with the power riffs.

As the PRIME*View displays the words “Model Citizen” in white over a black background, Tsonda swaggers out from behind the curtain. He soaks up the fan’s reaction at the top of the ramp, smirk painted across his face.

Vince Howard: And the opponent… from San Diego, California, by way of Hanoi, Vietnam, he weighs in at one-hundred and eighty-seven pounds… he is the MODEL CITIZEN… CHANDLER TSONDA!

And amidst the haze of pyro, smoke, and green & gold lights, he sprints to the ring, slides in under the bottom rope, and finally acknowledges his opponent. Tsonda bounces on his toes, mouthing something that’s inaudible to anyone but him.

Nick Stuart: We’re jumping right into the action with this one, ladies and gentlemen! Sage Pontiff is already in the ring, while his opponent Chandler Tsonda makes his approach! Pontiff overcame Crash Jackson to be here, while Tsonda narrowly survived a tough battle against newcomer Daniel Green!

Richard Parker: Green shoulda broke that cocky face of his as a parting gift! How is it that Chandler Tsonda is turning FIFTY this year, and he still looks that good!

Nick Stuart: Jealous, partner?

Richard Parker: Are you kidding? Mama Parker always told me that brains are always more important than beauty. Clearly, I’m a winner in both departments.

Nick Stuart: Uhh… whatever you say, Rich. Both opponents look ready to get this underway, and official Ashley Barlow cues for the bell without delay!

DING DING

Sage marches out of the corner, and Tsonda meets him in the center of the ring. The two lightweights go straight into a fierce collar-and-elbow. Feet dance on the canvas as they shove into one another for a battle of leverage. Their bodies turn, eventually careening into the ropes. Pontiff takes advantage of the light bounce with a pivot and a trip that sends the former Five Star and Alias Champion into the turnbuckles.

Nick Stuart: Quick sweep puts the Model Citizen into the corner! Now Sage lays into him with some heavy, close-fisted punches!

Richard Parker: Yeah! Right there in the face!

Nick Stuart: Ashley quickly calling for the break here! And Sage responds by taking Tsonda by the head, pulling him off the ropes, and throwing him over onto his back!

Chandler immediately sits up, only to sustain a stiff kick to his back that leaves him wincing. Sage circles around him, landing a second kick to his shoulder. Then a third to his chest. He goes to the well too many times on the fourth, however, as Tsonda catches the leg, trips him to the mat with his own legsweep, and follows up by rising to his feet and landing an elbow inside the leg!

Nick Stuart: And there’s a counter by Chandler Tsonda! Pontiff on the mat while Chandler pops to his feet… and a low dropkick catches the Bodhisattva right in the mush!

Richard Parker: What sort of low-down scoundrel goes for the money-maker?!

Nick Stuart: Pontiff trying to get up, but here’s Tsonda off the ropes… BULLDOG puts Sage down on his face! And he has to take a powder before Chandler can go for the cover!

Sage rolls out under the ropes, clutching his jaw and shaking his head… but nevertheless wearing a strange and unsettling smile. Tsonda stands tall in the ring and hypes up the crowd, right before sending himself into the ropes to get a head full of steam…

Nick Stuart: Chandler goes into motion, while Sage stands unsuspecting at ringside… Tsonda going for the PERFECT 10–OH NO, Pontiff PLUCKS him from the air and COUNTERS it into a BACKBREAKER over the knee!

Richard Parker: Ooooh… you know, at that age, the ol’ backbones ain’t what they used to be! He should probably think twice before trying something that reckless again.

Nick Stuart: The early attempt at a high-risk maneuver, unfortunately, does not pay off for the Model Citizen. Now all Tsonda can do now is cover up on the ringside and withstand some absolutely vicious stomps from Sage Pontiff!

Barlow’s calls to return the fight to the ring falls on deaf ears, while Pontiff eagerly indulges his ethereal thirst for brutality by way of stomping Chandler into an unmoving pulp. He pulls Tsonda off the floor by the head and introduces his face into the guardrail before rows of jeering fans. Chandler reels while clutching his face, and Sage seizes him and does the same thing, this time with the apron.

Nick Stuart: It’s gloves off out at ringside as Sage Pontiff uses the environment to his advantage. I swear, the Bodhisattva has been showing a great deal of unmitigated aggression in the ring as of late!

Richard Parker: He’s making an example of his opponents! Showing them what lengths a REAL warrior will go to!

Nick Stuart: Pontiff has Tsonda by the arm… sends him into the STEPS–

CRASH.

Nick Stuart: OOH!! Chandler COLLIDES right into them!

Tsonda’s waist takes the brunt of the crash, which sends him flipping over onto his back. Sage comes running after him, using the same steps as a vault to send him somersaulting forward.

Nick Stuart: SPRINGBOARD SENTON by PONTIFF!! Right across the CHEST of the downed Chandler Tsonda!

Richard Parker: THAT is how you do high risk! Take notes, Tstupid!

Barlow’s count reaches seven. Sage seems to take a moment to consider sliding in on his own and taking the easy count out win. But with his thirst for transcendental violence still unsated, he picks Tsonda up and rolls him back into the ring.

Nick Stuart: Pontiff brings the action back into the squared circle. Now he mounts Tsonda’s back… no, wait–THE MODEL CITIZEN slips out the BACK DOOR!

Richard Parker: Wiry twerp! Was he playing possum just now?!

Nick Stuart: Chan slips Sage into a hammerlock… and pulls him back into A SPINAL TAP!!

Tsonda wrenches back on the dragon sleeper, and the crowd roars excitedly through the submission attempt. However, the excitement quickly dies down once the Bodhisattva’s free arm extends out and finds the ropes. Ashley Barlow calls for the break. Shaking his head, Chandler complies by dropping Sage down over his knee.

Nick Stuart: Into the KNEE-DROP BACKBREAKER! Now Tsonda rolls Pontiff over and makes the cover!

One!

Two!

Sage kicks out!

Richard Parker: I bet he barely felt that last move! Just a tickle to him! He’s in a mindspace the likes of which lowly folk like you and I could never fathom! Well, mostly just you, Nick, but you get what I mean.

Nick Stuart: While I can’t speak on behalf of the troubled “mindspace” of the Bodhisattva, I can certainly recognize the man’s resilience. However, it’s being put to the test right now by “The Model Citizen” and PRIME veteran, Chandler Tsonda!

Tsonda begins pulling Pontiff to his feet, only for Sage to quickly rise up, slap his hands aside, and tag him with a forearm. While Chandler staggers, Pontiff runs himself into the ropes. Tsonda quickly counters with a back elbow of his own, and runs the other way.

Nick Stuart: Tsonda puts himself into motion… goes for the PRESS–but Sage DUCKS, and runs into the ropes as well! Tsonda coming back… SLIDES while Sage LEAPFROGS! Off the ropes again… Chan goes UP HIGH for a hurricanrana–and Sage ROLLS THROUGH onto his feet! They go off the ropes AGAIN… Chandler DUCKS Sage’s running lariat!

Richard Parker: All this back and forth is making me dizzy! This is why I hate tennis!

Nick Stuart: Into the–no, Tsonda SPRINGBOARDS… Sage TOO… DOUBLE SPRINGBOARD MOONSAULTS AND–OOOOOH GOD, WHAT A MID-AIR COLLISION RIGHT OVER THE CENTER OF THE RING!!

Both mid-arc in their respective moonsaults, Tsonda and Pontiff’s chests crash into one-another, sending them both hitting the mat hard. The crowd reacts with utter shock.

Richard Parker: That was some CRAZY air they had!

Nick Stuart: Unbelievable! Let’s see that again on replay!

A quick split-screen effect gives us an alternate angle of the mid-air moonsault collision played back in slow motion. Both competitors throw everything they have into it to get as much height as possible, leading to a brutal mid-air collision.

Nick Stuart: Chandler Tsonda and Sage Pontiff are laid out in the ring! Ashley Barlow has begun a ten count! And these fans are cheering for this battle to continue!

Richard Parker: Just retire already, Tsonda! This is the kind of battle that Sage Pontiff LIVES for!

The Model Citizen rolls one way while the Bodhisattva rolls in the other. Painstakingly, both men fight their way to their feet with the help of the ropes. Tsonda recovers first, looking across the ring to see Sage leaning over the top rope gasping for air. Quickly, he hurries over to grab him from–

Nick Stuart: BACK ELBOW by Sage! He baited Chan right into it! Now Sage turns around… GOOD GOD, SICKENING HEADBUTT lays out the Model Citizen!

Richard Parker: That’s what he gets for being so hard-headed in this fight! An ACTUAL hard head!

Nick Stuart: Pontiff is not pulling punches in there! Now he covers the chest of Chandler Tsonda…

One!

Two!

SHOULDER UP!

The crowd cheers on the Tsuperstar’s resolve, but Pontiff immediately rolls him over, traps him into a body-scissors, and begins relentlessly pounding away at the back of his head. Once he’s softened up, Pontiff works his arms into a full nelson and pulls him to his feet.

Nick Stuart: Out of the frying pan and into the fire for Chandler Tsonda! Sage Pontiff with the ATHARVAVEDA!!

The release Dragon Suplex sends Chandler bumping hard off his head and shoulders and rag-dolling half a ring’s length away. Pontiff casually rises up to his feet, walks over, and looms over him, coldly staring at his opponent’s attempts to regain his bearings. Displeased, Sage kicks away.

Nick Stuart: Pontiff not even going for a cover after that! He’s out to punish Chandler Tsonda, by putting the boots to him!

Richard Parker: Sage doesn’t wear boots, Nick…

Nick Stuart: I mean, yeah, I know that, it’s just–oh geez, it’s an expression! Sage getting Chandler Tsonda back up… quick SCOOP-SPAM PILEDRIVER! And NOW going for the pin!

One!

TWO!

NO!! Tsonda gets the shoulder up again!

The kickout only elicits a chuckle from Pontiff. Once more, he casually rises back to his feet and entreats the crowd to the obligatory “NAMASTE” bow.

“BOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Richard Parker: This man is a picture of health right here, Nick!

Nick Stuart: This man is the reason people lock their doors, partner. Sage Pontiff is taking his eyes off the ball now… and Chandler Tsonda is steadily getting back his bearings behind him!

Tsonda fights his way to his feet, cheered on by the fans. Pontiff keeps his back to him, stalling for time. Then, as soon as Chandler is back on both feet, he immediately EXPLODES into a Namaste mule kick–

Nick Stuart: TSONDA DUCKS!! HE TSAW IT COMING!!

Chandler slips ahead of Sage and traps him into a three-quarter facelock. Thinking on his feet, Pontiff grabs him by the hips and lifts to counter with a back suplex. Instead, Tsonda kicks off his heels to send him stumbling back to the corner. In the process, he rolls through, with his feet landing directly on the top rope.

In a flash, he pushes off.

Nick Stuart: RUNWAY VAULT OUTTA NOWHERE!! What a perfect way to turn the tables!

Richard Parker: Nonsense! He’s being completely reckless in there!

Nick Stuart: TSONDA MAKING THE COVER…

ONE!

TWO!

THR–KICKOUT!!

Chandler rolls off of Sage’s chest, his eyes filled with disbelief. Once more, Sage Pontiff is laughing in spite of the pain.

Nick Stuart: Both of these men are pulling out all the stops here tonight for the chance to advance in the Almasy Tournament! Chandler Tsonda feels that he is close, but the Bodhisattva is clinging to life!

Richard Parker: The fight is his life, Nick!

Rallying forth his wits, Tsonda works his way back up with Pontiff’s dreads clenched tight in his hand. He tucks the head under his arm and grabs hold of the tights.

Only…

Nick Stuart: Chandler, looking for the DDT… but Pontiff hooks the leg to BLOCK it!

Richard Parker: Veteran move!

Nick Stuart: Pontiff quickly switches over… HEADLOCK DRIVER LAYS OUT CHANDLER!!

Ignoring the pain and running purely on animal instinct, Sage quickly pops to his feet and runs up to the top rope in a single leap, switches round, and dives off.

Nick Stuart: Pontiff with ELECTRIC FEEL!! WHAT A TWISTING PRESS!! Lands DIRECTLY on the chest of Chandler Tsonda, and he HOOKS THE LEGS for the WIN!!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE–NNNNO!! TSONDA POPS THE SHOULDER!!

Richard Parker: D’aaaahh, I don’t believe it! Sage hit that perfectly!

Nick Stuart: Despite the punishment, Chandler Tsonda keeps hanging on! He’s got these fans on their feet!

Pontiff’s strange mirth now slowly morphs into savage rage. Furiously, he gets back to his feet, pulling Tsonda up with him. Without delay, he sets his head into the leg-scissor and hooks the legs.

Richard Parker: Mister Gary Wright… PLEASE warm up the band!

Nick Stuart: Pontiff is ready to FINISH THIS, going right for the throat with the SHAMANIC DREAMWEAVE–NNNOOOO WAIT!!

BLOCKED by Chandler Tsonda!

Moving quick, the lithe Chandler Tsonda pushes his way through Pontiff’s legs and ends up behind him. Before Sage can react, Tsonda pulls him back across his shoulders, and his feet leave the canvas.

Nick Stuart: CHANDLER TSONDA, TURNING IT AROUND ONCE MORE, now with SAGE UP IN THE RACK… and he NAILS IT!! NARCISSIST’S NOOSE!!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

Richard Parker:

Nick Stuart: Tsonda HOOKS THE LEGS!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THHRREEEEE!!!

DING DING DING

Tsonda rolls off the chest of Pontiff, lying on his back and sucking wind. Barlow helps him to his feet and raises his arm in victory before a cheering crowd. Sage remains on his back, staring up at the lights.

Tsonda’s music hits.

“I said ‘kiss me, you’re beautiful’
These are truly the last days'”

Richard Parker: No, I’d rather PUNCH YOU, because you’re UGLY, and I PRAY for YOUR last days! BAAHH, I hate you, Chandler!

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match, by pinfall… CHAAAANNDLLEEERRR TSOOOOOONNNDAAAAAA!!!

Nick Stuart: A hardfought victory for “the Model Citizen” Chandler Tsonda! He has outlasted so much pain and punishment these past few handful of matches, but has someone found the wherewithal to push through and eke out another victory tonight! With that win, Chandler Tsonda is the FIRST to enter the third round of the Almasy!

Richard Parker: I’m telling you, it should be SAGE in that third round! He was ON IT tonight!

Nick Stuart: Of course, we can’t overlook the efforts of the Bodhisattva in this match. He proved tonight that he is fully committed to the spirit of the fight… but honestly? I just hope he’s doing okay.

Richard Parker: He’d be PERFECT right now if it were his arm being raised!

Nick Stuart: That’s one match-up down, and seven to go for the second round of the Almasy Tournament! ReVival 72 continues, ladies and gentlemen!

ReVival moves elsewhere…

Nick Stuart: Welcome back, fans! We’re set for our second Almasy Invitational match of the evening, which sees Bryan Dawkins take on “The Miracle Man” Steve Harrison. Richard, how do you see this one shaking out?

Richard Parker: There’s a lot of similarities between these guys. Gifted wrestlers. Don’t much care for the rules or the fans. Supported by shadowy, mysterious organizations. Honestly, if it weren’t for Dawkins’ hideous tights or Harrison’s shiny dome, it’d be tough to tell them apart.

Nick Stuart: Any predictions for us?

Richard Parker: I think it’ll be…Bryan…Harrison.

Nick Stuart: Oh, really. And not Richard Dawkins?

Richard Parker: No way. Too old, too British.

Nick sighs. He’s got a long night ahead of him.

Nick Stuart: Take it away, Mr. Howard.

Vince Howard: The following match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, representing the Red Army!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Vince Howard: Hailing from Hilo, Hawaii…weighing in at 232 pounds…BRYAN! DAAAWWWWWWKIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNSSS!

The arena’s lights fade to black momentarily before exploding in a pyrotechnic display of crimson and gold fireworks.

“The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir blasts through the PA system, eliciting a cascade of boos from the PRIME faithful.

Out steps the newest member of The Red Army, the former Flyin’ Hawaiian himself, Bryan Dawkins.

Clad in his signature Red Army issued crimson and gold sunglasses, he slowly makes his way to the ring devoid of any emotion. The young kids that once chanted “BRUH” now boo his presence and the worst part is? He doesn’t care.

He slides into the ring and does a quick check of the ropes before settling into his corner of the ring.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…from Parts Unknown…weighing in at 250 pounds… “THE MIRACLE MAN!” STEVE! HAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRIIIISSSOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!

The lights dim and the slow melonic song of “Monsters,” by Phish begins to play. Steve Harrison slowly emerges to the entrance ramp. His green robe flows behind him as he takes a few steps. His eyes are closed as he stops at the top of ramp:

“Easy now, easy now

Easy now, easy now

I wake up in my bed

With monsters in my head

Easy now, easy now

Easy now, easy now

I wake up in my bed

With monsters in my head”

Steve’s eyes open at the last mention of Monsters and “Set Your Soul Free,” by Trey Anastasio w/ Derek Trucks begins to rapidly play. He puts his arms in the air and nods towards the crowd as he begins to walk a bit faster down the ramp.

He smirks as the fans react to him, he doesn’t seem to care if they boo or cheer as he concentrates on the ring he will be competing in tonight. He gets to the steps and swiftly makes his way up and into the ring.

He walks to the middle and looks out at the crowd and then runs from one corner to the other and then leans against the turnbuckle and takes his robe off and hands it to the ring attendant as he prepares mentally for the battle ahead.

DING DING

The two combatants circle for a few seconds, sizing each other up, before meeting in the middle with a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Harrison takes advantage first, securing a top wristlock, Dawkins quickly reverses into a hammerlock. A quick elbow loosens the grip, but as Harrison turns around, Dawkins performs a double-leg takedown. He goes to mount, but Steve Harrison scrambles out of it and toward the corner.

Nick Stuart: Looks like Steve will have to rethink his strategy. I don’t think he was ready for Dawkins to come so hot out of the gate.

Richard Parker: Nonsense. This is just a feeling-out process. When you’re the Immortal Jellyfish, you can hide a lot of tricks up a lot of sleeves.

Nick Stuart: Jellyfish don’t wear sleeves.

Richard Parker: Maybe not in the parts of the internet you hang out in. Pervert.

The two meet in the middle again, this time Dawkins taking the lead. He slips behind Harrison for a rear waistlock, but it’s an easy matter for Steve to reverse it and pull himself backwards, rolling Dawkins into a quick pin!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Oh, wow! Harrison nearly stole this one right away!

Richard Parker: More likely Dawkins is lulling him into a false sense of security. Harrison will get cocky, and he won’t see the Red Army jump in out of nowhere.

Bryan Dawkins, now clearly annoyed, approaches a ready Harrison…but Steve’s not ready for Dawkins to dodge around the side, bringing Harrison down with an inside cradle…and he’s definitely not ready for Bryan to grab a handful of his tights.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Nick Stuart: Jimmy Turnbull waves it off! Good of him to step in early; these two are notorious cheaters. This could get out of hand quickly.

Richard Parker: Would that be so bad, though?

Nick Stuart: Yes!

Another tie-up; this one leads to an Irish whip that sends Harrison sailing into the corner. Dawkins charges in with a series of punches and elbow strikes, and he soon has Harrison reeling. The opening allows Bryan to drop the Immortal Jellyfish with a twisting neckbreaker…but he holds the grip upon landing, twists Harrison back up, and plants him with a brainbuster!

Nick Stuart: What an awesome sequence from the Bruh! Here’s the pin!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: See, that’s what you always forget. Bitch about “breaking the rules” all you want, but both these guys are exceptional wrestlers with sound technique.

As if emphasizing Richard’s point, Dawkins applies a textbook armbar and uses the leverage to bring Harrison to his feet. He then switches position to a rear waistlock; again, his movement is fluid and smooth.

Harrison then does a smooth and fluid motion of his own, bringing his right leg up into Bryan’s crotch.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!

Nick Stuart: So what kind of “sound technique” is that, Richard?

Richard Parker: That’s a Greco-Roman…nutshot.

Nick Stuart: Is it, now.

Richard Parker: Oh, yeah. Steve Greco’d him right in the Roman!

Nick Stuart: That doesn’t make any sense.

Richard Parker: Romaned him right in the Greco?

Nick Stuart: That…is somehow worse.

The Miracle Man ignores Jimmy Turnbull’s warning about the low blow and dropkicks Dawkins right in the shin, dropping both men to the mat. Harrison is first on his feet, sizing up the Bruh while he has the advantage. Once Dawkins is mostly upright, Harrison charges for a clothesline–which Dawkins ducks! Bryan then tries to throw his own lariat, but Harrison ducks that as well…and finds himself in perfect position for a saito suplex!

ONE!

TWO!

THR–NO!

Steve Harrison glares at the referee, but doesn’t waste time arguing. He wraps his arms around his opponent’s waist and hoists him up into a tombstone position!

Nick Stuart: This could be over right here–but Dawkins isn’t ready to give up!

We see, as did Nick, Dawkins kicking his feet, desperately trying to generate some momentum. The Immortal Jellyfish soon loses his balance, and both men fall over…allowing Bryan Dawkins to reverse the hold and hit a tombstone of his own!

He doesn’t get the chance, though; Harrison uses the same trick to turn the tables again, and this time is able to plant Bryan’s head into the mat!

WHAM!

Nick Stuart: What an impact! This has got to be it!

Jimmy Turnbull, the final arbiter of it-ness, slides into position as Harrison covers.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Steve Harrison pops to his feet, raising his arms in victory…but unless the official raises your arm, it’s not…well, official. And rather than holding Harrison’s wrist, Jimmy Turnbull is pointing at Dawkins’ foot.

Nick Stuart: Look at that! We all thought it was over, but Dawkins makes a narrow escape! He’ll have to dig deep if he wants to come back from this one!

Dig deep he does, right when Steve Harrison picks him up again. Specifically, using his thumb. Even more specifically, right into Harrison’s eye.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

With Harrison temporarily blinded, Bryan Dawkins has no trouble throwing on a headlock, which he then transitions to a front chancery. Steve tries to struggle his way out, but Dawkins put a stop to that with some knee strikes. That dazes the Merch God enough for Bryan to switch from the chancery to a fisherman’s suplex, which he performs with technical precision.

Nick Stuart: Beautiful bridge on that move! Here’s Turnbull with the count!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

The narrow escape does not bring a reversal of fortune, as Dawkins quickly shifts to maintain control. He rolls Harrison over and mounts, driving one heavy elbow after another into the back of the Miracle Man’s head.

After three or six of those, Dawkins releases the mount, but not his advantage. He snakes his arms around Harrison’s waist, hoisting up the Miracle Man and throwing him high overhead with a release German suplex.

WHAM!

Richard Parker: Oh damn! Look at that power!

Nick Stuart: Bryan Dawkins almost threw Steve Harrison into the next county!

The Immortal Jellyfish lands hard on his back, but the momentum carries him through to his feet, where he falls backwards and slumps against the ropes. He’s out on his feet, and he’s only doing that well because of the steel cables in his path.

Harrison is on spaghetti legs, clutching to the top rope for dear life. A sinister smirk spreads over Dawkins’ face; the Katyusha will put this one away. One thing is for sure: Steve Harrison will need a miracle to get out of this.

Lucky for him, then…

OOOOOOOOOHH!

Nick Stuart: What a dodge! Harrison rolled out of the way just in the nick of time, and the momentum carried Bryan Dawkins right into the top rope!

Richard Parker: That’s gonna bruise the ol’ pineapples!

Harrison wastes no time, charging to the other side of the ring while Dawkins slumps to the mat. Down but not out, the Bruh desperately pulls himself up using the ropes.

This does not go well.

WHACK!

OOOOOOOOOHHH!!

Nick Stuart: The Enlightenment! Harrison just about caved in the back of Dawkins’ skull with that one!

Now completely turned off, Bryan Dawkins collapses back to the mat. The whole time Harrison pulls him back up and applies the cross-face chickenwing, Dawkins is at risk of falling down again. He’ll need a miracle to get out of this.

Unlucky for him, then…

WHAM!

Nick Stuart: IT’S A HARRICLE! Jimmy Turnbull makes the count!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Steve Harrison pushes himself up, allowing Turnbull to raise his arm for real. He smirks as the realization of events hits him.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner… “THE MIRACLE MAN!” STEVE! HAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRIIIISSSOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!

Nick Stuart: The Miracle Man has done it! With that win, he’s moving on to the quarterfinals of the Almasy Invitational! Later tonight, we’ll find out his next opponent–Five Star Champion Kerry Kuroyama, or Intense Champion Fred Dick!

Richard Parker: No easy rides through the Almasy, partner. But Harrison’s proven that he’s up to the challenge.

Nick Stuart: No doubt. Fans, there’s a lot more to come, so stick around for these words from our sponsors.

Cut.

The scene opens in the spartan gloom of a backstage locker room. Charles de Lacy, resplendent in a lavender silk robe, family crest embroidered on its breast, paces back and forth, shoulders hunched in quiet intensity. He adjusts his cufflinks obsessively, muttering under his breath like a vagrant on a New York sidewalk.

Seated nearby on a battered fold-up chair Mickey, his gentleman’s personal gentleman, methodically tapes his fists, seemingly unaware of his employer’s frazzled state.

Charles de Lacy: Let’s go over this again, shall we?.

Mickey (without looking up): Again?

Charles de Lacy: Yes, again. And we’ll continue going over it until it penetrates that oversized, underfed melon you call a head!

Mickey: As ya like, boss.

Charles de Lacy: In the unlikely event that Colton – overpowers me, what do you do?

Before Mickey can respond the pair are interrupted by a knock at the door.

Charles de Lacy: Who in the blazes is that?

Mickey raises to his feet, motioning towards the door.

Charles de Lacy: Stay where you are. The last thing we need now are distractions.

Mickey’s hand hovers above the door handle.

Mickey: Could be catering. You asked them for tea, remember?

Charles de Lacy: Ah, yes. Go on then. A spot of Assam might settle the old nerves.

Mickey opens the door only to have a microphone shoved in his face by none other than PRIME’s Matt Mills, a rictus-like grin etched on his face.

Matt Mills: Evening, folks. We’re hoping to grab a few quick words from Mr. de Lacy before he steps into the ring with Nate Colton.

Caught off guard, Mickey moves to close the door shut but Mills instinctively blocks it with his foot.

Matt Mills: Just a minute of your time.

Mickey snarls, lips peeling back to reveal teeth.

Charles de Lacy: Let them in, Mick. Professional obligations and all that.

Mills and his team squeeze through and get into place. Mills casts a sardonic eye over de Lacy’s robe.

Matt Mills: Nice threads.

Charles de Lacy: Tailored in London. Worn in Milan. Feared in the Tokyo Dome.

Matt Mills: Hopefully it holds up in Chicago.

de Lacy eyes Mills suspiciously.

Charles de Lacy: Quite.

Foregoing further pleasantries, Mills turns to his camera crew and switches into “on-camera” mode.

Matt Mills: I’m here with Charles de Lacy, moments before his PRIME debut against Nate Colton. Charles, you’ve forged quite the reputation across the States, but tonight you face Nate Colton on this stage. Why PRIME, and why now?

Charles de Lacy: Why not, Mr. Mills? A man such as I can’t rest on his laurels, especially when there are frontiers left uncivilised. PRIME offers something very few promotions do – an audience with an appreciation for the sport of professional wrestling. I have wrestled all over the world, from the hallowed traditions of the Korakuen Hall to the majesty of the Maple Leaf Gardens to the…

de Lacy’s face sours.

Charles de Lacy: To the glorified meat lockers they call arenas in Chicago.

A faint booing can be heard off camera as the hometown crowd respond to de Lacy’s provocation.

Charles de Lacy: So why PRIME? Why now?

de Lacy turns to Mills as if the answer is obvious.

Charles de Lacy: Because as I reach the twilight of my career I owe it to myself to go out on the grandest stage possible – and what’s more, in the cleanest ring.

Matt Mills: Colton’s clean too – and crisp. Some would say one of the best technical wrestlers in the business right now. You’re no stranger to that style yourself, but there’s a… difference in mileage. How do you plan to keep pace with someone half a generation younger?

Charles de Lacy: Ah yes, the perennial fascination with youth. Nate Colton is, to be sure, a talented young man. Earnest. Perhaps too earnest. And possessed of that energetic clumsiness so often mistaken for ambition. But technique, Mr. Mills – true technique – is not a matter of brute force or metabolism. It’s a craft. A discipline. It’s the result of years spent perfecting a wristlock while others worried about their suntan.

Mickey grunts his agreement from the corner.

Charles de Lacy: Tonight, Mr. Colton will find that while styles can change, true discipline never fades. He might scramble, he might counter, he might even, God forbid, break a sweat. But the result? That’s academic.

Matt Mills: Confident, aren’t you?

Charles de Lacy: Confidence is temporary, Mr. Mills. But class – well, class is permanent. And with Mickey by my side, I fail to see what could stand in my way.

And with that de Lacy moves out of shot, quickly followed by Mickey.

Matt Mills shrugs, clearly nonplussed.

Matt Mills: Back to you at ringside.

ReVival moves on.

Go go Vincent Howard.

You name-announcin’ Vincent Howard.

Go go Vincent Howard.

This is all of the Power Rangers theme that I sorta know, so instead of trying to shoehorn more words into that melody I will instead suggest that everyone take a minute to imagine Vince Howard in a tight pink jumpsuit doing karate moves. HIYA!

This means the match is starting, by the way.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall.

Oh it hurts. IT HURTS SO BAD AND I WANNA BUT I CAN’T! You know of what I speak.

Vince Howard: Introducing first… From York, England he weighs in tonight at two-hundred and forty pounds…

The regal strains of “Fanfare for the Common Man” herald the arrival of “Dandy” Charles de Lacy, who emerges from behind the curtain. Following closely behind, Mickey—dressed in a long duster coat, rugged jeans, and fingerless gloves—cuts an imposing figure, his sharp eyes warning the crowd to keep their distance. De Lacy, exuding arrogance, strides down the aisle with a sneer of disdain, completely ignoring the outstretched hands that dare to approach his impeccably tailored silk robe.

Vince Howard: He is… DANDY! Charles DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE LACY!!

At ringside, Mickey swiftly steps forward to hold the ropes open for de Lacy, who wipes his feet on the apron with a practiced elegance before entering the ring. The referee cautiously assists de Lacy with removing his robe, handing it off to Mickey, who glares at the official with barely concealed hostility. As de Lacy loosens up with a series of deliberate stretches, Mickey barks some final words of advice from ringside.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

The arena’s lights go out, and the fans erupt in anticipation. Soon their energy is rewarded as the PRIMEView springs to life. On a field of white, three words appear:

THE

NEW

DIAMOND

These fade away, replaced by a logo. It’s the letter C in the shape of a diamond, with a smaller N inside. The logo is framed by the name.

NATE

COLTON

A classic rock riff signals the beginning of “Tryin’” by the Eagles, and the fans give out a raucous cheer. Moments later, Nate Colton emerges from the curtain. He holds his arms up high, showing off his blue satin jacket–his family name emblazoned on the back; his first name stitched on the front.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Just a few steps behind him is his baby brother, Blake Colton. He looks a little more comfortable this time around; he’s waving to fans and smiling a little bit. He’s dressed roughly the same as last time; a Colton Academy jacket over the new Nate Colton t-shirt (available now at the PRIMEporium! If that’s still a thing.)

The New Diamond pauses at the edge of the platform, motioning for his brother to join him. Eventually Blake takes the hint, and big bro throws an arm around little bro’s shoulder, and they walk to the ring together. The New Diamond seems in much better spirits than he’s been in a long time, smiling and slapping hands as the Colton boys (not the Lads, they’re not here this week) walk to the ring.

Vince Howard: Accompanied to the ring by Blake Colton!

RAAH!

Modest pop for the kid.

Vince Howard: He hails from Evansville, Indiana… he weighs in at two hundred and forty pounds…the NEW DIAMOND… NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE! COOOOOOOOOOOOOOLTON!!

When they arrive, Nate slips off his ring jacket and hands it to Blake, who he then directs toward the timekeeper’s table. While the family’s youngest heads to his assigned position, the eldest heads for the ring.

He climbs the steps, wipes his feet on the apron, and enters the ring through the top and middle ropes. He heads directly to his corner and undoes his jacket, showing off his gear–white trunks that reach his upper thigh with a blue stripe down the side, white boots with blue trim, white MMA gloves, and blue elbow and knee pads. After handing his jacket to a ring attendant, he makes another appeal to the fans.

After one last point toward his little brother, Nate shifts to the task at hand. His good mood vanishes as Ashley Barlow pats him down. The New Diamond is all business.

DING DING

Both men meet in the center of the ring to feel each other out, which sounds really horny especially in the context of two grown-ass dudes rolling around in next to nothing, but it’s not like that despite how many times I ask people to make their characters kiss. One day you fucks will give me what I ask for.

But this isn’t about that. This is about two technicians doing technical things in the most technically platonic way possible.

Anyway.

Colton and de Lacy lock up, and it’s de Lacy who gets the upper hand. The man they call Dandy transitions to a side headlock, wrenching in to try and maintain control. Colton fires him off into the ropes, but de Lacy responds with an attempted shoulder block. Colton sees it coming and drops down to avoid it, but de Lacy is able to reach the counter and easily steps over. Colton leapfrogs de Lacy on the rebound, but Charles stops short. Dandy tilts his head and gives a slight nod.

Nick Stuart: The crowd showing their appreciation here in the early going, as both men appear evenly matched.

Richard Parker: Nick, my guy, it’s been like 30 seconds. Everyone’s evenly matched thirty seconds in, unless you’re, like, Darin Zion or the Applebee’s guy. What was his name again?

Nick Stuart: You mean Buster Gloves?

Richard Parker: Exactly! Nobody knows.

The two men lock up again, but this time it’s Colton who gains the upper hand as he transitions into a wrist lock. de Lacy tests Colton’s grip and flexes his shoulder, trying to determine the best way to counter. He takes a step back, and then rolls through the hold, using the momentum to gain wrist control.

Nick Stuart: Both men putting that technical background to use here. Not much in the way of size difference, so it’ll be interesting to see if Colton’s strength advantage can counter de Lacy’s experience.

Richard Parker: Youthful energy is no match for practical experience, Nick. Never has been.

de Lacy, still with wrist control, grabs a handful of Colton’s hair and pulls him down to the mat.

Richard Parker: Also treachery helps.

Colton kips back up to his feet, and re-reverses the hold to regain control. de Lacy wastes no time and cartwheels out of Colton’s grip, and once again both men find themselves in a neutral position in the center of the ring.

The crowd once again applauds the technical display. Ashley Barlow takes a moment to warn de Lacy about the illegal hair pull, but Dandy waves her off with a dismissive hand. For her part, Barlow reacts with a look that can best be described as oh-the-fuck-no-you-did-not.

The New Diamond moves in for a third lockup, but de Lacy uses Nate’s momentum against him and takes him over with a snapmare. With Nate on the ground, de Lacy quickly shifts his grip and applies a rear chinlock that he amplifies by planting his knee in between Colton’s shoulder blades.

Richard Parker: It’s all over now. There’s no way Colton’s escaping this.

Nick Stuart: A chinlock?

Richard Parker: Yes. It’s the most dangerous of all the holds.

Nick Stuart: It’s a chinlock. Name one wrestler who would tap out to a chinlock.

Richard Parker: The sandwich guy.

Nick Stuart: Okay, that’s fair.

Richard Parker: Felix Mullen.

Nick Stuart: Alright, you’ve made your point.

Richard Parker: The Applebee’s guy, probably.

Nick Stuart: Okay, okay. I get it.

Richard Parker: Man, I wish I remembered his name.

Colton gets his feet underneath him and rises back up to a vertical base. He snaps off a few back elbows to break free, and then quickly hits the ropes. It does not end well. A quick inverted atomic drop stuns the New Diamond.

Richard Parker: Charles de Lacy doing the lords work.

Nick Stuart: Pardon?

Richard Parker: For everyone watching at home, remember to spay and neuter your Coltons.

Nick Stuart: Oh for the love…

Richard Parker: What? I hear the Indiana Colton shelters are overflowing with those things.

Nick Stuart: Will you stop?

Richard Parker: Shan’t.

Meanwhile, Dandy has forced Colton back into the corner, and is snapping off a sequence of crisp European uppercuts. After each one de Lacy makes sure Nate is clear to suffer another, be it through forcing him back, moving a defensive arm out of the way, or through sheer British precision.

Now in control, de Lacy attempts an Irish whip across corners, but Colton is able to reverse, sending de Lacy hard into the buckles. Eager to build up some momentum of his own, Nate charges in only to be violently introduced to the turnbuckles as de Lacy steps aside at the last moment.

Nick Stuart: An uncharacteristic mistake from Nate Colton just now, Richard.

Richard Parker: Oh! That gives me an idea. Let’s play a game.

Nick Stuart: Oh no.

Richard Parker: It’s called “How Many Coltons Were Also ‘Mistakes’.”

Nick Stuart: Can you not? Please?

Richard Parker: Look, it’s not my fault that family’s tryna out-Voss the Vosses. No one out-Vosses the Vosses. It’s imVossable!

de Lacy locks in another headlock, grinding his arm into position as he takes Colton down to the mat. He wrenches in the hold tight, and referee Barlow checks to make sure that the move hasn’t slid into an illegal choke, which is an action that de Lacy clearly finds offensive given the expression on his face. He says something to Barlow that the microphones don’t pick up, but which the referee very obviously disagrees with.

Colton is once again able to get his feet underneath him, and starts to push back up off the mat, at which point de Lacy very subtly releases one hand from his grip for a quick rake to Colton’s eyes. Colton staggers, trying to blink the world back into focus, and Dandy uses the opportunity to capitalize with a pendulum backbreaker. He holds Colton in place for a moment, using one hand to press down on Colton’s chin to increase the pressure on his spine.

From this position, it’s easy for de Lacy to gracefully slide his bent leg back and allow Colton to fall to the mat, whereupon he hooks a leg and goes for a cover.

ONE!

Nick Stuart: First fall of the match here and de Lacy looks to be in control.

TWO!

Richard Parker: Remember what I said earlier about experience, Nick?

Nick Stuart: Kickout by Colton! You were saying, Richard?

Richard Parker: Hey, man, sixty-five percent of the time I’m right every time.

Nick reaches under the announce desk and squirts Richard with the “math is dead” spray bottle. No one sees this because it happens only in my head and nowhere else.

Colton throws his shoulder up, and de Lacy quickly traps that arm and pulls Colton into an abdominal stretch. Taking a moment to check where the referee’s eyes are looking, de Lacy reaches back and grabs the ropes to add some leverage to the submission attempt.

When referee Barlow realizes that something sussy is happening, she steps around to check the validity of the hold. de Lacy uses this moment to keep arm control and transition to a Russian legsweep.

Nick Stuart: Very clever on the part of de Lacy there.

Richard Parker: No wonder he survived so long in the Chicago Ooze Pits.

Nick Stuart: I’m not asking what that is.

Richard Parker: You don’t have to ask, Nick. You already know. We ALL already know.

He hops up onto the second turnbuckle and measures the New Diamond for a diving knee drop that finds its mark. de Lacy goes for a second cover.

ONE

Richard Parker: I just had a thought.

TWO

Nick Stuart: Again, not asking – and Nate Colton again gets the shoulder up!

Richard Parker: Right. This one doesn’t require your participation. So anyway, my thought…

Both men are on their feet, and de Lacy fires off a European uppercut, but this time Colton has the move scouted. The New Diamond ducks, then turns de Lacy’s momentum against him. He fires off with a quick snapmare, hits the ropes with a purpose, and drills the seated Dandy with a running forearm strike.

Nick Stuart: A burst of offense from Colton, and de Lacy looks rocked.

Richard Parker: …

Nick Stuart: Richard?

Richard Parker: …huh? What? Did I miss something?

de Lacy thumps down to the mat, but Colton gives him no time to recover. He immediately pulls his opponent up and hits a huge backbreaker of his own.

Nick Stuart: Weren’t you about to tell us all something that we probably didn’t want to hear?

Richard Parker: Was I?

Still holding de Lacy in his arms, Colton rises back to his feet and pushes de Lacy up into a vertical suplex in a tremendous show of strength.

Nick Stuart: Look at the power on display here by the New Diamond!

Richard Parker: Sorry, I got distracted by this notification for five dollars off my next entree at Applebee’s. Hey, didn’t there used to be a guy who-

Nick Stuart: (casually unplugs his partner’s headset)

de Lacy rolls to the corner to try and get out of harm’s way, but the New Diamond is already charging across the ring. It’s only at the last second that de Lacy is able to get his foot up to defend himself, and Colton eats a boot as a result.

Colton staggers back and turns around holding his jaw, and once more de Lacy applies a headlock to try and wear his opponent down. This time, things go a bit differently. The second Colton a hand on his hair he shoves his way out of the hold, turns, and levels Dandy with a slap that echoes throughout the arena.

The crowd makes two distinct sounds at the same time, which would be really impressive if it was all coming from one guy instead of a few thousand people. Those sounds?

OOOOOOOOOOOOHHH!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

The blow lands hard enough to cause de Lacy to turn a 180 and drop to his knees where he stays, eyes wide and mouth agape, as he puts a hand to the side of his face. On the outside, Mickey’s eyes bug out as though he’d never seen his man take a hit like that in his life.

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton has had enough, and just slapped the taste out of Charles de Lacy’s mouth!

Richard Parker: It’s okay, Nick. Charles de Lacy is British, so it’s not like he’s going to notice a difference in his dinner if he’s seriously not able to taste.

Nick Stuart: Fans, if you’re upset by my partner’s comments, please feel free to direct your complaints to complaints at prime dash wrestling dot…

Richard Parker: NO! Do not give them the email address again!

de Lacy gets back to his feet and moves to the corner to compose himself, then alters his plans when he sees Colton storming towards him. He snaps off a European uppercut, but this time Colton responds in turn with a forearm strike.

de Lacy lets fly another uppercut.

BOOOOOOOOOO!

Colton connects with a second forearm.

RAAAAAAAAAAAH!

de Lacy.

BOOOOOOOOOO!

Colton.

RAAAAAAAAAAAH!

de Lacy.

BOOOOOOOOOO!

Colton.

RAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Colton again.

RAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Colton for a third time.

RAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Dandy throws one more uppercut in desperation, but Colton ducks out of the way. This time de Lacy’s momentum causes him to lose his footing and he spins into the perfect position for Nate Colton to crush him with a back suplex.

The momentum of the move causes de Lacy to roll back to his feet, and he closes the gap between him and Colton to try and take him back to the canvas. The New Diamond blocks the attempt, scoops de Lacy up, and drives him straight down with a shoulder breaker.

Charles de Lacy gets back to his feet, but he stumbles and Colton is able to capture him in the position to deliver an exploder suplex. de Lacy counters with a leg block, then reaches up with his free hand to try and grab the ropes and further prevent the move, but instead sneaks in an eye rake when referee Barlow changes positions.

Nick Stuart: Referee Barlow’s patience really being put to the test tonight.

Richard Parker: She’s dealt with worse. And by that I mean a head referee with magic cologne and an airplane fetish.

Nick Stuart: I… (heavy sigh) Whatever.

The referee begins to admonish him for his actions, threatening a disqualification, de Lacy positions Nate as if for a powerbomb. Colton pushes back, stands up straight and tall, then grabs de Lacy and connects with the exploder at last.

As Charles de Lacy tries to get back to his feet, the camera zooms in on Nate Colton. The expression on his face reveals that he is well and truly sick of this nonsense, a fact made even more evident as he nods his head, pounds the mat once, and then powers up to a full vertical base.

Nick Stuart: Colton Clutch applied! Charles de Lacy trying to fight his way out of it!

Richard Parker: If Charles de Lacy can escape the Ooze Pits, then surely he can get out of this!

To his credit, he certainly tries. He ducks under, trying to reverse the hold into a hammerlock, but Colton is quick and applies a counter of his own. He grabs de Lacy’s arm by the wrist, tightening the hold like a vice before planting his feet and shifting his weight.

Nick Stuart: Colton! Clutch! Suplex!

Richard Parker: Wow, so extra, Nick.

ONE

TWO

THREE

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: The winner of this match… NAAAAAAAAAATE COLTONNNNNNN!!

The crowd reacts with thunderous applause as the New Diamond rises to his feet.

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton picks up the dub, and the New Diamond is back to his winning ways!

Richard Parker: (monotone) Yes. And we are all very, very happy about that.

Nick Stuart: (ignoring him) Nate Colton might be the official winner, but Dandy Charles de Lacy definitely put the roster on notice. He’s going to cause a lot of problems for a lot of people.

de Lacy rolls to the outside to gather his bearings with Mickey giving him a hand while Nate celebrates in the ring with his brother Blake.

Richard Parker: Fans, I’m Richard Parker, and remember to have your Coltons spayed or neutered.

Nick Stuart: Ugh. You said that already.

Richard Parker: It can’t be said enough, Nick.

And on that note, we move on.

CATCH UP ON THE ACE NETWORK

A bathroom.

A sink.

A Sketti Bucket.

Fred Dick in a three piece suit, top hat, monocle. Intense Title around his waist.

He claps his hands.

The lights go out.

He claps his hands twice.

They come back on.

The son of a bitch installed a clapper in the bathroom.

Fred Dick: (singing) We don’t haaaaave a jingle yet, but this is my fuggin’ shoooooooow!!! We finally won last week it was awesome, and this is my fuggin’ shooooooow!!! It’s Baffroom Fights and you better be ready, it’s mothafuggin’ Freddy and a Bucket of Skettiiiiiiii… which you win if you kick my ace! Bahaha!

Fred clears his throat.

Fred Dick: Last week, I made me some damn history. I finally won on my own fuggin’ tellervision show. Was it worth the wait? Fug no. But it was, as the kids say, fuggin’… sweeter den… sweeter den a damn… a damn… sour gummy worm’s tart, tart aceho’. Any fuggin’ way. Y’all know the GOTDAMN rules by now, and if ya don’t, yew shid outta fuggin’ luck because I explain it every fuggin’ week, and I’m fuggin’ done explainin’ it. Ain’t gon’ be no more explainin’. Besides, it’s just vibes, nawmean?

Fred claps.

Lights off.

Fred Dick: Oooh, what if I got fuggin’… nakeyyyy in the darrrrkkkk…

Fred claps twice.

Lights on. He’s still clothed.

Fred Dick: Naw, I’m just kiddin’. We havin’ fun. Dat’s all dat is. Anyway, next person to walk through dat baffroom door right over yunder? Dat’s gonna be da next mothafuggin’ contestuent on Baffroom Fights. Let’s see who it’s gonna be!

The King of Wrong Style has to wait all of a half second before the bathroom door swings open and the biggest jackass in Chicago since Ye swaggers into frame. He’s wearing a tight, light blue The Corner T-shirt with a VIP lanyard around his neck, printed board shorts that are half the Chicago flag on the left leg and half the Jeppson’s Malört logo on the right, Chicago Cubs slides, and red light-up LED sunglasses in the shape of the Chicago flag’s red stars.

He’s got a cup of beer in his hand. It’s probably a Goose Island Green Line IPA, because Old Style got run out of Chicago’s sports venues a few years back. Fuckin’ haters.

Fred Dick: Well who the fug’re yew?

Anywhere else, this man would be getting the boo-birds. But here, in the Windy City? The PRIMEates in the U-C are cheering.

The obnoxious sunglasses are lowered just slightly down the bridge of this guy’s nose as he regards Fred with contempt.

Man: I’m Johnny Dorn, dickhead. Who in the trailer trash Mr. Peanut lookin’ ass are you?

Outside the concrete walls of the bathroom, the pop is enormous.

Fred doesn’t look impressed.

Fred Dick: I’m the big dawg, mothafugger. I’m the man that used to have the big bambino in his shorts but now he’s got somethin’ more like a, oh, I don’t know, a cthulhu wet dream down there. I’m the PRIME Intense Champion. I’m the host of the show you just walked in on. Baffroom Fights with Freddy. And Sketti. We fight in dis here baffroom, and winner wins that Sketti Bucket in the sink – yew gotta put it over, though.

Fred walks right up to Dorn and pulls his shirt up, goes belly to raw belly.

Fred Dick: I’m the man, that thinks this city absolutely sucks, has a shiddy lookin’ flag, and a dumb ace nickname. That’s who tha fug I AM.

“Wrigleyville’s Finest” immediately rips his shitty sunglasses from his face and throws them against the wall where they shatter into a million shitty little plastic pieces.

Johnny Dorn: The fuck you just say to me?

Fred Dick grins a toothy grin.

Fred Dick: I said they call it the Windy City, on account of the fact the whole place smells like fards. Booty wind.

Johnny Dorn: The only thing that smells like farts is your dumb ass after eating that bullshit in that bucket over there.

The Clark Street Commissioner points to the bucket of Sketti, which hasn’t done a damn thing wrong in its life except for daring to exist.

Johnny Dorn: Nobody with half a fuckin’ brain fucks with Sketti Bucket, especially in this city. That’s trash ass chain restaurant suburbs shit.

Fred Dick smiles a “how fucking dare you?” smile. He calmly removes his hat in a “how fucking dare you?” manner, places it on the floor.

Fred Dick: Ya know, yew can insult me… yew can insult my mama, yew can insult my womern, hell, yew can even insult my unborn offspring who is actually the chimera baby of my best friend and Hayes Hamlon.

Fred takes off his jacket.

Fred Dick: But when yew insult my sponsors? Yew cross a muhfuggin’ line what can’t be uncrossed. Neow, way I see it? This can go one of two ways. Yew can apologize, get dat ace whooped just a lil bit, and go about ya bidness… OR… yew can not apologize, get dat ace whooped BIG TIME, ANNNND I’ll spray paint a weenis on the side of Wrigley Field. Hell, since the Cubs FUGGIN SUCK anyway, they might as well suck on dat too, don’t ya thank?

There are many things in this life that will set the Waveland Avenue Warrior off. Endless CTA station construction. Fare hikes. The Bears. That’s it, just The Bears, in toto. But nothing, nothing, sets Johnny Dorn off faster than someone talking shit about his beloved Cubbies.

Especially someone who looks like Fred. Talks like Fred. Doesn’t give a single fuck like Fred. And someone who isn’t from Chicago, like Fred.

Johnny doesn’t say a word. He throws his shitty $12 IPA in Fred’s face and punches him in the eye that has the monocle in front of it.

Fred Dick: ACK!!! NIGHT MODE!!! NIGHT MODE!!!

Fred claps.

He claps again.

Meanwhile Fred is getting punched into oblivion!

Fred slams against the outer stall walls, clapping vigorously.

The clapper must be malfunctioning.

Fred Dick: God damn clapper! 29.95 from the effects budget!

Fred swings a slap at Dorn, who absorbs the shot and then screams in Fred’s face.

Johnny Dorn: WHO’S GETTIN’ THEIR ASS WHOOPED NOW, SHITHEAD?!

Johnny pulls Fred’s button down shirt up over his head and keeps punching him in the face.

Johnny Dorn: I’m gonna punch you for every win the Cubs have this year, you jiggly little dumbass creampuff.

Fred, who is a Braves fan, which means he doesn’t follow baseball, heaves and nearly throws up in his own shirt, before taking a guess at that number.

Fred Dick: So like… eighteen times, prolly?

Johnny Dorn: TRY SIXTY, FUCKO.

Fred Dick: REALLY? God damn. Hell of a season.

Johnny Dorn: I know. We’re a half game out of first, fuck the Brewers.

Johnny punches Fred about 15 more times, then decides he’s had enough of that. He lets Fred go.

Fred Dick: Oh thank God it’s over!

No sooner do the words leave his mouth when Johnny’s back on him, hitting him with a jumping cutter outta nowhere!

Johnny Dorn: Enjoy that Shot of Malört, bitch.

Fred can barely breathe. He weakly points to the Sketti Bucket with a frail, trembling finger.

Fred Dick: (whispering as though dying) Eat the sketti… Put it over…

Johnny looks at the bucket, then at Fred.

He walks over to the sink. Picks up the bucket.

And dumps it on Fred’s head. Then he throws the bucket in the trash.

Johnny Dorn: If you want some real good pasta, hit up Mia Francesca’s on Clark Street. IN WRIGLEYVILLE. Tell ‘em “Wrigleyville’s Finest” Johnny Dorn sent ya.

Fred Dick angrily climbs up to his feet.

Fred Dick: Yew sorry ace sumbitch. God damn it! CUT THE CAMERAS!!! HE’S–

The bathroom door swings open. Sebastian Gold walks in. He totally no sells the entire scene, whistling as he walks to the Urinal.

A little smile and nod thrown at Fred.

Sebastian Gold: I’m coming for that Intense Title, Freddy.

Fred Dick: That is disgusting.

Sebastian Gold: Yeah, it’s gonna be… wait, no! Ugh, just put IT over, Fred. Because it’ll be mine soon.

Sebastian starts taking a piss. Fred looks at Dorn and points at Gold with his thumb in a “get a load of this guy” kind of way.

Johnny Dorn: I hope he kicks your bitch ass.

Fred Dick: You sound like my baby mama. Anyway, GET THE FUG OUTTA HERE. BAFFROOM FIGHTS IS OVER. Fuggin’ acehoe.

Dorn fakes a punch. Fred flinches.

Fred Dick: Fine. Fine. I’m goin’. Yeah, I’m fuggin’ goin’. Sorry ace sum benches. I won’t forget this, Dorn. I will be back in Chicago, and I will spray paint that weenis. Bass Gold, you just fugged your whole life up and don’t even know it yet. Stupid ace pieces of shid. Fuggin’ bastards.

Fred walks out the bathroom, continuing to rant and rave. Johnny checks his hair in the mirror and then also leaves, presumably to find more beer.

We cut away as Sebastian starts to wash his hands.

We regret to inform everyone that in this universe, at this time, Darude’s “Sandstorm” does indeed have lyrics. And they go like this:

Le-le-le-lemieux

STEVE Le-le-le-lemieux

Le-le-le-lemieux

Le-le-le-lemieux

Le-le-le-lemieux

Le-le-le-lemieux

Le-le-le-le-MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH-le-le-muh MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH-lemieux

Le-le-le-le-le-lemieux

Le-muh-le-muh-muh-lemieux

Now, the last couple of times we’ve heard these… ahem, lyrics… Steve Lemieux had come out to fuckin’ dead silence. Crickets. Even ghosts didn’t haunt this entrance. Tonight, however, he’s about to get actual goddamn cheers as he steps out from behind the curtains with his entourage like he’s… Well, like he’s running late to work on a hot summer evening unaware that he might just get mauled by a bear.

Vince Howard: This next contest is a second round match in the Seymour Almasy Memorial Tournament, and it is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from PEORIA, ILLINOIS!

RAHHHHHHH!!!

Oh. Yeah. We’re in Chicago. That’s why they’re cheering. They heard the name of their state! Yay!

Vince Howard: He weighs in tonight at one-hundred and eighty-three pounds of PURE! DAD! BOD! MAJESTY!

Vince Howard actually pauses to stare at his index card, bewildered. He had no idea who wrote that there, but since he’s basically Ron Burgundy, he still announced it.

He sighs.

Vince Howard: HE IS MR. BEEFEST! STEEEEEEVVVVEEEE!!! LEEEEEEMIEUUUUUUX!!!

By Lemieux’s side are two guys we’ve seen before, but will need a lot of reminders on who they all are. One of them is Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq. He requires a lot of introduction, but just know that he’s dressed in every single article of clothing he found in his closet. Another is Ollie Cade. He was in the Belmont last year. Don’t worry about him. “Rock Hard” Rick Hardbody isn’t around. You really don’t have to worry about him.

Nick Stuart: I’m feeling very worried about Mr. Lemieux’s entourage.

Richard Parker: Nah, it’s cool, we were told not to worry.

Nick Stuart: Oh, okay.

You know who we should be worried about?

Mr. Lemieux’s opponent.

“The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir erupts as Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Rulsan emerge from the backstage area. Stanislav and Ruslan raise their arms, side by side, roar at the crowd, and pointedly make their way towards the ring.

Vince Howard: His opponent… Hailing from Arkhangelsk in Russia… weighing in at FOUR! HUNDRED! POUNDS! THE RUSSIAN BEAR! IVAAAAAAAAAN STANISLAAAAAAAAVVVVV!!!

There are so many boos that you’d think we were in a Super Mario ghost house. Anyhoodle, Stanislav points and jaws at several fans along the way, while Ruslan points and hawks at the greatness of the Russian Bear.

Nick Stuart: Confident as ever is Ivan tonight.

Richard Parker: This match might as well be a bye. Steve Lemieux could just, I don’t know, forfeit.

Nick Stuart: I think if Steve knew that was an option, we’d never see him in a ring again.

Stanislav steps over the top rope and thunders into the ring. He raises his arms over his head and bellows at the camera.

Steve Lemieux, in his corner, looks like a man who is slowly realizing that he is in the ring with a man who might need his own zip code due to his size. Not that he’d ever have an American zip code, god.

DING DING

Something strange is happening in Chicago. It’s something that confuses one of the two men standing across from one another, because he’s just not used to something like this before.

LET’S GO STEVE!

LET’S GO STEVE!

LET’S GO STEVE!

A man better known for his sandwiches and undying love for American Gladiators than his wrestling acumen is absolutely bewildered by this support. Then again, he’s bewildered about a lot of things concerning this “wrestling” thing. He’s definitely bewildered by this gigantic man that looms in the Red Army side of the ring, standing there with a nonplussed expression on his face.

Steve Lemieux feels something resembling being emboldened.

He marches forward to fight this Russian juggernaut head-on, and…

BOOM.

…dies.

Nick Stuart: Stanislav opens early with a huge big boot!

Richard Parker: Hope nobody’s using this as their bathroom break, they might miss the whole match.

Lemieux does not react to this big boot like most professional wrestlers. He takes this boot and falls to the ground flailing like he just got pushed off a high rise building and he’s looking for any kind of handhold possible to save himself from going splat on the ground. This despite the fact that he was kicked in the face by a man who might need a specialized license just to walk down the road.

Ivan looks down at Lemieux, clearly wondering if he’s wasting his time. I mean, he is. He’s not murdering him on the spot right this second. But he clearly wonders if this is the best that the Almasy had to offer for him.

Steve Lemieux, meanwhile, looks like he’s trying to power focus on one specific bird that’s flying around his head right now. Maybe it reminds him of Laser. Either way, he is hoisted bodily from the ground by Ivan and thrown into the turnbuckles. Ivan held up one meaty paw and brought it down on Lemieux’s chest with a chop.

SMACK.

Steve Lemieux desperately wants to curl up into a tight ball and cry, but instead Ivan keeps him up and does it again.

SMACK.

Now, if you’ve ever been hit in the chest by a brick, then I want you to take that feeling and multiply it by ten and you’ll get a sense of what the Russian Bear is doing to this poor sandwich man. Brown bear maulings are kinder than what’s happening right now.

SMACK.

Ivan is doing Ivan things again. He grabs Lemieux and throws him bodily across the entire distance of the ring, and Lemieux tumbles and lands in the opposite corner. Momentum alone is what carries Lemieux to his feet again before his back hits the turnbuckles.

Ivan turns and puts his back on the turnbuckles opposite of Lemieux, now grinning.

Nick Stuart: I’ve seen a lot of mismatches in my time in PRIME, a lot of them having to do with Ivan, but…

Richard Parker: I think the bracketologists of the Almasy may have accidentally caused a murder.

Ivan charges.

And then something miraculous happens: Steve Lemieux has the awareness to move out of the way.

Okay, that’s not what actually happened.

What actually happened is that Steve is so deliriously out of breath from getting slapped in the chest several times by bear wearing a human’s skin that he falls through the ropes and to the outside. It just so happens that this occurred as Ivan is charging in on Lemieux in the corner. So, Ivan hits the turnbuckles hard and knocks the wind out of himself, while Lemieux lies on the apron bewildered as to what just happened.

Nick Stuart: I don’t know how it happened, but Steve Lemieux has got an opening!

The hometown crowd knows it, too.

LET’S GO STEVE!

LET’S GO STEVE!

LET’S GO STEVE!

The Peoria native doesn’t know why they chant for him, but he feels a kind of energy that he’s not felt before in a PRIME ring. He manages to roll back into the ring, and he grabs a dazed Ivan by the head. What happens next is something you usually only see in old-timey cartoons, which is that Lemieux is outright winding his arm up like a windmill. Then he delivers a punch that seems to actually rock Ivan.

Nick Stuart: A big right hand from Lemieux!

Richard Parker: That’s a combination of words that, when taken together, make absolutely no sense!

They make so little sense that even the crowd is taken aback by it. They decide to make the appropriate chant for Steve.

HOLY POOP!

HOLY POOP!

HOLY POOP!

Lemieux looks around. He’s feeling it. The crowd is behind him, and they’re definitely not cursing! This is great! His arm windmills around again.

BOOM!

That isn’t just Steve Lemieux making that sound as he hits Ivan again. That’s also the crowd. Steve winds up again and lands another punch.

BOOM!

Ivan does not sell. He’s so done with this nonsense. He grabs Lemieux by the neck and flings him into the turnbuckles just behind him. He swings a big hand towards Lemieux. No technique, just a battering ram in the shape of his hand. Steve ducks in that way that someone might duck a serial killer’s knife coming for them, hands over his head and scattering away like the leaves. Ivan’s hand hits the turnbuckle hard, and he comes away holding his hand in pain.

Nick Stuart: I can’t tell if Steve Lemieux is evading these strikes on purpose.

Richard Parker: I’m sure his whole entire skeleton thanks him for the evasion all the same.

Steve gets to his feet, and he’s faced with a dilemma that comes from not knowing at all what to do when he’s in a wrestling ring. The dilemma is that he has no idea at all what to do in this situation. Funny how that works. Then he remembers Laser. He remembers what Laser would do in this situation. Laser would breakthrough and fucking conquer. Oops. Sorry, Steve, that’s a swear. I’m going to heck now.

So, Steve Lemieux gets into a position like he’s ready to do a huge football tackle. He has, very likely, never done this before in his life. An apocryphal tale told by Peorian housewives hold that Steve Lemieux hissed like a cat thinking about football when he was a young man.

When Ivan turns around, Steve strikes. He charges Ivan, hits him in the leg, and grabs hold with all of his might. It almost looks like a textbook single leg pick. We should all be very impressed, buuuuut…

Ivan’s just standing there.

Menacingly.

Richard Parker: You know, most people in Steve’s position would probably flee for their lives.

Nick Stuart: I think Mr. Lemieux needs a few seconds before his survival instincts kick in.

Steve, belatedly, looks up to see a very angry seven foot tall Russian looming over him, wondering what the hell he is even doing. There’s a short beat of the two men locking eyes.

And then Steve runs for his fucking life.

Ivan gives chase.

Steve manages to throw himself through the middle and bottom ropes with the cat-like agility of a drunken uncle, only landing on his feet on the outside because he happened to be lucky enough to be aligned properly. Ivan slides under the bottom rope – no mean feat considering his bulk, and what occurs next is a merry chase around the ringside area.

Alexei Ruslan tries to move to intercept, but Lemieux accidentally shoulder-checks him as Ruslan is pulling out one of his many toys from his overcoat, and sends Alexei spinning. He doesn’t knock Alexei down, but Alexei is barely able to get out of the way of the Russian Bear before he runs him over.

Richard Parker: All we need now is some Benny Hill…

Almost on cue, the PA system fires up and, indeed, the Benny Hill theme starts playing.

Richard Parker: Thanks, sound guy!

Ivan’s expression turns quite foul at this development, as Lemieux keeps running from him and Ivan keeps chasing him. They go around the ring again. Dr. Badguy very quickly makes himself scarce as Ivan roars past him. When Lemieux reaches Alexei again, he seems ready this time… until Lemieux just keeps running past him before Alexei can even swing at him with his baton. Ivan runs past Alexei again, and is visibly having trouble keeping up if only because of his age and the fact that his speed is not meant for marathons like this.

Of course, Steve Lemieux is visibly winded by the time he gets halfway around the ring again, and he stops to catch his breath. As he slows down, so does the Benny Hill theme. If you’ve ever wanted to hear the Benny Hill theme if it were depressed, boy have we got the match for you. A Benny Valley theme, if you will.

Nick Stuart: Uh oh.

Nick’s “uh oh” is that Ivan has slowed down, but is now menacingly walking up to Steve Lemieux. Steve takes one look behind him, and quickly rolls into the ring to escape. Now, this is only a temporary reprieve. Ivan steps onto the apron and then over the top rope. It’s like Jason Vorhees chasing a very stupid teenager who thinks that the monster can’t see him if he obviously hides in a closet.

At this point, Ollie Cade jumps up onto the apron to confront Ivan.

Alexei Ruslan jumps up onto the apron, ready to interfere. He is stopped by none other than Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq, who actually manages to pull him off the apron in what might actually qualify as his first competent act ever. Alexei is pissed off and confronts Dr. Zeke.

This, as you might imagine, is going to go extremely poorly for just about everyone involved that isn’t Russian.

In the ring, Steve Lemieux is clenching his fists like he wants to do a couple more cool windmill punches. The fans yearn for cool windmill punches. However, you wouldn’t be able to tell that from all of the booing.

Nick Stuart: Wait a damn second! Who is…

The answer to that question that doesn’t quite leave Nick Stuart’s lips before Steve Lemieux gets his face kicked in by a Coup de Coeur is none other than Luc Labelle. The man that Lemieux had upset in the first round of the Almasy through less-than-legal means. He stands over the fallen Lemieux with a satisfied expression.

Meanwhile… Oops. Mr. Cade has ceased to be a living human man and has become a projectile. That can’t be good for anyone’s health. As referee Elvis Nixon looks down at him through the ropes to compel him to stop interfering in the match, Ivan turns to see Luc Labelle standing over his opponent. Their eyes meet.

Labelle decides to make himself scarce, and that leaves Steve Lemieux at the very tender mercy of a Russian Bear that definitely has run out of any of that useless shit. He bodily pulls Lemieux up, and…

Nick Stuart: RED SCARE!

Remember that analogy earlier about the guy being pushed off of a high-rise building when we started this match? Steve Lemieux is a man being pushed out of an airplane without a parachute. He flies through the air flailing and crashes to the canvas hard enough that you might expect a crater where he landed.

Ivan places one foot on Lemieux’s chest and waits for the academic three-count.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Ivan gives Elvis Nixon the stinkeye because he thought said academic three-count should’ve been faster, but he raises his arms in triumph as he literally walks over Lemieux’s corpse. Alexei is there, after concluding a particularly irritating conversation with Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq. that only served to piss him off, helping to raise Ivan’s arm in triumph.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match and moving on to the quarter-finals of the Almasy… IVAAAAAAAAAANNNNNN!!!! STAAAAAAAAAAAANISLAAAAAAVVVVVV!!!!

More boos. So many more boos.

Nick Stuart: Well, I think Steve Lemieux tried, but Luc Labelle put a stop to that.

Richard Parker: It’s Ivan! What could he have done!?

Nick Stuart: Nevertheless, Ivan is moving on in the Almasy, and… We might need a spatula for Mr. Lemieux and friends.

ReVival 72 moves on with the image of a victorious Red Army standing triumphant in the ring.

The feed goes backstage to the V-VIP Room, where Simon Tillier is standing by with members of Vae Victis — the VVingmen, Scott Hunter and Kerry Kuroyama, along with PRIME’s own Merry Mischief Maker, Ami Troy.

Everyone is in their own world. The junior interviewer and aspiring artist of anarchy is at present preoccupied with a small notepad in his free hand. Scott, looking somewhat distracted, fidgets and flusters anxiously. Ami, with Kerry’s Five Star Title on her shoulder, is fixated on her phone, thumbs firing off a hundred texts a second in the NWT group chat.

Kerry is the only one looking around, confused, wondering why the interview isn’t happening.

Simon Tillier: Hey Kerry, can I ask you something?

Kerry Kuroyama: Um… sure. I mean, it’s kinda why you’re here, right?

Simon Tillier: Naw, I just love spending my time around you people. Pfft… look, I could use a second brain here to help finish this new song. I’m having trouble deciding between these two lines, so I need your opinion on which one is better.

Kerry Kuroyama: Alright. What’s the first line?

Simon Tillier: “Systems of oppression lead to generations of regression in a new age of aggression under endless transgressions.”

Kerry ponderously pinches his chin.

Kerry Kuroyama: Okay… and the other?

Simon Tillier: “Up yours and go to hell, you boot-licking, knuckle-dragging jock ape, I hope you drown diving for NFTs in a circus porta-potty.”

Kerry skeptically scratches at his head.

Kerry Kuroyama: Hmm… what was the title of the song again?

Simon Tillier: I’m going with “Terminate the Hick-ler Youth”.

Kuroyama spends a few seconds thinking it over, then nods as he comes to a decision.

Kerry Kuroyama: You know, Simon, just going with my gut here, but I kinda feel like that first one rolls off the tongue a little better.

Simon Tillier: …really, hmm…

Tillier scratches something off the notepad before tucking it away and turning his attention to the camera.

Simon Tillier: Well, that takes care of that… which means HEY KIDS, it’s that time of the week again where we hear from the brilliant minds over in Vae Victis. I’m here with Five Star Champion and lyrical genius Kerry Kuroyama, consummate enemy of Free Speech Scott Hunter, and…

He pauses when the sound of fingertips rapidly clacking against a phone screen comes to a sudden halt. He glances over, sees Ami giving him the side eye, and thinks better of it.

Simon Tillier: …um… Kerry’s very talented manager, Miss Ami Troy.

Smiling, Ami returns to texting immediately.

Simon Tillier: Well, gentlemen, tonight… hmm? Wha…?

Feeling something tug at his pant leg, Tillier looks to the floor. The camera pans down to catch Kerry Koalayama looking up at him, wearing his own custom-made “MASTER OF KOALITY” Sabbath tribute t-shirt.

Simon Tillier: Ahh, yes… and who could forget the famed inventor of the very popular “Salty Bitch Detector”… Kerry Koalayama. Excited about tonight, buddy?

Kerry Koalayama answers in the form of an auspicious belch. The camera returns to Simon.

Simon Tillier: Well, at least someone here has something useful to contribute. Anyway, gentlemen, tonight both of you are set to compete in the Almasy Tournament, though given the opposition, I think it’s fair to say that Vae Victis may be hard-pressed to make it through to the next round. Scott… I can’t help but notice you’re looking as nervous as a Paramount executive after the South Park premiere. Naturally, a match against a former two-time Universal Champion and Glue representative like Hayes Hanlon would make anyone feel that way. Could you, in a manner that doesn’t involve punching me in the face, tell us what’s going through your head right now?

Scott doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even look at Simon. He appears to be looking down at about a forty-five-degree angle and not focusing on anything. He’s just staring at nothing.

Simon Tillier: Scott?

Still nothing. Now Scott seems to be muttering something to himself, but we can’t make it out.

Simon Tiller: SCOTT!!

Scott Hunter: (startled) I like the first line better!

Simon Tiller: Yes, we established that earlier. I asked you how you’re feeling about your imminent match with Hayes Hanlon.

Scott Hunter: (spacing out again and muttering to himself, a little louder this time) He’s smart… I’m not smart… and he’s won like a jillion times… I haven’t won a jillion times… and both of his names start with the same letter like a Spiderman villain… I don’t know if I can beat a Spiderman villain… I don’t have webs…

Scott gets a little louder and more direct as he turns his attention to Simon now.

Scott Hunter: Simon, do you have webs?

Simon blinks once or twice.

Simon Tillier: No, I do not have webs.

Scott drifts off again.

Scott Hunter: I don’t have webs either… what if I’m not good enough… what if I don’t win… what if I trip on the way to the ring… why do they call it a ring?… It’s more of a square… remember that show Square Pegs?… Sarah Jessica Parker looked better after the nose job… I wonder if Hayes Hanlon would look better after a nose job… what if he hits me in the nose?… what if I need a nose job after this?… Hayes was so upset about what I said to him, maybe I should apologize… I once apologized to a pencil for breaking it; it looked so betrayed… I’ve trained so hard for this… do potatoes dream of being mashed or do they fear it? I’d like to ask one gently… maybe hiccups are your body’s way of reminding you it has rhythm… if toast always lands butter-side down, maybe butter is just trying to hug the floor… I wonder if I should work the knee a little more before attempting to apply the figure four… that rhymed…

Simon, dumbfounded, turns and stares at Kerry. Ami giggles.

Kerry Kuroyama: You’re the one who asked him what was going through his mind. This one’s on you.

Simon sighs, then nods his head.

Simon Tillier: I did kinda walk right into that one.

Kerry motions toward Scott, so Simon figures, might as well try again.

Simon Tillier: AHEM! Scott, about your match…

Scott Hunter: (startled) UM… I like the first line better.

Hunter gets lost in his thoughts once more and starts wandering around the room. With a beleaguered sigh, Tillier decides just to leave it and turns the other way to face Kerry.

Simon Tillier: And of course, Kerry, you’re scheduled to face off with the reigning Intense Champion, Fred Dick. Let me first ask you, Ami, what you’ve done to prepare “The Emerald Apex” for this battle that will pit champion against champion.

Ami Troy: Well Si Guy, first thing I did was go to Lowes and buy a bunch of spray paint cans. Then me and the Trash went to Oregon to get some Four Lokos because it’s banned in Washington State, can you believe that?!?!!

Simon Tillier: Um… no, I did not know that. That does sound rather loco, though.

Ami Troy: (continuing like she didn’t hear him) Then when we got back Angel and Bex drank the Four Lokos while me and Kerry Koalayama sat on Kerry’s back and made him do a bunch of pushups. After that he had to go spar with his trainer while fending off Bex and Angel, who were really trashed by this point (no pun intended), who acted like Dumbtona and Anna Shit For Brains.

Simon Tillier: That sounds like a lot. What about the paint, though.

Ami Troy: Hm?

Simon Tillier: The spray paint. Did you make Kerry huff it or anything.

The Tiniest Troy gives Simon a weird look.

Ami Troy: No. Ew, Simon, no. They were for an art project I’m working on. You’re so weird sometimes.

Simon Tillier: (blowing raspberries) I see… in that case, let’s switch over to you, Kerry. Some have suggested that this match is a meeting of polar opposites. Your thoughts on that?

Kerry squints.

Kerry Kuroyama: …we’re opposites?

Simon Tillier: I mean… yeah? Given how irreverent, comical, and, um, outright sloppy your opponent is in both appearance and personality, a case could be made that he represents a living antithesis to the man who’s all about “gettin’ serious”.

Kuroyama shrugs.

Kerry Kuroyama: Well, sure… It’s no secret that I pride myself on taking this sport seriously, Simon. You know I can’t help that. I realize some find it boring, but really, it’s just who I am to the core. And sure, I had to beat the shit out of a pair of twin magicians last week who were henching for some Ernst Blofeld-obsessed asshole. And yeah, we were driven here tonight by a man dressed in a Halloween Grim Reaper outfit. And okay, I’ve adopted a koala bear that’s perpetually stoned and still somehow has the engineering skills of Tony fucking Stark. But you know, regardless of whatever crazy shit the world throws at me, gettin’ serious is just my way of gettin’ through it all. Enduring the chaos, to focus on what really matters…

He holds out his hand. Without even looking up from her phone, Ami slings over the Five Star Title for the champ to hold up.

Kerry Kuroyama: Like reminding those people that these stars still represent oft-forgotten virtues in this sport, like excellence, commitment, and hard work. But Freddie and his Whorespeople ain’t about that life. For them, it’s following these delusions that they are great and almighty “disruptors” to a “system” that exists only in their head, by being willing to do in the ring what any average homeless person off the street would do for twenty bucks.

Simon Tillier: Do you think this match represents a clash that will prove which of your two championships is superior?

Kerry Kuroyama: Simon, comparing these stars to Fred’s belt is on the level of the two of us in a dick-measuring contest. For obvious reasons, there’s no contest to be had. Don’t mistake this for any sort of spiritual battle. As the Intense Champion, he’s got his quaint, garbage-filled playpen over there in his own space, where he and all his like-minded infantile friends are free to do whatever stupid shit it is they do to themselves and each other, all for the enjoyment of a waning group of fans with short-attention spans who tune in to watch something more absurd than the world they’re already living in. Meanwhile, I’m over here fighting for the adults—those who watch wrestling for the sake of wrestling. Not to laugh, but to think. To feel. To hope. To goddamn watch offensive and obnoxious pretenders get the shit kicked out of them. Sure, we’re opposites. But really, I couldn’t care less which of our two championships is “better” in the eyes of the fans, because all I’m focused on tonight is scraping that flabby fuck’s hairplugs off the canvas and moving on to round three. Take it from me, Simon… I’m surrious.

Tillier nods thoughtfully.

Simon Tillier: Well, you certainly sound that way. In any case, gentlemen, best of luck tonight in your respective contests. Real quick, before we sign off, let me just plug my band’s new demo, “Simon Says Swallow Your Cyanide Capsules Like Good Little Americans”. You can get your copy on an independently-made cassette at our upcoming show, live at the Waffle House. Until next time, I’m “Rhymin’” Simon Tillier, and…

Simon trails off, noticing that Scott Hunter has wandered back into frame, and his muttering has returned in full force.

Scott Hunter:  …I dreamed of spaghetti that knew karate… I don’t know karate… karate might be helpful in my match if I learned it… I think clouds are just sky marshmallows… I wonder what would happen if I threw Simon through a window… would the glass break?… would his face break?…

Simon Tiller: Uhhhhhhh…. Gotta go…

With that, Simon bolts from the room.

Kerry puts a hand on Scott’s shoulder, which gets his attention.

Scott Hunter: I like the first line better.

Kerry Kuroyama: Scott, Simon’s gone.

Scott looks around.

Scott Hunter: Oh.

Kerry Kuroyama: I can tell you’re nervous and freaking out a little bit. You’ve done a great job getting ready for this tournament. No matter what happens out there, trust your instincts. Alright? Take a deep breath. It’ll be alright.

Scott nods and takes that deep breath.

Kerry gestures toward the door, and the two of them walk out of frame. Ami, again texting, follows.

ReVival moves on.

The D locks eyes with Elise Ares as the two sit opposite one another in the Pop Culture Phenoms’ locker room. Sitting between them, watching intently, is Klein, his eyes jumping back and forth between the pair from beneath a box.

Elise extends her palms outward, toward the D, like a priest giving a sermon, while her partner extends his arms like Boris Karloff playing Frankenstein’s monster.

The pair’s eyes never waiver as their hands sit just centimeters apart.

Just like zen warriors they remain focused. Calm. Locked in. They-

SLAP!

Elise Ares: Gotcha bitch!

Klein: Point Elise. That’s three.

Elise Ares: AND another victory. So say it again – I’m FINE. This is ridiculous. It’s almost time for our match.

The D shakes off his hands, wincing as he does. Ares leans back in her chair triumphantly smug with a smirk on her face. Her arms in the air in victory before crossing them across her chest.

The D: Best five out of seven! I wasn’t ready.

The Leading Lady rolls her eyes.

Elise Ares: D, BBY, darling… I could do this all day. Superior reflexes? Not exactly your strong suit… but you’re good at a lot of things. Like, hmm… all that negotiating stuff and directing people. You know how to put all the right people in all the right places plus, you do a GREAT job of making me look good. What more could a girl ask for?

The D: Look, even if you were “fine” the numbers still don’t add up. You saw that earlier, right? That creepy Count Chocula knock off is going to be in the Green Vale Gang’s corner tonight and if Ned is there too.

Elise begins to gag but holds it together long enough to reply.

Elise Ares: We did that stupid news thing, he’s supposed to be on our side!

The D: Exactly!

Elise Ares: So then what do you suggest, D? We just ditch and head straight to the club? If that’s the case I’m totes down but we need to swing by the hotel real quick because there is no way I’m wearing my wrestling gear for the rest of the night.

The D frowns, furrowing his brow.

The D: Dammit… where the hell is that Blaze kid, anyways? At least if he were here we’d have some even numbers.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

All three of them look toward the door. Klein is the first one to speak up.

Elise Ares: Dammit! Where the hell is my FIST of DEFIANCE anyway? At least if it were here we’d-

Klein: I don’t think that’s how that works.

…

The D: Is it?

Elise doesn’t have time for hypotheticals and steps around The D and makes her way to the door and opens it – her eyes wide as she looks at the scene in front of her. It wasn’t the FIST of DEFIANCE as she’d hoped but something a little more unexpected.

It’s Sonja. Mascara is streaking down her cheeks in giant globs, droplets sliding down to her chin and then onto a dirt-covered white and blue bedazzled robe with rhinestones and fringe. She clutches the robe tightly and sobs and rushes into the arms of Elise Ares – well, she would have if Elise didn’t side step to avoid the dirt-covered garment.

Sonja drops to her knees and lets out another sob as Elise shrugs at the D before bending down and reluctantly putting a hand on Sonja’s shoulder.

Elise Ares: I’ve been there before but don’t worry, BBY. We’ll totes take this back to the dry cleaners and demand a refund. This is unacceptable.

Sonja shakes her head, her breaths slowing but still staggered and shaky.

Sonja Cuchilla: No. No… This is… Blaze’s. It’s what… he was wearing… that night. When he disappeared.

The D cocks his head slightly.

The D: Why is it all dirty?

Sonja slams the robe on the ground.

Sonja Cuchilla: I don’t KNOW! But it was waiting for me tonight in my dressing room.

Elise Ares: Wait… you have your own dressing room? Someone get Lindsay Troy in here NOW.

Sonja Cuchilla (weakly): It’s a broom closet….

The D: Well, that would make sense why the robe was in there.

Elise Ares: Mystery solved. We’re fucking miracle workers.

Sonja stands up and shakes the robe wildly at Klein.

Sonja Cuchilla: It shouldn’t be here at all! Not unless he’s here! Or unless…

Sonja doesn’t finish the thought, lowering her head and quietly sobbing, letting the robe now fall to the ground.

It takes every ounce of Elise’s strength to pull her eyes from the pile of dirty fabric on the floor as she wraps her arm around Sonja and gently guides her toward the locker room’s shower area.

Elise Ares: It’s okay BBY the PCP are here to take care of you now. So let’s get you washed up and then you can come with us down to the ring for our match. Maybe it’ll help get your mind off of… whatever this was.

Klein: Blaze.

The D: Dammit, where IS that Blaze kid, anyways?

Elise Ares: D! Be supportive. She’s in mourning… I think.

Sonja looks up, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Sonja Cuchilla: You mean it? I can… join you?

Elise nods and shoots a knowing glance over to The D and Klein. The D steps forward and flashes a forced, but perfect smile that makes Sonja’s breath catch in her throat.

The D: In fact, we were just saying how we were in need of some help tonight. You’re a real life saver, Sonja. Just like in Lucha Morta, Amor Inmortal.

Sonja Cuchilla (eyes widening even further): Oh my God. You… actually watched it?

Elise Ares: Yeah, the D’s a real carnivore of movies.

The D: Connoisseur.

Elise Ares (snaps): Ugh, you know English isn’t my first language and you know what I meant. BBY go and get yourself washed up and we’ll be waiting for you just outside, okay? Then, after our match, we’ll get to the bottom of this – together. We’re quite the sleuths, unless it is going to be a lot of work – in which case we’ll hire a Dick Marlow or Sam Tracy.

Sophia wipes at her eyes.

Sophia Cuchilla: I did love her last album…

Elise gives The D a glare as PCP begins to step backward, giving Sonja space to collect herself. Sonja watches, mouthing the words “thank you” as she smiles weakly and waits for the door to finally click shut.

Sonja, eyes blurry from her tears, looks down at Blaze’s robe lying empty in the corner of the room. Her expression lingers on the scene for just a beat before she turns around to face a nearby mirror.

Sonja takes a deep breath and lets her head hang back as she lifts her hands and begins to wipe the smeared makeup from her face, letting out a sigh of relief.

Sonja Cuchilla: You’ve still got it, girl. You’ve still got it.

ReVival moves on.

Nick Stuart: What a match we just saw a little bit ago, huh Richard?

Richard Parker: I don’t think I can unsee it, Nick. That’s the problem.

Nick Stuart: Sometimes the Almasy Tournament gives us some iconic showdowns and other times it gives us psychological trauma. You can’t win them all.

Richard Parker: I thought that was the whole point of the tournament – to win them all.

Nick Stuart: …

Richard Parker: Don’t look at me like that. What did I say that was so offensive?

Nick Stuart: You actually made an intelligent point. That’s what.

The lights dim. Not all the way. Softly. What light remains casts a gentle, yellow-orange hue around the arena as the jingle-jangling guitar of “Cigarette Daydreams” by Cage The Elephant hits the speakers.

Did you stand there all alone?
Oh, I cannot explain what’s goin’ down
I can see you standin’ next to me
In and out somewhere else right now

And out steps two young men, not even old enough to drink, in tweed suits you’ll never be able to afford, led by DOCTOR Ned Reform. Handsome bone structure, classic haircuts, it’s all very academic, in an elite prep school way. In another life, the pair would be the worst characters in a Fitzgerald novel. Hugo Vale, old American money reincarnated as a smug, brash asshole, and Daniel Green, a battle-tested gentleman who has made the most of his ample opportunities.

You sigh, look away
I can see it clear as day
Close your eyes, so afraid
Hide behind that baby face
Do-do-do
Do-do-do

They are imminently easy to hate, the way their childish hearts allow them to wrap their arms around each other’s shoulders, and sing their own theme music like drunk lads at a bar together, just as the bass and drum touch the track.

You can drive all night
Lookin’ for the answers in the pourin’ rain
You wanna find peace of mind
Lookin’ for the answer

Ned allows them to enjoy the moment, though his face conveys the concern a father might have when his children are being mildly embarrassing. Hugo and Daniel are in their own privileged, youthful world as they almost dance together down to the ring, a giggliness to their behavior that betrays the kind of carefree attitude that most people can’t afford.They glide up the stairs and walk to either side of the apron, before stepping through the ropes in unison.

Vince Howard: At a combined weight of three-hundred-and-eighty-three pounds… Daniel Green, Hugo Vale… THE GREEN VALE GANG!

Hugo and Daniel meet Ned Reform in the center of the squared circle. There, in front of the hoi polloi that is the PRIME fanbase, they pose, and soak in the jeers. Ned exchanges handshakes with both competitors, before exiting the ring as the pair move to their corner.

Richard Parker: You think Dr. Reform’s training did the job this week, Nick?

Nick Stuart: For Daniel and Hugo’s sake they better hope so. I’d hate to see what Ned has in store for them if they rack up another loss.

Suddenly, in the corner, Daniel Green seems to begin unbuttoning his dress shirt as Ned Reform watches intently from ringside. Soon, the Green Vale Gang member completely disrobes – jacket, shirt, and pants – to reveal a pair of MMA trunks.

Nick Stuart: Woah. This is a first from PRIME’s own prep school pretty boys. Is this premaddona petulance or personal pride? Parker?

Richard Parker: Puck off.

I live for the night, I live for the lights
I live for the high ’til I’m free falling
I live for the night, I live for the lights
I live for the high ’til I’m free falling (Falling)

“Live For The Night” by Krewella hits as we see the arrival of the Pop Culture Phenoms at top of the rampway. First we see the team’s associate, Klein, appear with a cocky smile on his face, already locking eyes with Ned Reform before the pair of Elise Ares and The D emerge, heads held high and with a look of absolute disdain on their faces.

Vince Howard: And their challengers! They are THE D and ELISE ARES…. THE POP CULTURE PHEEEEEEENOMS!

However, the entrances aren’t done as, sheepishly, Sonja Cuchilla also appears, flanking Elise Ares on the opposite side of Klein. Elise gives Sonja a nod of confidence as the foursome begin to make their way down to the ring.

Nick Stuart: Woah. Now that’s a surprise … do you think Sonja has ditched Blaze for the Pop Culture Phenoms?

Richard Parker: Hard to say, Nick, but if my boyfriend was last seen getting beaten near to death by a man who was basically in a coma a few days prior and whose most notable accomplishment in PRIME to his point is pissing, shitting, and bleeding himself into a match with The Anglo Luchador… I’d be having second thoughts too.

Sonja and Klein peel off to the side of the ring opposite Ned Reform as Elise and Ned happen to catch each other’s eyes. Ned’s face goes red as he blushes and tries to look away meanwhile, Elise looks away as well – but instead to dry heave.

Referee Jimmy Turnbull slides into the ring as a stone-faced Hugo Vale, still clad in his suit, steps forward, mirrored on the opposite side by The D, who flashes Elise a thumbs up before stepping toward the center of the squared circle.

Jimmy raises his hands, checks on each fighter, and then signals for the bell.

DING DING

Hugo Vale immediately reaches up and looks to get the D in a headlock, but The Director manages to shove the lighter Vale backwards a couple steps.

The two men circle each other for several seconds before they lock up once again, this time both trying to gain the upper hand in a rock-paper-scissors style gambit! The slightly taller D opts to wrap his arms around Hugo’s upper torso while Hugo, previously going for the head, instinctively reaches for the D’s waist!

Richard Parker: Woah! I mean – NO!

Nick Stuart: Hugo just unintentionally placed himself in the perfect position for the D to a D-D-D T! And the Green Vale Gang member’s bell is rung!

Richard Parker: That’s offensive, Nick! He’s not a gang member – if anything he’s a mob member.

Nick Stuart: It’s literally in their name, Richard.

The D stands up from driving Hugo’s head into the mat as a frustrated Ned Reform does not like how this match is starting and begins slapping the ring apron. But it doesn’t phase the Director as he goes for a quick roll-up pin!

ONE!

T-

Hugo kicks out quickly, much to the relief of their manager.

The D goes to lift Hugo up for a follow up move but gets a stiff strike to the skull for his troubles as Hugo rolls backward and uses his momentum to do some sort of modified pinwheel kick!

Both men are on one knee now and they immediately lock up again! Hugo wraps his arm around the D’s neck while D matches Hugo’s move and the pair begin to wail on each other in the center of the ring with their free fists, blow for blow, until-

Nick Stuart: A headlock takedown by Hugo!

Hugo strains as he tries to pop the D’s head like a zit. Turnbull drops to the mat to see if the D wants to give up but gets waived away as he tries to pry himself free from Hugo’s hold! A clearly frustrated Vale winches even harder, but in doing so his grip somehow slips as his arms slide up and over the D’s head!

Richard Parker: Classic Hollywood move, Nick! Baby oil on the forehead to make it glisten.

Nick Stuart: I just think the D is really sweaty…

A visibly frustrated Hugo opts to head to the nearby ropes and pushes himself forward toward his opponent and launches forward with a missile dropkick that connects squarely with the D’s sternum! The Director is propelled backward as Hugo picks himself up and looks for a pin!

Richard Parker: What a move! Looks like Dr. Reform’s training has paid off!

Nick Stuart: I’m not so sure, Richard, look!

Just as Hugo is looking to drop and make the cover, the D is yanked from the ring by Sonja Cuchilla and Klein!

Nick Stuart: It looks like the Green Vale Gang are getting a taste of their own medicine here early on, Richard!

Richard Parker: Slander!

Hugo is clearly hot as he begins to yell at Turnbull to call the match immediately. Instead, as Hugo has the referee’s attention, we see Dr. Ned Reform make a line toward the pair but he is stopped in his tracks as Elise Ares drops from her corner and cuts him off!

Reform is taken aback and possibly even a bit smitten as Elise approaches, buying time for her partner to recover!

Then, suddenly, the lights go out.

RAAAAAAWR!

The crowd goes wild as the arena is pitched into darkness.

Nick Stuart: What the hell!? I can’t see a damned thing.

Richard Parker: That’s the windy city for you, Nick!

Nick Stuart: What is that supposed to mean!?

The lights flicker back to life as we suddenly find The D back in the ring, laying on his back, as Sonja and Klein are knocked out on the outside – and standing over them are Max Kael and Snark Darkly!

Richard Parker: The odds have been evened up, Nick! Thank goodness Arkham’s next mayor has arrived to restore order!

Nick Stuart: Where did you learn to count, Richard!? The odds aren’t even, they’re odd again! And I’m not just talking about Snark Darkly and his smile.

Hugo drops to the mat immediately for the cover, seeing the prone D! Turnbull, unphased, goes for the count.

ONE!

TWO!

TH-

KICKOUT

Nick Stuart: The D manages to stay alive! But chaos seems to be ensuing around the ring as now Max Kael, Snark Darkly, and Ned Reform are trying to isolate Klein and Sonja from providing any more support to the Pop Culture Phenoms!

Just as the D begins to come to and pick himself up off the mat, a frustrated Hugo removes his jacket and WRAPS IT AROUND THE D’S THROAT!

Hugo yanks the tweed tightly around his opponent’s larynx as Jimmy Turnbull begins to yell at the young fighter, warning him about a possible disqualification. Hugo doesn’t seem to care as he just pulls the fabric tighter and the D begins to swipe wildly at his throat, his face turning red.

Nick Stuart: If Hugo isn’t careful here, he’s going to get Green Vale Gang disqualified!

Richard Parker: I can’t believe Turnbull is falling for such a clear example of overacting! This is what these Hollywood types do, Nick!

Nick Stuart: The D’s a director, Richard. Not an actor!

Richard Parker: That’s exactly why I can’t believe Turnbull is falling for this!

As Hugo pulls even tighter, he turns to look as his partner is extending his arm for a tag! Daniel Green nods, his eyes focused, as if the pair has been preparing for this moment!

Hugo nods back as he suddenly shoves the D toward his partner and, as he does, lets a giant ball of spit fly from his mouth! A disoriented D stumbles to the corner as the loogie hits Daniel’s palm and then his palm SLAPS D across the face!

The crowd roars as The Director falls to the mat in a slump and Hugo goes to make the tag official! The Green Vale Gang manage to connect, making Daniel Green the active opponent, but just as the tag is made, Daniel gets YANKED from his corner by Sonja Cuchilla!

Nick Stuart: Oh shit! Daniel just took a five foot drop squarely on his chin!

Richard Parker: Just another example of how the lower class are keeping the wealthy down, Nick!

Ned Reform rushes over to chase Sonja away, giving the opportunity for Klein to begin dragging the D back to his corner! Hugo Vale is jawing at the ref, focused on Sonja, and not realizing what is going on behind him!

Kael clocks the situation quickly, and rushes over to the Pop Culture Phenom’s corner, but he’s a second too late! Klein, using the distraction caused by Sonja, gets enough momentum to raise the D’s hand and connect it solidly with a fresh and furious Elise Ares!

Nick Stuart: Tag made! And Elise looks PISSED!

The other half of the Pop Culture Phenoms pushes herself against the nearby ropes, eyes locked on a distracted Hugo Vale, as she rushes forward and CONNECTS with a vicious corkscrew dropkick that sends Hugo over the ropes and to the outside!

Reform and Ares lock eyes again, but there is no love lost this time as she flips the doctor off and yells something that makes the veteran go from blushed to burning.

But, as the two rivals share visual barbs, the legal member of the Green Vale Gang, Daniel Green, has now made his way into the ring and is positioned behind an unaware and defenseless Elise Ares.

Nick Stuart: OH GOD!

A calculating and callous Daniel Green just DROPS Elise to the mat with a snap pumphandle driver!

Elise rolls over, dazed and prone, as a focused Daniel Green begins to lift the Pop Culture Phenom member up and immediately drops to the mat with a vicious looking brain buster!

Richard Parker: Christ! Daniel is a man possessed. I don’t think he wants to win this match, I think he wants to literally KILL Elise Ares in that ring right now.

Nick Stuart: The recent losses by Hugo and Daniel may have impacted the pair more than we thought, Richard. Daniel isn’t going for the pin, he just wants to keep punishing Elise Ares!

Elise is semi-conscious as Daniel Green lifts her up for a third time and SLAMS the Pop Culture Phenom member to the mat with a vicious spine buster! He is absolutely furious as the prone Elise Ares lies motionless on the mat.

Meanwhile, outside the ring, Dr. Ned Reform has managed to push back Sonja Cuchilla and Klein, boxing the pair in with Max Kael on his flank as the D remains incapacitated.

Daniel Green sizes up the situation and quickly rolls out of the ring, lifting his partner up and helping him through the ropes. Somehow, Elise Ares begins to rise to her feet, but is staggering and unbalanced.

The similarly groggy, but more cognizant Hugo Vale understands the assignment as he drops to the mat and lets Daniel shove Elise over his back, before following up with a flurry of punches!

Nick Stuart: They call this one Ritual Hazing, Richard!

Richard Parker: All they need now is a paddle and some ball gags!

Nick Stuart: …

Daniel steps aside so Hugo can lift Elise up to finish the job, but as he does, the D re-enters the ring!

The other half of the Pop Culture Phenoms rushes forward, looking to take out one or both of the Green Vale Gang, but just as he manages to push off, Ned Reform and Max Kael grab his legs and hold him prone!

The D is forced to watch as a smirking Hugo Vale grabs ahold of Elise’s skull, preparing for a finishing blow! But as he does, a now-unemcumbered Sonja Cuchilla slides into the ring only to be stopped by referee Jimmy Turnbull!

Daniel Green, seizing the opportunity, pushes off the ropes and runs full force toward his partner and drives a lifted knee strike into Elise Ares’ face just as Hugo drops her with an inverted Russian leg sweep!

Nick Stuart: St. Georges Revenge! Elise is out!

Jimmy Turnbull turns his attention away from Sonja and drops to the mat, realizing what has happened! A shocked Sonja tries to claw at the referee, leaping onto his back as he continues to make the count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: And your winners by pinfall… THE GREEEEEEEEN VAAAAAAAALE GAAAANG!

A defeated looking Sonja Cuchilla rolls off of Jimmy Turnbull’s back as Klein holds his head in his hands and the D falls to his knees in frustration. Meanwhile, a smiling Ned Reform extends his hand to Snark Darkly who flashes what could be interpreted as teeth at the Green Vale Gang’s manager.

Hugo and Daniel collect themselves in the corner as Sonja tries to help Elise up off the mat. As she does, Max Kael slides into the ring and stands over Elise and Sonja. The future mayor of Arkham looks down at the duo as he reaches into his suit jacket pocket and pulls out a pair of high-end, red tinted sunglasses.

Kael watches as Sonja’s eyes go wide at first but then meet his gaze with matched intensity. He smirks before tossing the glasses at Sonja and Elise, letting them slide across the mat before turning his back to the pair and joining Hugo and Daniel to help them out of the ring.

ReVival continues on.

After the intense tag team action the showfeed cuts backstage to the Bandits. There, the unholy trinity of Cancer JIles, Tony Gamble, and Ian Hess are gathered around a monitor.

Call it a rare occurrence outside the carton.

Tony and Ian are casually dressed down in EB tracksuits, while Jiles on the other hand, who is in action later on tonight in the MAIN EVENT, is in his ring gear: salted over boots, baby-blue tights. Golden Ticket printed on one leg, and the shaded out glow of his dear friend Cecilworth on the other.

Cancer Jiles: After tonight, after my career lives to see another day and I continue to carry THE GOLDEN TICKET… after I sink that jolf-happy Gluecrumb you two will be the envy of every tag team in this place. A booked shot for TAG TEAG GOLD against a weakened Glueminati.

The Show of Murders nods, anxious for another crack at the gold.

Tony Gamble: Don’t you worry, Captain. I’ll be under the ring if you need me.

Cancer Jiles: Good. Hopefully I won’t.

Wink.

Cancer Jiles: That said, Big Hess, it’s going to be a hostile crowd out there. As such, Vickie and I are going to need an escort down to the ring to help keep these… scab Chicrumbians in check. Then, I’ll need you to take her backstage where the two of you can keep an eye on things.

More nodding.

More planning.

Cancer Jiles: Now, I doubt Lamebro will be in any condition to get his hands dirty after going up against Shell– damnit, Max I mean. My money is on him being a non-factor for the MAIN EVENT, and it’s Hank and Cecilworth we have to be on the look out for. Still, The Little Neck Clam has proven himself capable of doing the impossible before, so, I guess keep an eye out for him, too.

A beat.

Cancer Jiles: Oh, and the same goes for that crumb Harrison. He seems to have thrown his hat in with the glue lot, whether they want him or not.

Big Hess cracks his knuckles.

Hessian: I’ll kill him if he tries to interfere.

Cancer Jiles: Good. It’s Chicago so I like your chances of beating the charges in time for the tag title match.

Hessian shakes his head, immune to Jiles’ non-sense.

The Grin grins, wide and toothy.

Tony Gamble: Wait. What about Hanlon?

Cancer Jiles: Who?

The Manhunter immediately erupts in obnoxious and maniacal laughter. It’s truly a sinister, and defamatory cackle that could only be born from the charcoal pit inside his chest.

Cancer Jiles: That idiot couldn’t find his way back to the MAIN EVENT with directions and a map.

Ha.

The showfeed cuts to elsewhere.

It’s another beautiful ReVival, and what better way to keep it all together than with some Glue?

The camera catches sight of the door leading into the locker room of the Glueminati. You can tell because the sign up front reads “Glueminati” in a beautiful cursive font, followed closely with “lol nerds keep out” hastily scribbled below it in colored pencil. We had no idea that they felt that strongly about League of Legends. We digress.

Inside, we see that the Glueminati are in various states of Prepared for their continued journey through the Almasy tonight. Hayes Hanlon? Ready to go. FLAMBERGE? Slightly less ready to go, but you’d best believe that he’s not in such a state of unreadiness that he won’t collect your neck right now. Joe Fontaine? Uhhh… I mean, at least he’s got his jolf situation sorted? Maybe?

Joe Fontaine: I have my jolf situation sorted!

Oh, okay, he says it’s sorted so we can all believe him, I guess.

Oh. Wait. Joe wasn’t responding to the narration. He’s actually in the middle of hyping up his fellow Glueboiz for tonight’s competition.

Joe Fontaine: So, let’s get out there, bring home the bacon, bring home the ham, bring home all of the other bits and bobs of the pig, and let’s crush this whole tournament situatish!

He raises his arms into the air as though this would transfer his boundless energy to his Gluemates. FLAMBERGE can’t hide the fact that the way Joe said “ham” really got him, and so he turns his face completely out of view like a disgraced Chief People Officer.

A knock.

A knock upon the door.

No worries all you gluemaniacs, the twenty four inch biceps of Steve Harrison come barging through the door not worrying about someone letting him in. Behind him trudges the depressed looking Jack Marley. Jack is carrying a large tool bag. Ol’ Banditsbane stops and smiles at them. He looks fresh to death like a million bucks after showering after his victory over comrade pineapple.

Steve Harrison: What’s up ya nutballs? Hopefully you all follow my lead into the Quarterfinals tonight. Well you know…except the arm snatcher over there.

Joe Fontaine: I don’t think you need to worry about the Invasion of the Arm Snatchers tonight. Although that’s a terrifying prospect if I’ve ever heard of one. Your arms aren’t your own, they could do anything and not even the law can stop them.

Cecilworth Farthington: Don’t ask what Dan Ryan’s are doing right now.

Joe Fontaine: Yeah!

Steve Harrison: Shit, I have his knee in some old storage unit that has probably been ‘YUUUUUP’d” by now.

Jack lowers his head.

Jack Marley: I forgot to pay for the unit.

Steve Harrison: He forgot to pay for the unit. Anyway, Jack has a gift for you, Joe.

Joe Fontaine: Dooooes he~?

The response is so obnoxious that FLAMBERGE and Hanlon both visibly lean away from the Ace (of Clubs).

Steve Harrison: So yea…he owes you a new Jolf club after giving fabby my damn meatball sub!

He clears his throat of his anger.

Steve Harrison: Jack in his wisdom decided to give up his…wait for it…FAVORITE BONG, to be used as a new jolf club (adjacent).

Jack sniffs a little as if he had been crying. He reluctantly puts the bag down and unzips it. He pulls out a four foot glass bong and hands it to Steve.

Jack Marley: (His arm out) I will miss you Falcor.

The Miracle Man grabs it as he rolls his eyes and hands it over to Joe.

Steve Harrison: Great name aside (Neverending Story rules, Brother-Brother), it is now jolf fodder. Now about that meatball sub…

Steve looks at Jack who looks like he has seen a ghost and then runs out of the room.

Joe Fontaine: Ah, jolf…dder. That one’s a toughie. We’ll woppshork it later. I can’t wait to turn this into my high-ron!

He’s very excited about this one, folks. I think we should be concerned. Harrison nods at Joe and then peers over at FLAMBO.

Steve Harrison: Hey, King Lizard and the Gizzard Wizard (lil switcheroo if you know) good luck tonight.

FLAMBO has been granted several generous minutes to get over the way Joe said “ham” earlier, which is great, because he’s as aware as anyone in this room how many layers are hiding below that “good luck”.

FLAMBERGE: Ouais, I am aware how many layers there are hiding below that “good luck”, jelly man. We both know how the bracket shapes up if I am the successful tonight.

He stares unblinkingly, but this may be less of a show of manic seriousness and more a result of the ambient temperature and humidity of the Glocker Room being at optimal “moist lizard eyeball” level.

FLAMBERGE: You gave my friend the glassy, and so we continue to be cool for the now.

He gestures at the high-ron (which might never ever be pronounced correctly by the Frenchman) before standing on his tippy toes, leaning in, and whispering in Harrison’s ear.

FLAMBERGE: …just remember, I do not collect the glassies myself. I collect something else.

His eyes flash open wider for a moment and we may be left to wonder how good Steve Harrison smells, given FLAMBO’s flustered and lightly embarrassed lean back away.

Joe Fontaine: Not dicks, that’s for sure. Boy, my face is still red from that misunderstanding.

FLAMBERGE is thankful that melanin is an effective blush-hider. He turns to look to Hayes for any kind of moral support, but Hayes has Irish goodbye’d this segment some time ago. The Miracle Man nods at FLAMBERGE and gives him a little wink and smile.

Steve Harrison: Not sure if you are aware, mon ami…but I also have my own collection.

He laughs which lets some of the air out of the situation.

Steve Harrison: But hey, if we happen to meet (a pause) I will not take this personal at all, just a friendly violent competition. I think we can all have a drink to that…you know after you all take care of business tonight.

FLAMBO continues staring, as he does. Harrison smiles back. It isn’t awkward or anything, but maybe it’s awkward that we’re still watching them, so…

…Let’s move on with ReVival 72, shall we?

A long hallway.

Whitewashed walls.

A door at the end with ‘THE WHOREHOUSE’ etched across.

The door swings open and beckons for ye to enter, but also, like, abandon all hope, ‘cause… well, shit, we love a little foreboding in our segment intros.

Inside?

Steam.

Everywhere.

Thick and swampy, like the whole room’s been transformed into a vape lounge. It rolls across the cracked tile floor, curls around a busted weight bench, and wraps itself lovingly around a taxidermied coyote wearing a feather boa. A cardboard cutout of America’s sweetheart, Alan Jackson, watches. The condensation makes it look like he’s weeping.

And there in the middle of it all…? A hot tub.

Majestic. Mysterious. Probably against several building codes. Inexplicably placed, gurgling with the kind of sentience that implies it’s either blessed, cursed, or both depending on the pH level.

Daytona Diamonds sits inside it like a prophet with a vision quest gone sideways. Chest bare. Sunglasses on. Hat cocked just so. His arms splayed across the rim like he’s holding court over a kingdom of ruin. To his left and right, fanning him with massive palm fronds, the Lasanga Boys, but they’re dressed in rhinestone speedos. They’re no less slack-jawed and pasta-brained than usual, though. See that drool hanging from their lips?

Across from Daytona, soaking peacefully, is a mannequin with a picture of Jason Snow’s face stapled over its own. A steak knife juts out of its forehead, clean between the eyes. Someone drew chest hair on it with a Sharpie. It’s patchy, like whoever did it has never seen an actual man before, but I digress.

The tub bubbles violently.

Daytona Diamonds leans forward.

Daytona Diamonds: I been here for hours. Maybe days. Maybe my whole life.

A maniac grin curls at the edges of his lips.

Daytona Diamonds: Time don’t move in the Thinkin’ Tub. It simmers. It churns… ‘Sides… I’ve been busy talkin’ to him.

Daytona lifts one of his massive arms to point a trembling finger across the tub where the mannequin sits.

Daytona Diamonds: He don’t talk back much. Ain’t got much to say, I reckon. But he’s got that look in his eyes, don’t he? That… “I Think I’m Better Than You” look. That PRIME blueblood smugness. Ain’t it just like a peckerwood?

He leans in closer, the steam swirling around his face as he relaxes back once more against the side of the tub.

Daytona Diamonds: I see through it, though. I see the fear ‘hind them glossy-ass eyes. ‘Cause Jason Snow? He knows what’s comin’. Tick-fuckin’-tock. Ain’t long now, boys. Ain’t long now…

The camera pauses on Daytona’s face in such a way that it looks like it’s about to fade out to the next scene, but instead… it starts to pan out. Slowly. Reluctantly. The thick, rolling fog of the room starts to part, just a little, and there they are.

Standing just a few feet away, backs nearly pressed to the crumbling drywall, are Fred Dick and Anna Daniels.

They have, by all appearances, been standing there for a while.

Fred stares, mouth hanging slightly agape and eyebrow twitching. Anna stands ramrod straight beside him, arms folded, her expression one part confusion, one part anthropological curiosity, and a generous scoop of cosmic regret.

Fred clears his throat.

Fred Dick: …so… uh… this, like… part of the strategy, ‘Toner?

Fred looks at the Lasagna Boys.

Fred Dick: He been feedin’ ya? Takin’ good care of yuns?

Lasagna Boys: Fuck no.

Fred Dick: Good.

Anna does finally begin to move, slowly walking towards this… thinkin’ tub. She takes a moment to look at Daytona. Then to the mannequin. Then to the Lasagna Boys. Then back to Daytona. She tries to resist the oncoming migraine that is trying so desperately to form. She is also trying to stop herselves from asking a dumb question.

One of the struggles will be lost.

Can you guess which one?

The Muse sharply inhales the thickening steam.

Anna Daniels: Are yooooouuuu… okay, Big D?

The answer is obvious, but at least the headache’s gone. Daytona’s head snaps towards her, tilting his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to look at her with wide, crazed eyes.

Daytona Diamonds: Okay…? Darlin’, I’m better than okay. I’m… clarified!

He slaps the surface of the tub, sending a wave of water over the edge. One of the Lasagna Boys yelps, but continues fanning like a loyal dog that’s learned not to flinch.

Daytona Diamonds: This here ain’t just some hot tub, Anna. This’s where I commune with The Truth! That’s with a capital ‘T’! You hear it, Anna? You hear what it’s sayin…?

Daytona goes quiet. Nobody says a word. Just the gurgling of the hot tub and the gentle flap of rhinestone-embroidered speedos as one of the Lasagna Boys shifts his weight. Anna leans in, as if listening intently to what truths The Thinkin’ Tub has to speak. Fred, however, raises a suspicious brow.

Fred Dick: Why you playin’ dress up with my Lasagna Boys, Toner? Rhinestone cocksleeves and booty straps? Really?

Daytona Diamonds: Lasagna Boys…? What, you talkin’ ‘bout The Rhinestone Rascals? These boys ain’t got shit for brains, but I’ll be goddanged if they don’t know how to wave a fan!

Fred snarls. Growls, like a chihuahua whose fear is manifest as territorial shenanigans.

Fred Dick: You’re welcome. I taught ‘em how to do that. Turned dey brains to OATMEAL BREAKFASTS. Cooked em. Rebuilt em. That’s called jerry-riggin’ a human brain, Toner. It ain’t easy – tell ya hwut. But it’s noble.

Fred looks at the Lasagna Boys.

Fred Dick: Well boys, break’s over. Sebastian Gold interrupted muh tellervision program, so now y’all have to go kidnap ‘em. I’m gonna turn him into one of y’all. Go on. Get back in ya uniforms and fuggin… kidnap that bench ace.

The Lasagna Boys look at Daytona, as if waiting for his approval to end their fanning duties. Daytona squints his eyes at them and then at Fred and then at Anna and then at the mannequin, as if he’s weighing some divine obligation against managerial protocol.

Daytona Diamonds: …fine. Go on, Rascals. Get! But leave the fuckin’ palm fronds! Y’know how hard them shits were to find in Chicago?!

The Lasagna Boys nod in stuttered unison, one of them saluting so hard he nearly knocks himself out. The other lifts his palm frond like a sacred relic, placing it down gently, almost reverently on the edge of the Thinkin’ Tub. Then, without a word, they turn on their heels and stumble off towards the door with the disjointed enthusiasm of two toddlers in a trench coat trying to impersonate an adult.

Fred Dick: They really do be some nice, sweet boys. Diarrhea brains, though.

Daytona Diamonds: Poor, dumb bastards. Hearts as big as grapefruit, skulls fulla wet cereal… WELP!

Suddenly, Daytona stands in the tub, revealing not only all those Fabulous Muscles™, but also… well, everything else. He stands proudly with his hands on his hips, naked as the day he was born. Thankfully, a well placed palm frond blocks the view from the camera, just to keep the show from getting demonetized.

Daytona Diamonds: Reckon it’s time for me to mosey on along and get ready for this match, huh? That’s just ‘bout enough thinkin’ for one day.

Daytona climbs out of the tub, making his way past Fred and Anna. As he does, he snarls towards Fred, flexing his muscles and flopping his dick at him.

Daytona Diamonds: By the way… don’t you never tell my Rhinestone Rascals what to do again, y’hear me? Y’already got my belt. You ain’t takin’ my boys too. Good luck with Kuroyama, Freddy.

One last snarl, a tense pause, and Daytona shoulders past Fred, disappearing into the steam and fog like he was never there at all. The Thinkin’ Tub gurgles on, indifferent to the chaos it has both witnessed and inspired.

Fred huffs.

Fred Dick: Always braggin’ ‘bout dat weenis – which is nice. But if he thinks he’s takin’ MY BOYS FROM ME???

Fred hisses like a cat.

Fred Dick: I’ll first degree murder his ace.

Fred turns to Anna.

Fred Dick: I swear to GAWD–

Something about that GAWD emitting from Fred’s mouth snaps Anna out of her daze.

Anna Daniels: What?

At first, her eyes are…empty. As if they became enamored by the tub. The way it bubbles and the way it heats up and this fuckin’ TUB. Then she shakes her head rapidly. She blinks.

Anna Daniels: Huh. Guess he’s gone.

She looks at the mannequin and slowly unlodges the knife from Not-Jason Snow’s skull.

Anna Daniels: More knife for me.

Fred sputters in something resembling anger as ReVival moves on.

“Burning Hearts” by Survivor hits, with Scott Hunter slowly making his way to ringside while adjusting his wrist tape. The focus he showed in his match against Doozer returns – he seems more confident, maybe even a touch more surrious, with each passing week.

Vince Howard: The following contest is an Almasy Invitational second round match! Introducing FIRST, from Miami, Florida… he weighs in tonight at two hundred and forty-five pounds…representating Vae Victis… SCOTTTTTT HUNNNNNTERRRRRRRRR!!!!

Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter’s electric 2025 continued with a first round victory over Doozer, and tonight looks to be one of the toughest challenges of his career to date!

Richard Parker: Listen, let’s not get too carried away – yes, he took down Doozer, and yes, he’s pushed Ivan Stanislav to the limit. But talk to me when he’s got a genuine, decisive victory over someone with a resume like his opponent tonight, Hayes Hanlon!

Nick Stuart: Indeed, tonight looks like tonight’s match will be a major challenge. We’ll have to see tonight if he and his Vae Victis teammate, Kerry Kuroyama, can keep their momentum going.

Richard Parker: …koalamentum.

Hunter reaches the ring and takes the stairs to the ring apron before entering the ring. There, he raises his hands in the air for the fans to cheer him.

I!!!

WILL!!!

CON!!!

QUER!!!

The speakers and amplifiers hold on for dear life as “Daggers” by We Came as Romans absolutely bludgeon the eardrums. And speaking of explosions, those planets and stars on the PRIME*View do just that, bursting into blinding eruptions of violent light. It carries into the arena, rumbling flashbulbs explode in various points throughout the building; in the ceiling, in the stands, one after another.

And then, from the ramp, The Event Horizon. He marches forward, those dark eyes focused, ‘stache on point. The eruption of lights and noise makes the building feel like a mosh pit. The fans are definitely booing, but it feels just as much like a raw surge of adrenaline.

Vince Howard: AND HIS OPPONENT, FROM WEST LINN, OREGON! STANDING SIX FEET, THREE INCHES AND WEIGHING IN AT TWO-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY ONE POUNDS!!

Hayes climbs the apron, steps through the ropes, and b-lines for the turnbuckle.

Vince Howard: The Event Horizoonnnnnnn…HAAAAAYESSSS!! HAAANNNLLOOOONNNNN!!!

Up one rope, then the second, chest and jaw jutting out, and a thumb across his neck.

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!

CUT OUT THE PAIN! TO FIND THE POWER!”

He hops down, making way to the next post to repeat the process one more time.

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!

CUT OUT THE PAIN!”

The rest of the Glueminati is with him, as glue friends stick together. Did I mention that?

He remains on the ropes, and in timing with the song, beats his chest four times while roaring out the crescendo.

I!!!

WILL!!!

CON!!!

QUER!!!

The Comeback Kid stays for a moment, eyes scanning the arena, allowing the music to reach its breakdown. He hops to the mat and takes his place in his corner, ready to go.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Glueminati versus Vae Victis in this contest! Who will advance to the next round of the Almasy?

Scott Hunter has a definite pep in his step, circling the outside of the ring, his footwork noticeably improving, hands ready for a lockup. Hayes Hanlon watches this mulleted goof bouncing around the ring with a mix of disdain and annoyance. Scott looks to close the gap and lock up, and Hayes obliges – only to shove him HARD into the ropes. Scott rebounds and throws a lariat – Hayes ducks! Scott rebounds, goes for a flying cross body! Hayes steps aside and avoids it!

As Scott scrambles to get up before any advantage can be pressed, Hayes poses for the Chicaago crowd who meets him with a shower of boos. The Event Horizon brushes some imaginary dust off his shoulders and slowly turns…

INTO A RIGHT HAND FROM HUNTER! Another! Another!

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The crowd chants with each punch! Hayes is staggered as Scott dramatically winds up his punching hand, pulls back…!

BOOOOOOOM!

Nick Stuart: A thunderous series of right hands, and Hammerin’ Hanlon is down!

Richard Parker: Look at this goof – you can’t convince me that Scott Hunter is here with us in 2025 with that mullet and those moves!

Nick Stuart: He’s starting to gain some fans, there’s certainly a vocal pocket of our fanbase who appreciates a good throwback, partner.

Scott boisterously claps his hands vertically towards the Chicago crowd, perhaps as a signal for something? And then he cups a hand to his ear…

YAYYY!

Well, a couple of kids seem to like it, anyway.

Hunter measures the prone Hanlon and uses the ropes for momentum! He rebounds, and leaps!

ATOMIC LEG DROP!

Richard Parker: Ugh, SPARE me!

Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter goes for the –

Hayes Hanlon kicks out of the pinning predicament before Nick can finish getting the words out – referee Ashley Barlow didn’t even get a one count down.

Richard Parker: Maybe he should save that move if he ever ends up facing Stanislav again.

Nick Stuart: It’s early in this one, and there’s more action to follow later tonight, but a rematch between Scott Hunter and Ivan Stanislav is absolutely possible in this tournament!

Richard Parker: THEORETICALLY possible, partner. Theoretically. Imagining a two-time Universal Champion like Hayes Hanlon losing to the mullet man, it’s just fantasy.

Hanlon quickly gains control of the situation and grabs a side headlock onto Hunter. They get to their feet, only for Hanlon to pivot his hips and toss Scott HARD to the mat. He stomps over to Hunter, reaches down, and – piefaces him with the palm of his hand.

BOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: And here we see Hayes Hanlon, the bully.

Richard Parker: Scott probably deserves that.

Hanlon dramatically mimics a flailing leg drop onto nothing before catching himself, giving the classic “wanker” hand gesture. He jogs in place for a moment and charges towards his opponent in the corner of the ropes. He reaches back and BLASTS Hunter with a thundering lariat. He rains down a few more elbows for good measure before bending down and hoisting Scott onto his shoulders!

Hanlon steps towards the middle of the ring with Hunter set up in Samoan Drop position…Hanlon stops, dramatically raises his left leg, leeeeeeeans back!

BOOM!

Hunter is absolutely planted! Hanlon disrespectfully presses an arm across Hunter’s face as he shoots the half!

ONE!

TWO!

Hunter gets the shoulder up!

This annoys the Event Horizon, who spins around and prepares to throw mounted strikes onto his downed opponent – but Hunter reverses! Suddenly HE’S on top of Hanlon! Right hand! Another right! He pushes and twists and finds a way to force Hanlon to his stomach – and then he locks in a Stepover Toehold Facelock!

Nick Stuart: STF from Hunter here! He’s really showing some improvement in his ground game!

Richard Parker: Ah, look at that – smart move by Hammerin’ Hanlon. Why bother trying to roll 245 pounds of mullet and Tab off of you when you can just force a rope break?

Indeed, Hanlon finds the strength to pull both himself and his opponent towards the ropes, and Ashley Barlow begins the five count for a rope break. Hunter lets go at two and immediately grabs control of Hanlon’s ankles, looking to pull him away. Hanlon grips the ropes firmly and powerfully, and Hunter soon realizes that he’s not going to be able to outmuscle him here. He chooses to throw Hanlon’s feet high in the air in hopes of a big splat – but Hanlon lands on his feet! SCOOP SLAM TO HUNTER!

Nick Stuart: Quickness from Home Run Hayes!

And another scoop slam! Another! ANOTHER!

Richard Parker: We’ve been invited to a damn Scoop Slam Party!

We see the strain across Hanlon’s face as he powers through, lifting Hunter up one more time…Hunter winces and howls loudly in pain, gritting his teeth and shaking his head.

Hayes steadies his feet under him as his chest heaves to get as much oxygen to as much of his enormous frame as quickly as he can, and a cocky grin flashes across his face. He bends, springs up, and lifts Hunter up to his shoulders!

…

BOOOOOOOMMM!

Hayes connects with a MASSIVE powerbomb! He reaches through Hunter’s legs to get a hand on his chest!

ONE!

TWO!

…

THREKICKOUT!!

Big applause from the crowd as Scott is able to dig deep and find a way to get a shoulder up at the last possible moment! Hanlon is ANGRY BOY now, and he slaps the mat in frustration.

His Glueminati teammates look to try to calm down their Mustache with varying degrees of “trying”. Cecilworth seems to mostly be looking at his phone, FLAMBERGE is clapping a bit, while Joe is legitimately hopping in the air with hands on his head in disbelief that the match isn’t over yet. It’s unclear if any of this is productive.

Hunter crawls his way to the ropes, gasping for air, reaching for his back which has been put through the absolute wringer. He gets to one foot, and is almost at another, when out of the corner of his eyes he sees a freight train called the Hanlon Express charging his way!

Hunter pulls down the top rope! Hanlon stumbles over and crash lands to the outside! Scott Hunter’s eyes go wide as he summons whatever strength he can find deep down! Now on his feet, he clings to the top rope and measures his opponent, waiting for the perfect moment. Hanlon staggers up and slowly turns – Scott Hunter flies!

Diving crossbody connects! Hunter FIRES the fuck up as Hanlon struggles to get up from this unexpected onslaught!

Ashley Barlow begins counting to get the competitors back in the ring. Hunter doesn’t waste much time and grabs Hanlon by the back of the neck and trunks, hurling him into the ring under the bottom rope. Hunter follows after, but not quickly enough – Hanlon is back on his feet! He gains some distance and launches himself across the ring, absolutely BLASTING Hunter with a huge shoulder tackle!

Hunter sprawls and crashes into the corner! Hayes follows up with rights and lefts to Scott’s breadbasket! This causes Scott to bend over a bit – Hayes grabs him and absolutely DRILLS Hunter’s head into the mat with a big DDT! Hunter’s legs point to the sky as his body serves as an unwilling participant to this painful headstand. Once they drop, Hanlon hooks the far leg!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

FLAMBERGE: Mustache! Use your very effective Epoch finishing maneuver!

Nick Stuart: …I feel like I’ve heard something similar before…

Hanlon looks over at the Bearded Dragon, and they nod in sync with each other. Joe seems to struggle with whether or not to pull out a jolf club and be A Helper. Cecilworth may have just received a very interesting text message.

The Event Horizon sees that Hunter is still down and performs a few very theatrical and dramatic poses in the ring. The United Center lets him know just what they think of this display.

BOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Different members of the Glueminati seem to garner both positive and negative responses from our fans, and it can vary from place to place or opponent to opponent – with the exception of Hayes Hanlon. People seem to share a universal opinion about Hammerin’ Hanlon.

Richard Parker: I mean, of all of the Glues, he’s definitely the most direct with how much of an a-hole he can be – he doesn’t dive as deeply into the shenanigans as his partners in glue. But Cecilworth and FLAMBO all seem to like the guy, which is good enough for me.

Nick Stuart: …and what about Joe’s opinions?

Richard Parker: I’ll tell you this – I may, I MAY, give Joe Fontaine significantly more of my trademark love and affection if he can boot Cancer Jiles out of this tournament in tonight’s main event.

Hunter is slow to get up, and finally satisfied that he’s taunted enough, Hanlon chooses to finish the job. He gets Hunter to his feet before using his tremendous strength to whip Scott hard into the ropes. On the rebound, Hanlon grabs Hunter by the throat with both hands! Scott goes bug-eyed! He frantically shakes his head!

Nick Stuart: Epoch inbound!

Hanlon hoists Hunter HIGH into the air…

…

HUNTER CONNECTS WITH A STUNNING DROPKICK!

Hanlon is staggered as Hunter lands on the mat! Scott rushes over – with tremendous strain, he CRUSHES Hanlon with a BIG spinning powerslam! Hunter pops back up – leaps – ELBOW DROP!

Richard Parker: What a friggin’ sequence!

The Glue Boiz are distraught and slap the ring apron, begging for Hanlon to get out of this predicament!

Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter hooks both legs!

ONE!

TWO!

…

HANLON ROLLS THROUGH! While he’s out of the pin, he’s struggling to get out of the grasp of Scott Hunter!

Scott rolls Hanlon to his back! He’s got a leg in each hand!

The fans are on their feet as Scott looks to his left, looks to his right, looks at the Glue Boiz, and hooks one leg over! He spins, kicks up his leg, COMPLETES THE HOLD!

Nick Stuart: THE FIGURE FOUR LEGLOCK! THE MOVE SCOTT HUNTER CLAIMS HE INVENTED!

Richard Parker: Does that look tighter than usual?? Look – Scott’s bridging up!

Indeed, Hunter has the figure four locked incredibly snugly. Hanlon has huge tree trunk legs as it is, and there is absolutely no wrigggle room. The “I’m trapped” turns into “I’m going to lose my ability to walk” QUICKLY as Hunter leans back and completes a bridge! He’s on his hands and head, looking back, squarely into the eyes of the Glueminati, who frantically yell at Hanlon to escape!

…

…

Scott Hunter screams, exhausted, wounded, putting everything he has into holding this bridge! His face is beet red and sweat is pouring!

Hanlon is doing everything he can – trying to muscle to the ropes again, trying to pry Hunter’s legs apart with his hands, trying to move his legs even a half an inch – nothing’s working!

And then a lightning bolt seems to shoot up Hayes’s body, from feet to hips to spine to head. Something might be wrong, and Hayes isn’t getting out of this thing.

…

He reluctantly, though quickly, taps the mat.

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: HERE IS YOUR WINNER, as a result of a submission…and ADVANCING to the 2025 Almasy Invitational Quarterfinals…SCOTT! HUNTERRRRRRRR!

Scott releases the hold and is gasping for breath on the mat. Ashley Barlow props him up slightly and raises an arm in victory to a cheering crowd.

Nick Stuart: Huge victory for Scott tonight – I think if you were a betting man, you may not have expected him to reach the final 8 in this year’s Almasy, but he’s earned this victory tonight!

Richard Parker: Unbelievable – ah, would you look at that, those good boys in Glue are still behind their man!

Indeed, as Hunter rolls out of the ring and makes his way up the ramp, arms aloft in victory, Hayes is still in the ring, and he’s crawled to the ropes. He leans on the bottom rope and talks with FLAMBO, Joe, and Cecilworth, who are all consoling him with varying degrees of effort. Joe looks like he’s ready to go Knifey Joe all over everyone’s ass, FLAMBERGE shares a few steady words with Hayes, Cecilworth looks up from his phone and gives Hayes a little “pat pat” on the shoulder. Hanlon, for his part, looks angry and disappointed.

Nick Stuart: We absolutely saw an upset tonight, but credit to Scott Hunter – he’s obviously improved a tremendous amount between the ropes, and while there’s still plenty of smoothing to be done around some of his rough edges, we may be looking at a future Main – wait a minute, whoa whoa whoa whoa –

There’s commotion in the arena.

On the far side of the ring, opposite the Gluey commiseration, someone in a black hoodie slides out from under the ring. They frantically climb up the ring steps and the ropes, finding themselves perched up top.

The hood gets lifted.

Richard Parker: ROSE??? WHAT IS ROSE DOING HERE?

She’s got a pipe in her hands, for one. She leaps high in the air, positioning the pipe beneath her feet…

CRRRRRUNCH!!!

…and she stomps the pipe squarely into Hayes’s ankles.

OHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

If Hanlon felt a sharp pain from the figure four, he’s feeling an absolute blistering inferno now. He writhes on the mat in agony.

The Glue Boiz are pissed in varying degrees of intensity. Joe frantically gets into the ring and checks on Hayes. Cecilworth says a few “Hey! HEY!”s and takes a few steps towards Rose. FLAMBERGE is absolutely LIVID, and he starts screaming his head off at Rose.

She locks eyes with the Frenchman, and then with her heart’s great nemesis – Cecilworth. It’s unclear if Farthington truly knew how much Rose hated him before, but it’s starting to dawn on him.

FLAMBERGE charges Rose and goes for a shove, but she’s able to quickly dart out of the ring. FLAMBO chases her up the ramp and out of frame.

Nick Stuart: We need medical assistance out here, Rose may have just shattered the ankles of Hayes Hanlon…

Medical personnel begin making their way to the ring, including a stretcher. Cecilworth stares up the ramp with a mixture of anger and disbelief. He goes over to Joe, who is falling over himself at his buddy Hayes’s plight. Cecilworth puts a hand on Joe’s shoulder and says a few words to him, then points up the ramp. He indicates that he’ll stay with Hayes, and that Joe needs to make sure FLAMBO doesn’t get jumped or something. Fontaine looks up the ramp and finds that his tag partner is nowhere to be seen, so he rolls out of the ring, dodges the medics, and jogs to the back to find him.

Nick Stuart: While the medics do their best to help out Hayes Hanlon here, we’re going to see if we can get a camera back there – this is a developing situation. We have to pay a few bills, but we will follow up on this right away. Stay with us!

We cut to commercial.

As Revival 72 returns from commercial, we see Rose stepping into the Argyle area in the United Center. Moments ago, we witnessed her attacking Hayes Hanlon, resulting in medical personnel rushing out to tend to the injured Glueminati member. She walks by a group of people and she exits the Argyle area, only to run into intrepid reporter Angelica Brooks.

Angelica Brooks: Rose, do you have a moment to talk about what just happened out there?

Rose pauses, and then a smile creeps across her face as she shrugs her shoulders and stands shoulder to shoulder with Angelica.

Rose: For you, Angelica, anything. What do you want to dig into? The why behind it? How did I do it? You can ask me any question you wish to, and I will do my best to answer it.

Angelica Brooks: Well, for starters, we know that you were attacked at UltraViolence, and you suffered a concussion as a result. Is this payback for what happened at UltraViolence? Do you think that Hayes was part of your attack?

Rose: You know, Angelica, whether or not he’s part of the attack that happened at UltraViolence, we all know that this is how the Glueminati operates. They blindside you. They attack you. They malign you. They destroy you with every ounce of their being. This group has been allowed to run rampant for the last three-plus years without honestly being held accountable for their actions. So was Hayes part of that attack? We’ll find out eventually. But there are lots of them, and there’s only one little me. So, you know, I thought maybe it’d be best to start evening out the odds in my favor a little bit.

Angelica Brooks: What about retaliation, though? I mean, you don’t think that Cecilworth or Joe Fontaine or even FLAMBERGE are going to want their pound of flesh for what happened here?

Rose: The way that I look at it, Brooksy, is I didn’t even do anything, and I was laid out at UltraViolence. So should I be worried about a bit of retaliation? Sure. But look in my big, beautiful eyes, and you’re going to see I don’t give two damns about it. Look, the Glueminati are going to do what the Gluminati does. Whether I like it or not. What they should be worried about is if I’m willing to take out Hayes Hanlon, what else am I willing to do?

Angelica nods her head.

Angelica Brooks: And we have seen and heard you talk about the relationship and friendship that you have with FLAMBERGE. How do you think what just happened impacts that friendship? He didn’t look too happy out there.

Before Rose can answer though, the Lizard King bursts into the frame, his eyes focused directly upon the Second Coming.

FLAMBERGE: SALUT, IDIOT, WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM??

Angelica takes a step or two back, though she makes sure to extend her mic-holding arm towards the shouting Frenchman.

FLAMBERGE: You tell me you have the issue with the Cecilworth, I tell you to drop this – you come to me for advice, you ignore it – you ask me to choose the Glueminati or you, and then you attack the Mustache! Are you the narcissism or are you the slow?? What is the – hang on, I am not done yelling!

We see a green-bedazzled sleeve with a Joe Fontaine-like hand reach FLAMBERGE’s shoulder from out of frame, trying to pull him back.

FLAMBERGE: You should listen to the moi, but your head is so far up the ass that all you hear is the echo chamber of shit! Joe, get off –

The green arm gains a second equally green friend.

FLAMBERGE: Fine, ok, yes, our matches are coming, I know. This is not over, Rose. You screwed this all up.

The Neck Collector leaves in a huff with his tag partner.

Rose, who was leaning against the wall, stares at the spot where FLAMBERGE stood just a moment ago for a few seconds too long before she looks over at Angelica.

Rose: He say anything interesting? I zoned out when he called me an idiot. I’m sure he used the same language with Cecilworth after UltraViolence. Needless to say, Angie, I’ve ruffled some feathers and I can’t help but wonder if FLAMBERGE is feeling the walls tighten around him on this rather difficult decision he has before him.

She pauses.

Rose: So, I’ll make it easier for him. Two weeks from today, in Lexington, he can meet me in the ring and we can discuss this like adults. Instead of him warning me off from attacking the man who, wait let me check my notes… that’s right, attacked my father unprovoked and getting all pissy when the mustachio man gets his wee little ankles crushed. Not like he liked Hayes anyways, let’s be real.

Rose pats Angelica on the back and begins to walk away when she stops herself and looks back.

Rose: Oh, and FLAMBY, when you watch this back, make sure you bring the letter with you. Might as well read it for Cecilworth to hear since I know you didn’t give it to him. Alright, gotta go, important things to do and important people to potentially stalk. See ya later, Angie, let’s get drinks sometime!

With that, the Second Coming is gone.

Angelica Brooks: Um, sure?

ReVival moves on.

The United Center bumps from a heavy torrent of booms, blaps, and bap-boom-blaps pumping through the arena’s public address system to the rhythm of Konrad OldMoney’s “Blouses Blue”. The entrance stage becomes awash in flashing lights of dark pink and emerald green.

The Five Star Champion, Kerry Kuroyama, steps through the curtain alongside his newly appointed manager, Ami Troy. Following them out are the remaining members of Vae Victis — wingman Scott Hunter, still in his wrestling gear from the prior match, and Clay Byrd, tall and imposing as ever in his black vest and ten-gallon hat.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, accompanied by Ami Troy, Scott Hunter, and Clay Byrd… he hails from Seattle, Washington, U-S-A, and weighs in at two-hundred and forty-four pounds…

The group file out into an echelon formation at the head of the rampway, looking like gods descended from Olympus to the mortal realm. Kerry, in freshly made green and gold tights fit for a champion, scans the arena from north to south. His expression is focused and stoic. A volcano, waiting to erupt. A storm, preparing to make landfall.

Like some sort of mythical reptilian creature that can fly and breathe fire and shit. Would make for a pretty badass tattoo, actually.

Vince Howard: Representing VAE VICTIS… he is the FIVE STAR CHAMPION of PRIME WRESTLING… the EMERALD APEX… the PACIFIC BLITZKRIEG… Seattle’s BEAST…

Flashing Ami a wink and a smile, the Emerald Apex unstraps the title belt from his waist and raises it high to the cheering crowd. As he does, rockets fire off in the background, leaving trails that form twin “V” shapes of purple and green smoke.

Vince Howard: HE IS… KEEEERRRRYYYYYYY KUURROOOYAAAAAAMMMAAAAAA!!!!

Kuroyama holds the pose for a moment longer before dropping the belt onto his shoulder and leading the squad down the rampway.

Nick Stuart: Looks like everyone Vae Victis is out in full force tonight! And I can’t say I blame them! After the chaos that took place in the main event of ReVival 71, there is every reason to suspect one or more members of the Poor Whoresmen attempting to muck things up in this match!

Richard Parker: All these pink and green lights are making me hungry for Nerds. The candy, I mean.

Nick Stuart: The Five Star Champion Kerry Kuroyama has been on a roll all year, and now with Ami Troy at his side, he could very well continue riding that momentum all the way to the finals of the Almasy! But for all of his success, he has yet to face an opponent like Fred Dick! It will be interesting to see how Kerry adapts his style when he’s in there against the ever unpredictable Intense Champion!

Richard Parker: Like, the wild cherry and watermelon flavored ones, specifically.

Vae Victis reach the bottom of the ramp and lay claim to the ring. They reform the echelon pose, with Kuroyama front and center holding up the Five Star Title while pyrotechnics explode overhead.

With the photo-op moment fulfilled, Kerry hands the belt to Ami, pecks her cheek for luck, and heads to his corner while the rest of Vae Victis exit the ring.

“We built this city! We built this city on rock and roll! Built this city! We built this city on rooooock and rooooooll!”

The drums and lame synthesizers of Starship’s “We Built this City” hit the speakers, and Fred Dick steps out from gorilla onto the entrance ramp.

Vince Howard: Accompanied to the ring by…

Our dear friend Vince very obviously squints at the text on the card in his hand, as if he can’t believe he has to say this next part out loud.

Vince Howard: The Poor Whoresmen… and the lasagna boys…

Fred does some shadow slap-boxing, gets a tad out of breath, and strolls to the ring. He’s flanked by two men who stare at him with the wide-eyes and slacked jaws of the truly devout. One of them has a bucket on his head and carries a mop. The other has a fanny pack.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Chicken City, Georgia and weighing in tonight at three hundred and five pounds…

He rolls under the ropes, stands in the middle of the ring and — you guessed it, shadow slap-boxes some more. Sweaty and gassed, he moves to his corner and awaits the bell.

Vince Howard: Representing the Poor Whoresmen, he is the reigning Intense Champion… FREEEEDDDDDDDDD… DIIIIIIIIIiiiiiiiick!!

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Here we go again…

Richard Parker: What do you mean…

Nick Stuart: Another showdown with the Whoresmen and Kerry Kuroyama.

Richard Parker: You mean Vae Victis takes on Fred Dick…

Kerry doesn’t waste any time while Nick and Richard prattle on through the opening seconds of the bout. Kerry storms across the ring and tries to lock up with Fred. Dick tries to manuever his way out of the corner but Kuroyama cuts him off. Dick engages in the collar and elbow tie up and tries to push his way out of the corner but Kuroyama shoves Fred against the turnbuckles. Nixon starts counting Kuroyama.

Nick Stuart: Kerry seems a little more perturbed than usual.

Richard Parker: He looks grumpy, he always looks grumpy.

Kerry starts to step out and Fred can’t help himself. He starts throwing some of that sweet shit talk out, and Kerry turns and face washes Fred over Nixon’s shoulder. Elvis tries to get out but Fred halls off and claps Kerry on the side of the head over Nixon’s shoulder. Elvis stumbles his way out of dodge and Kerry loads up a huge chop that slams across Fred’s flabby pecs. The King of Wrongstyle fires off with a slap that lands in a similar spot on Kerry’s much more chiseled chest. But the escape of Nixon sends The Emerald Apex stumbling backwards and Dick is all over him. The Street Cat rushes the off balance Kuroyama with a right palm strike and then a spinning back slap that catches Kerry in the side of the mouth.

Richard Parker: The Intense Champion is rocking the Five Star’s world!

Nick Stuart: Fred Dick is surprisingly quick.

Kerry grabs at his face and stumbles to the corner, Fred rushes in from behind and sends him slamming into the middle turnbuckle. Kuroyama stumbles his way back out and Fred awkwardly puts Kerry into a front facelock. He grabs Kerry by the tights and wrenches back but Kuroyama doesn’t move a single solitary inch.

Nick Stuart: I think Kerry’s offended.

Richard Parker: WHY ARE YOU WRESTLING HIM!?

A look of surprise washes over Fred Dick’s face and he frantically tries again, and again but Kuroyama doesn’t budge. Fred feels the side of his leopard print tights get grabbed and in an instant Kuroyama flips Dick over his head and smashes him into the turnbuckle with a snap buckle-suplex.

Nick Stuart: Buckle Suplex! I think Dick landed on his head.

Richard Parker: Good thing that doesn’t matter anyway.

Nick Stuart: Landing on your head isn’t good…

Richard Parker: Same thing as landing on his ass.

Dick rolls to the outside of the ring and down to the floor. Kuroyama is quick to follow him out to the Vae Victis side of the ring. Byrd and Hunter immediately cut off Anna Daniels and Daytona Diamonds’ access to the encounter. Hunter by guarding the nearside, and the Behemoth’s have met on the other side of the ring. Daniels is a passive observer, watching around Hunter while Byrd and Diamonds started pointing and shouting at each other as they rounded the northeast and southeast corners of the ring.

Nick Stuart: These two groups don’t get along at all…

Richard Parker: Look at Vae Victis stopping Anna Daniels and Daytona from checking on Fred!

Nick Stuart: You mean handing him some weapon, or shanking Kuroyama.

Richard Parker: Nobodies been shanked.

Nick Stuart: You know what I mean.

Kuroyama pulls Fred up to his feet, but Dick jams a thumb into Kerry’s eye. Nixon begins counting in the ring, and Fred takes advantage to whip Kerry across the floor and into the guard rail. Fred follows it up with a running chop that flips Kuroyama over the guard rail and into the crowd. Fred turns around shouting at Ami Troy, and Nixon has reached 3 on his count.

Nick Stuart: Fred Dick is dangerous out here.

Richard Parker: Kerry should have wrestled him.

The Intense Champion turns back towards the barrier and reaches over to drag Kuroyama to his feet, he gets Kerry up and tries to put him in a front face lock and suplex him back over the barricade but Kerry responds with a dropping jawbreaker across the barrier that sends Dick backwards holding his face. Kerry hops the barricade and grabs Dick sending him ramming into the steel stairs. Nixon has reached 7 on his count and Kuroyama acknowledges it, by taking his time walking up the stairs with the wounded Dick under him. Kerry calmly wipes his feet off on the apron before stepping back in. Nixon reaches 9 and Fred half scrambles, half rolls back into the ring.

Nick Stuart: Fred looks dazed.

Richard Parker: He just had serious head trauma.

Nick Stuart: I thought you said it was the same as him landing on his ass…

Richard Parker: I said that the buckle suplex, in particular, didn’t matter.

While Nick deals with Richard’s bullshit, Kerry tees off on a downed Dick. The limp Dick takes the kick to the midsection from the Emerald Apex and rolls over onto his back. Kuroyama follows it up with a dropping closed fist.

Nick Stuart: Rare for Kuroyama to bring a closed fist to a fight.

Richard Parker: I think he doesn’t bring them to wrestling matches, this… well… this is probably a fight.

Kerry takes the cue and starts driving right hands into Fred’s forehead. Nixon starts counting Kuroyama who gets to his feet and gives Dick a chance to stumble up to his own. On the outside, Byrd and Diamonds haven’t left the other side of the ring. There’s only enough room for one cowboy hat at ringside apparently and they both aren’t keen to let the other stay. Fred has a small cut opened over his forehead that he’s just found but Kuroyama doesn’t give him time to process. A rising knee kisses against the side of Dick’s head and Fred’s neck whips backwards.

Nick Stuart: Huge knee from Kerry!

Richard Parker: Maybe this kid can fight a bit…

Fred slumps against the middle turnbuckle and Kerry comes back across the ring with an absolutely thunderous Yakuza Kick that obliterates the Intense Champion. Kerry sits with his leg hanging over the rope smirking while Fred does the big wobble out of the corner and fall into the center of the ring.

Richard Parker: GET UP! GET UP!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think the lights are on Richard.

Anna Daniels is into action before Kuroyama realizes it. She jumps onto the apron and gives the top rope a stiff axe kick. Kerry ends up straddling the top rope, making a horrified face. He looks back towards Elvis Nixon, but Nixon is gone. The replay shows the Yakuza kick, and the Lasagna Boys grabbing Elvis Nixon. Outside the ring has exploded. Byrd and Diamonds are throwing gigantic lefts and rights at each other like they are Don Frye and Takayama. Absolute kill shots being traded back and forth, Scott is running towards Daniels who has already made her exit.

Nick Stuart: No! No!

Richard Parker: It’s a shame Nixon slipped.

Nick Stuart: I’m sure you’re really upset.

Nixon’s face hit the mat hard and he was yanked to the floor, the Lasagna Boys are doing a little celebrating while the chaos around them unfolds. Fred Dick is counting sheep in the center of the ring, Kerry flops over into the ring and onto the mat. Miguel slides the Intense Championship into the ring and Fred pulls it in close underneath him. As the title leaves Miguel’s hands, he finds Ami Troy perched on his back, her forearm wrapped around his neck, and a full body triangle locked in. He struggles for a second before falling out of the shot and under the apron.

Richard Parker: WHAT IS SHE DOING?

Nick Stuart: GET HIM AMI! GET HIM!

Todrick is shocked, he goes to kick Ami off of Miguel, but Troy dodges by transitioning up Miguel’s back and choking him with her knee wrapped around his neck. The second kick, Ami manages to catch and heel hook Todrick. Todrick is immediately trampled by the Byrd-Diamonds Stampede of giant human being. Diamonds stumbles over Todrick and Byrd plants a giant boot across his mouth.

Richard Parker: Uncle Cecilworth must be so proud.

Nick Stuart: I thought you liked the Whoresmen…

Richard Parker: He’s so proud though.

Kerry stumbles over to the still unconscious Fred, he grabs him by the back of the head and yanks him to his feet, but Fred absolutely pastes him with the Intense Championship. He falls on top of Kerry but Nixon is currently on the floor. Which is not the safest place in the world. Hunter finally catches up to Daniels, but just as they do, the human beef fight that is Daytona Diamonds and Clay Byrd rampages between the two of them.

Nick Stuart: What the hell is that Koala doing?

Richard Parker: Does he have a little mini hovercraft?

Nick Stuart: I think so, I think so.

Fred looks behind him and sees the absolute madness going on and absorbs the situation. He snaps the belt up and swings it down like a whip across Kuroyama’s chest. Kerry quickly rolls out of the way of the next blow, Fred chases after Kerry, but Kerry rolls the opposite direction and manages to send Fred tripping and falling, landing upperchest first across the middle rope. On the outside, Diamonds and Byrd have fought to the announcer’s table. At the same time, Anna Daniels surprises Hunter after the stampede with a superkick to the mouth. Todrick of the Lasagna Boys has Kerry Koalayama running all up on him driving a hovercraft equipped with little nerf darts. His unconscious body is rapidly being shot by a mini nerf missile wielding koala bear in a hovercraft.

Nick Stuart: What the!

Richard Parker: GOD DAMMIT THEY SPILLED MY DIET COKE! SON OF A BITCH!

Instant replay flashes to Daytona Diamonds hitting Clay Byrd in the face with a monitor from the announce table, it finally staggers the big man and Diamonds manages to whip him over and smash the giant Texan and himself through the announcers table. Hunter dodges Anna’s next kick, but misses the brass knuckle equipped right hand that ruins Scott Hunter’s night.

Nick Stuart: WHAT THE!

Kerry gets to his feet holding his chest and Fred pushes himself off the rope, he’s swinging the belt around his head like he’s got some type of morningstar and running at Kuroyama. Kerry dodges the wild swing and jams a knee into Dick’s stomach. He tries to lift him for the Kuroyama Driver, but Fred drops to his knees and Kerry takes a second shot to the pearls from a classic low blow. Kerry slumps to his knees and this time Fred drops the title on the ground and grabs another front face lock.

Nick Stuart: WHAT!?

The most shocked Nick’s been all night, Fred manages to flail for one of Kerry’s ankles and flip him over with a Fisherman Suplex with Kerry’s head smacking off the Intense Championship. At Anna Daniels’ behest Elvis Nixon is yeeted into the ring, Nixon crawls over as Fred very, very, very slowly arches his back up. You can hear his back cracking in the nosebleeds as Nixon makes the count.

1!

2!

….

……..

…………..3!

Kerry kicks out right after Nixon’s hand hits the mat. Nixon calls for the bell, face down on the mat still.

DING DING DING

Fred picks the belt up and starts smearing it into Kuroyama’s face, Anna Daniels slides in to berate Nixon. Fred lines up and drops a big elbow down on the belt and Kerry’s face.

DING DING DING DING DING DING

Fred stands back up for a second elbow, the crowd is booing and booing. Fred flips the crowd off, but suddenly they start cheering. Very loud. Someone in a black and purple VV hoodie hops the barricade and slides into the ring behind Fred. Daniels turns around but a recovered Scott Hunter yanks Anna out of the ring. Fred turns around right as the hood comes back and RIA springs at him.

Richard Parker: SHE’S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!

Nick Stuart: GET HIM! GET HIM!

Ria takes Fred down with a judo throw, but keeps the headlock on. She pulls a fork from the hoodie pocket and repeatedly stabs Fred over, and over again in the forehead. Enemigos are now everywhere. Ringside is full, they are pulling the fork wielding Ria Lockhart away. Fred wearing an absolute crimson mask rolls out of the ring to the rest of the Whoresmen at the entrance ramp, while Vae Victis has been corralled to the opposite side of the ring.

Vince Howard: Your winner… Fred Dick!

The boo’s rain down.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think this is over.

Richard Parker: Not by a long shot.

Nick Stuart: And with Ria’s return! Her first appearance since the Exploding Ring Deathmatch with Fred!

Richard Parker: The rich get richer, I KNOW NICK.

Fred doesn’t give a shit Vae Victis got stronger tonight as he stumbles up the ramp, his wounded lasagna boys and the rest of the Whoresmen in tow. He just cares that he won.

We cut away from ringside, and to…the PRIMEporium. The merch stand of legend, the only place to get the latest and greatest in t-shirts, action figures, commemorative plates, and replica death rays. (Those are replicas, right?)

So here’s an interesting fact: sometimes, Nate Colton likes to hang out there. He’ll greet fans, pose for pictures, sign autographs, things like that. He gets to build on his connection with the audience, they get a unique experience, and a few more sales get made. Everybody wins!

That’s where we find him; sitting at the table next to his brother Blake and an unnamed attendant, no doubt there to act in Anna Daniels’ stead. No word on if she gets her own knife. The New Diamond is still recovering from his match with Charles de Lacy; he’s got a few bruises and an icepack on his right shoulder. He seems to be in pretty good spirits though; if he’s upset about the events of the match…well, the ten-year-old he’s signing an action figure for doesn’t need to know that.

When the kid leaves, there’s a bit of a lull in the action; no doubt everyone is scrambling back to their seats so they don’t miss a moment of the match between Diamonds and Snow. That gives all involved a breather.

Nate Colton: Hey, bro. Can you run and get me another icepack? This one’s starting to melt.

Blake Colton: Sure! Need anything else?

Nate Colton: Nah, should be good. You remember how to get there?

Blake Colton: (annoyed) Yes…

Nate Colton: Sweet. Stay in the main halls, and don’t go too far from security.

The brothers fist bump, and Blake darts off down the hallway. Once he rounds the corner, Nate turns his attention to the young woman next to him.

Nate Colton: Okay if I get up and stretch my legs a little, Courtney?

Courtney–who started scrolling on her phone as soon as the last sale ended–shrugs. She wouldn’t give a shit if Nate set the building on fire.

Nate Colton: Cool.

Colton stands up from the table and walks away, also looking at his own phone. Lots of notifications, lots of messages to catch up on. But soon, something else catches his attention–footsteps, and not the squeak-squeak-squeak of his brother’s sneakers. He looks up, and immediately recognizes who it is. That trademark Colton smile flashes across his face.

Nate Colton: Oh my God! It’s great to see-

CRACK

Nate’s head violently jerks to the side from a thunderous slap before his left hand gingerly clutches at his cheek.

Nate Colton: OW! What the hell?!

The camera pulls out just a bit to reveal who just assaulted the Next Diamond. The crowd explodes into a roar; it’s been months. Her hair is different now, black with steaks of electric blue and neon pink throughout. There’s still no mistaking her presence. RIA Lockhart is back in PRIME. And she’s pointing a finger, trembling with fury, right in the face of Nate Colton.

RIA Lockhart: How fucking dare you! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU hurt her like that!

The eldest Colton’s face sags, shoulders slumping. That hurt a lot more than the slap did.

Nate Colton: RIA, I-

RIA Lockhart: Shut the fuck up! Jesus dude, I believed in you! When she told me she liked you, that she was worried, that she didn’t want it to be like Mort, Zapp, what the fuck ever his name… I trusted you were better than that!

A sigh from Nate…but one with an undercurrent of anger. He crosses his arms over his chest indignantly.

Nate Colton: Don’t compare me to…look. I know I screwed up, but it’s a lot more complicated than all that. If you just–

The Psychoberry’s eyes narrow and a sneer crosses her lips. She leans forward ever so slightly, irises still focused on Colton.

RIA Lockhart: Nothing you say is gonna fix this right now. At least not while you’re still hung up on some whore!

Lockhart practically spits the last bile coated sentence out of her mouth. The Next Diamond clinches his jaw, his own eyes mirroring RIA’s.

Nate Colton: That ain’t fair…and don’t call her that.

The smaller Lockhart shifts into Nate’s personal space, staring up at him. The atmosphere around the two of them seems almost disconnected, as if in its own reality, the air in their immediate space heavy with conflict.

RIA Lockhart: I’ll call her whatever the fuck I want! Whore! Slut! Cunt!

That last one does it. Nate steps forward, giving RIA a hard (and unexpected) shove. She propels backwards, but manages to catch her balance before hitting the ground. She pauses for a moment, a bit shocked over the escalation. Lockhart’s eyes widen, a growl escapes her throat. Forward she charges… right into the clutches of an intercepting group of Enemigos. Similarly, Colton is also being restrained by a good half dozen or so masked detail.

RIA Lockhart: Fuck you!

Nate Colton: Fuck me? If you’da just goddamn listened instead of flyin’ off the handle–

Despite both’s struggle, the Enemigos manage to hold firm. The separate piles of humanity are both pulled further apart, creating more space as we head back to ringside for the clash between Daytona Diamonds and Jason Snow.

No music is played.

In fact, all that can be heard is the squeak of a wheel.

Nick Stuart: It’s time for our next match!

Richard Parker: You call it match, I call it revenge, and here are the pigs for slaughter.

Down to the ring comes Jason Snow and Rexton William Bader.

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall! Introducing first, weighing in at 235 pounds… JASON! SNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!

Richard Parker: Let’s go, let’s go. I want to see Daytona hurt someone.

Nick Stuart: You are a sick individual, you know that?

Richard Parker: Probably.

The house lights snap off, plunging the arena into darkness. A wave of restless boos start even before the music hits. From the PA, the chorus of Glen Campbell’s “Rhinestone Cowboy” cuts through, clear and mocking.

♫ “LIKE A RHINESTONE COOOOOOWBOOOOOY!” ♫

Half the crowd starts booing before the last note even hits ends.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A blast of silverdust pyro erupts from the stage. “Fastest Horse in Town” by Sturgill Simpson crashes in, just as loud and just as swaggering as the man it’s set to introduce.

A spotlight hits the entrance ramp. Daytona Diamonds steps out dressed in black, a snarl on his lips as he looks out over the crowd. He lifts his arms high and soaks in the boos for the first time in months.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring… from Carson City, Nevada… weighing in at two hundred nintety pounds…

A smirk plays at his lips as he lowers his arms, flipping the crowd a quick middle finger before he starts to make his way down the ramp.

Vince Howard: He is The King of the Rodeo… The Anabolic Outlaw… Mr. Biceps-Bigger-Than-A-Ten-Pound-Baby… The Rhinestone Cowboy… DAYTOOOOOOONAAAAAA DIIIIIIIAMMMMMONNNNDDS!

In the center of the ring, a spotlight shines down as this new and improved Daytona Diamonds stands tall, letting his jacket fall to the floor to reveal the mass of muscles underneath. With a slow, exagerrated motion, Daytona throws his arms to the sides and then curls them up into a double front bicep flex. He holds the pose for an insufferable amount of time as the music plays and the crowd boos before the house lights finally come back up.

He then turns and stares at Snow, blood pumping through his veins.

Jimmy gives his final set of instructions and signals for the start of the match.

DING DING

At the sound of the bell, Jason Snow stands in his corner, shooting daggers from his eyes that land upon the skin of Daytona Diamonds. Daytona charges forward at Snow, only for the Hall of Famer to step aside easily, causing Diamonds to crash into the corner. The crowd murmured as Diamonds stood there, looking out at them. Fury built across his face before turning around and spotting Snow leaning against the ropes, almost beckoning him to charge again. Daytona fell for it again and rushed across the ring in a hurry. He lowered his shoulder and attempted to drive it into the gut of his opponent, only for Snow to sidestep him once again, sending Diamonds into the ropes and through them onto the ring apron.

Nick Stuart: Jason Snow seems to be having himself a mental standoff with Daytona in these opening moments of the match and Diamonds is playing right into it.

Richard Parker: I mean, Snow is smart here. He doesn’t want Diamonds prodigous arms to be wrapped around him and exact any amount of pain that the Rhinestone Cowboy is capable of.

Nick Stuart: Prodigous? Trying to impress everyone with your knowledge of the word of the day toilet paper?

Richard Parker: I mean, it was the only toilet paper at your house.

Snow slowly walked away from the angry Diamonds and watched as his opponent turned towards him. The anger only rose in his face, and Snow knew he had him right where he wanted him. Daytona, too blinded by rage and anger, wanting revenge more than anything, charged again at Snow, only for the veteran to connect with a drop toe hold that slammed Daytona’s face squarely into the mat. Snow floated over Diamonds, driving his forearm into the back of Diamond’s skull and digging his nose into the canvas before he stood up, clapping his hands as he did.

Richard Parker: If Jason is trying to piss off Daytona, he’s going the right way about it. Snow can’t avoid Daytona the entire match.

Nick Stuart: Well, I think he’s letting Daytona make as many mistakes as possible to find the right moment to capitalize upon it.

Richard Parker: Yeah, and what good is that going to do? He’s going to piss off Daytona worse than a bull in an arena at this rate.

Nick Stuart: That’s the risk Jason takes, but considering he is the Original Villain, I think he knows what he is doing.

Diamonds rolled onto his back and looked up at Snow before he shot his legs forward, connecting the heel of his boot against the thigh of the silent warrior. Snow quickly backed up, knowing he did not want the enhanced muscles of the Rhinestone Cowboy to get wrapped around him. Diamonds quickly got to his feet and danced around the ring, trying to control his rage as best as he could, but was quickly goaded in once again as Snow extended his arm and motioned for Diamonds to come after him. Diamonds acquiesced, only for Snow to connect with a stiff forearm that connected across the face of his opponent and stopped Daytona in his tracks.

Nick Stuart: Snow got all of that forearm and then some, and Daytona is reeling after it.

Richard Parker: Well, we finally get some action here. I was afraid these fans were going to start booing. You know these fans here in Chicago are not ones to sit by and just watch these two run at one another for very long. They love them some violence.

Nick Stuart: Well, I imagine this one will be as hard hitting as any other match on the card will be.

Richard Parker: Which could spell danger for Snow.

Jason placed Daytona in a side headlock and wrenched it tight. Diamonds slammed his forearm of into the lower back of Snow, but Snow kept it locked in. Diamonds connected with another forearm, this one, with a little bit more oomph behind it. Before Snow could retaliate. Diamonds wrapped his free arm around the waist of Snow, and lifted him up before connecting with a side suplex. As both men scrambled to their feet, Diamonds uncorked with a series of knife-edged chops across the chest of Jason Snow. This was everything that Snow was trying to avoid, and he covered up as quickly as he could, but Diamonds ripped down his arms and uncorked another trio of knife-edge chops across the bare chest of the former Intense champion.

Richard Parker: And judging by the look on Jason’s face, he did not enjoy that in the least bit! Those knife-edge chops have got to feel like a riding crop being launched at him at full speed.

Nick Stuart: You have a lot of experience with riding crops?

Richard Parker: Listen, the ladies love what the ladies love.

Nick Stuart: Sure, keep telling yourself that.

Snow attempted to turn away, only for Daytona to club him across the back of the neck with a series of forearm strikes that dropped the Hall of Famer to one knee. Daytona dragged Snow back up to his feet before connecting with a single underhook suplex into the turnbuckle. Snow crumpled onto the canvas before rolling out underneath the bottom rope, further frustrating the Rhinestone Cowboy. Diamonds chased after him while Snow tried to maintain his distance from Daytona, only for the King of the Rodeo to punt him in the ribs, flipping him onto his back on the outside.

Nick Stuart: And Diamonds is on the charge here, taking it to Jason Snow every step of the way!

Richard Parker: Diamonds still harbors resentment for Snow taking the Intense Championship from him.

Nick Stuart: Yes, well, I don’t think Daytona needs any reason to have anger issues. I mean, look at him.

Richard Parker: What are you suggesting, Nick? That Daytona is on the juice?!

Nick Stuart: Yes, Richard, yes.

Daytona reaches down and drags Jason back to his feet before driving his left shoulder into the rib cage of the Hall of Famer, driving him into the ringside barricade. Snow winces from the cold metal pressed against the small of his back and does everything possible to create separation from Daytona. The King of the Rodeo drives his knee into the gut of the silent warrior, though, before connecting with a gut-wrench suplex that lays Snow out on the unforgiving floor.

Richard Parker: Well, this match might be over before we know it!

Nick Stuart: I highly doubt that.

Richard Parker: What?! What makes you think that? Daytona is taking Snow out to the whooping shed!

Nick Stuart: Because Craig wrote this match, and he’s incapable of writing a short match.

Diamonds grabs the back of Snow’s neck and pulls him up to his feet before slamming his face into the edge of the ring. He then rolls Jason back into the ring and climbs onto the ring edge. As he steps through the ropes, Snow gets to his feet and connects with a right hand that stops Daytona dead in his tracks. Jason grabs Daytona and yanks him into the ring, wrapping his arms around his neck section and connects with a bridging German suplex. Turnbull slides in for the count.

ONE

TWO

Nick Stuart: And Daytona just barely gets his shoulder up in the nick of time! Snow quickly turns the tables on Diamonds and connects with that bridging German Suplex!

Richard Parker: I mean, that was a cheap shot with the right jab when Daytona got back into the ring. What kind of guy is he?

Nick Stuart: The Original Villain, Richard. You even said it earlier.

Richard Parker: Right, right.

Even with Daytona kicking out, Jason gets to his feet, bounces off the ropes, and drops a knee across the face of the Rhinestone Cowboy. Diamonds rolls over onto his stomach, kicking his feet into the canvas as he clutches at his face from the pain that he is experiencing. Snow takes this as an invitation to bounce off the ropes once again before dropping another knee, this time across the back of Daytona’s skull, driving his face into the canvas and creating more agony for the former Intense champion. Snow makes his way to the corner and watches as Daytona slowly brings himself up to his feet. Daytona turns around and Snow races towards him, going for a flying knee to the face, only for Daytona to get his hands up at the last second to block it. Daytona then plants his boot into the midsection of Snow and connects with a DDT. Diamonds then flips The Original Villain over and goes for the cover.

ONE

TWO

Richard Parker: And Snow barely kicks out there! If you ask me, I think Turnbull’s count was a bit slow.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think it was in the least bit, but you’re welcome to put on your referee shirt and get in there if you want to take over.

Richard Parker: What?! They don’t get paid enough to put up with half of the bullshit they have to deal with in the ring.

Nick Stuart: Then sit down and shut up about it.

Jason pushes himself up off the mat, only to be met with a running clothesline for his troubles. Daytona reaches down and pulls Snow up off the canvas before dragging him into a nearby corner,  planting a series of forearm strikes across his face that leave Jason dazed. Diamonds grabs Jason by the wrist and goes to whip him across the ring into the opposite corner, only for Jason to reverse it. Diamonds collides with the corner and is stunned momentarily before Jason charges into the corner, attempting for a clothesline of his own. Daytona, though, manages to get his boot up in the nick of time, and Snow crashes into it face-first before dropping to both knees.

Nick Stuart: These two continue to go back and forth with one another, neither willing to give up an inch to the other.

Richard Parker: I think that boot to Snow’s face may have cracked a few teeth.

Nick Stuart: What are you, a dentist now?

Richard Parker: Just trying to provide my expert opinion. Thanks Nick for trying to silence me with your wit and barbs.

Daytona reached down, grabbing Jason by the back of the neck, and yanks him up to his feet. He then puts Jason into a front facelock and lifts him up into the air for a snap suplex. The Original Villain, though, slips out and lands behind him. Before Daytona can react, Jason connects with a chop block to the left knee, sending Daytona crashing to the mat, writhing in pain. Jason takes a moment to clear his mind of the cobwebs before he starts stomping away at the left knee, exacting as much pain and damage as he can to minimize the vertical base of Daytona. Daytona does everything he can to create distance between himself and his opponent, but Jason, smelling blood in the water, remains on the attack, yanking Daytona to his feet.

He grabs the left leg of the Rhinestone Cowboy and connects with a dragon screw takedown. Each moment, each movement, is designed to neutralize his opponent’s base. Diamond, sensing trouble, fights his way back up to his feet and connects with a stiff forearm to the face of the Original Villain. Jason eats the forearm and retaliates with an European uppercut, sending Daytona into the nearby corner. There, Jason lands a series of stiff forearm strikes that weakens Daytona until he is nearly slumping in the corner. Jason grabs him by the wrist and attempts to whip him to the opposite corner, but Daytona drives his right boot into the canvas as hard as he can to stall that.

Richard Parker: The Rhinestone Cowboy putting an end to all of this Jason Snow foolishness.

Nick Stuart: Snow started to unravel his strategy there though a moment ago when he started attacking the left knee of Diamonds, though. That’s a smart strategy to ground the Rhinestone Cowboy.

Richard Parker: Sure, but it’s not like that’s actually going to work. Not with the legs of Diamonds. He never skips leg day.

Nick Stuart: …how often are you checking out Daytona’s legs? Just wondering.

Diamonds then unleashes a headbutt into the skull of his opponent, giving him a moment to breathe before he tries to unleash a series of offensive moves. Daytona uncorks a knife-edged chop across the chest of the Original Villain. Jason is dazed momentarily, but quickly shuts the gate on the attempted comeback with a European Uppercut that catches Daytona flush across the jaw and sternum. Jason then drags Daytona out of the corner and connects with a second Dragon Screw takedown. With Daytona on the mat, he decides to exact even more pain and torture as he grabs the left leg and puts him in a single leg Boston Crab, arching Daytona’s back as much as possible while wrenching back on the left leg.

Nick Stuart: And Jason went right back to the left leg! You can see the pain etched into Daytona’s face right now. This might be the end of the match.

Richard Parker: Oh, you’re such a paid shill sometimes. There is no way that Daytona is tapping out to a single-leg Boston Crab. Not in a million years.

Nick Stuart: You want to put money on it.

Richard Parker: …no. My sponsor wouldn’t be happy with me.

Daytona groans in pain as Turnbull checks on him, asking if he wants to submit. Daytona shakes his head, gritting his teeth as he does so. He slaps his hand against the mat before using his prodigious strength to lift his body off the canvas and starts crawling towards the ropes. Jason slams his forearm into the left knee of his opponent, slowing down Daytona in the process. Daytona knows, though, that he has limited time to get to the ropes before there is irreparable damage to his knee, and then he might as well consider his Almasy tournament run done. He continues to crawl, fighting through the pain, until his fingertips wrap around the bottom braided rope, forcing a break.

Richard Parker: Diamonds has reached the ropes! And Snow is holding it for an additional second or two.

Nick Stuart: Snow knows the rules quite well and he is going to exact every advantage he can take in this match.

Richard Parker: Ha! See, even you know that Snow can’t beat Diamonds fairly.

Nick Stuart: Sure, Richard, if that makes you feel better about yourself.

Daytona crawls underneath the bottom rope and uses them to stand on the ring apron. Jason immediately goes after his opponent and is met with a left hand to the jaw for his troubles. Jason is stunned, but only momentarily, before grabbing the back of Daytona’s skull and slamming it face-first into the nearby turnbuckle. Jason steps through the ropes and puts him into a rear waist-lock. Daytona retaliates with a series of back elbows flush against the jaw of the Original Villain. Jason is forced to break the hold as he grabs his jaw, wincing in pain. Daytona sees his moment, before he connects with a spear on the ring edge that sends Jason’s spine crashing hard into the edge of it, while Daytona falls off and onto the arena floor.

Nick Stuart: And the intensity between these two ratchets up another level, which is hard to imagine considering what we’ve seen thus far.

Richard Parker: Daytona has no problem putting his own body on the line if it means exacting more pain and damage from Snow. This is personal for him.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, well, Daytona better keep his head on straight tonight. He has a chance to make it to the next round of the Almasy Tournament if he can pull out the victory here tonight.

Richard Parker: Oh, that’s not even a question.

Diamonds takes a minute to catch his breath before he climbs back onto the ring edge. Snow is writhing in pain, though he did not fall onto the arena floor. Daytona grabs Snow by the back of his neck and tosses him into the ring. Daytona steps through the ropes and is immediately met with a forearm shot from Jason. Daytona falls backwards, but manages to catch his foot on the top rope, eliminating him from falling to the arena floor once again. He uses that momentum to rebound into the ring and connect with a Lariat that flips Jason inside out. Jason finds his way to his knees only for Daytona to come up from behind him and put him into a rear waistlock. He drags Jason to his feet and connects with a German suplex of his own. Jason folds over like an accordion before rolling onto his knees, grabbing the back of his neck in pain. Daytona stalks his opponent as he comes closer, while Jason uses the ropes to get back to his feet. As Daytona inches closer, Jason fires off a superkick that lands flush with Daytona’s jaw, sending both men crashing to the mat.

Richard Parker: SNAKE EYES OUT OF NOWHERE!

Nick Stuart: And before that, Daytona connected with the Six Shooter. It’s a miracle that Jason managed to even fire off the superkick considering the German Suplex that dropped him on the back of his skull.

Richard Parker: So you think that Snow is on the juice too? Interesting.

Nick Stuart: Never said any of that.

Turnbull begins a count as both men lie motionless on the canvas. Jason pushes up against the canvas, but immediately falls back down, his body racked with pain. Daytona rolls away from Jason and slowly sits up as Turnbull reaches the five count. Daytona slowly makes his way to his feet by the seven count and watches as Jason slowly makes his way to his knees. Even though Turnbull is at nine and Jason still has a bit of ways to go before he can get back to a vertical base, Daytona comes up from behind him and immediately starts clubbing him in the back and neck with a series of forearm shots. Daytona then drags Jason to his feet and connects with another knife-edge chop, before whipping him into the ropes and hoisting him up into the air, holding him up there for a few seconds, until he connects with a Gorilla Press Slam.

Nick Stuart: Daytona lifted Snow above his head like it was nothing! The impressive, and possibly illegal, strength of the Rhinestone Cowboy on full display!

Richard Parker: Illegal? Pshaw.

Nick Stuart: Pshaw?

Richard Parker: Pshaw.

Jason pushes himself up off the canvas, only to be met by the waiting arms of Daytona Diamonds. He wraps them around Jason’s torso and squeezes the life out of him before exploding with a thunderous belly-to-belly suplex that launches Snow halfway across the ring. Snow crashes into the canvas, clutching at his back, while Daytona pounds his chest and flexes his biceps. Snow rolls towards the corner, clutching his lower back, but Daytona is not quite done yet as he grabs Snow by the back of the neck, hoists him to his feet, before tossing him into the corner. He then uncorks another trio of knife-edge chops that reddens the chest of the Original Villain.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

Richard Parker: How do you like them chops, Snow-y baby?

Nick Stuart: Snow-y baby? I would love for you to tell that to his face.

Richard Parker: It’s not like he’s going to say anything about it.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, because it’s what Jason says that should be what you worry about.

Jason, not content with letting Daytona have his way with him, quickly rakes his eyes before planting his boot into his midsection, before hitting him with a DDT that sends Daytona crashing face first into the middle turnbuckle. Daytona’s skull bounces off the padding with a sickening thud. As Snow gets to his feet, Turnbull admonishes him for the eye rake, but Jason just brushes him off. Instead, Jason immediately capitalizes by grabbing both legs of Daytona, dragging him underneath the bottom rope, and catapulting him throat-first into it. Diamond gasps and chokes, while Snow places his boot on Daytona’s throat, pressing down while Turnbull counts, who yells at him to release Daytona in that moment. Turnbull reaches a four-count before Snow releases and looks at Turnbull, giving Daytona time to recover.

Nick Stuart: Snow once again one stretching the rules.

Richard Parker: STRETCHING?! He raked Daytona’s eyes and then didn’t break the hold immediately!

Nick Stuart: This is rich.

Richard Parker: No, it’s cheating. Rich? I see now money. How could it be rich?

Nick Stuart: You are one of a kind.

Richard Parker: Thanks, that’s what my mother always told me when I ate the cake out of a urinal.

Daytona, now on the ring apron, pulls himself up using the ropes, only for Jason to bounce off the ropes and connect with a stiff forearm that sends Daytona crashing onto the arena floor, rolling into the steel barricade. Snow steps through the ropes and hops off the ring edge, stalking Daytona, who is on his knees, trying to get back up. Jason slams his foot into the rib cage of the Rhinestone Cowboy before grabbing him by the arm and pulling him up to his feet.

Richard Parker: How is all of this allowed?! How many rules has Jason Snow broken in this match?

Nick Stuart: You realize that if Jason was facing Nate Colton and doing the same thing you would be a fan of it?

Richard Parker: Never. What kind of fickle being do you take me for?

Nick Stuart: That is is a great question.

Jason spins Daytona around and then puts him into a half-nelson, looking for a Snapdragon suplex. Daytona, though, wraps his leg around Jason’s to prevent it. Daytona then flips Jason over his shoulder and onto the arena floor. Snow quickly gets back up to his feet, but is quickly met with a clothesline from Daytona. As Jason gets back up to his feet, Daytona lowers his left shoulder and drives it into the midsection of the Original Villain before slamming him into the ringside barricade. Daytona, holding him up against the barricade, slams his forearm repeatedly into the neck of Snow until he falls down to both knees.

Nick Stuart: Snow is begin pummeled by the Rhinestone Cowboy. You have to imagine those forearm strikes to the neck, considering the veins popping out of his muscles.

Richard Parker: That’s a special technique you only learn in Australia.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, I doubt Daytona has learned anything in about ten years or so.

Richard Parker: I noticed a change in him after Australia, that’s for sure.

Daytona slaps the side of Jason’s head, more of a taunt than a true strike. He then pulls Jason up to his feet and slaps him again, only for the Original Villain to hoist him up into the air and drop him throat-first across the top of the steel barricade. Daytona stumbles around, grabbing at his throat, while Jason grabs him by the back of the neck and thrusts him face-first into the ring post. The steel collides against Daytona’s skull, but the man who is clearly on some form of drugs manages to stay on his feet. Jason grabs him by the back of the skull and rolls him back into the ring to break Turnbull’s count, which was at seven. Jason hops onto the ring apron and steps through the ropes, driving his boot into the face of Daytona as he tries to get up to his feet. Jason brings Daytona up to his feet, whips him into the ropes, and connects with the sidewalk slam before hooking the leg. Turnbull begins the count.

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: And Daytona manages to get his left shoulder up! The balance and momentum of this match continues to shift ever so slightly in one direction or another. It might just end up being whoever makes a mistake first is the one who loses and fails to advance to the next round.

Richard Parker: Well, considering Snow’s age, I imagine he’ll make a mistake first.

Nick Stuart: You’re older than Snow!

Richard Parker: Exactly!

Jason watches as Daytona sits up and fights his way back to his feet. Jason puts Daytona into a cinch and starts pelting him with knees into his sternum, chest, and ribcage. Daytona fights back, though, driving his shoulder into the throat of the Original Villain to break his cinch, leaving Jason stunned. Daytona puts him into a rear-naked choke and squeezes as tightly as he can. Jason immediately fights back, driving his elbow into the abdomen of Diamonds. With the hold broken, Snow spins around only to be met with a forearm strike flush across his face that drops him to one knee. Daytona bounces off the ropes and connects with a flying knee to the back of Jason’s skull, laying him out on the canvas. Daytona flips him over and hooks a leg as Turnbull begins another count.

ONE!

TWO!

Richard Parker: That was clearly a three count.

Nick Stuart: Turnbull hit the mat twice and then Snow kicked out. What are you smoking?

Richard Parker: Look, it’s Chicago. Things are weird here.

Nick Stuart: No they’re not. You’re weird.

With neither man willing to go down, they find themselves in the center of the ring staring at one another. Daytona uncorks a forearm shot that levels Jason in the jaw. The Original Villain, though, maintains his position and fires off a right of his own that shakes Daytona to his very core. Daytona fires off a knife-edge chop, making the chest of the Original Villain redden once again. Jason goes to fire off a left elbow strike, only for Daytona to block it and connect with a headbutt that sends Jason reeling. Daytona rushes after Snow, only for Snow to spin out of the way, wrap his arms around Daytona’s waist in a rear waistlock, and connect with a German suplex. Daytona folds over, making his way to his knees as Jason gets back to his feet. Daytona can only watch as Jason runs full speed and connects with a flying clothesline, sending him crashing to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Snow taking it to the Rhinestone Cowboy and you can just see the intensity pick up between these two.

Richard Parker: Meh. Diamonds is taking it easy.

Snow pulls Diamonds up to his feet and connects with a stiff forearm to the jaw. Diamonds stumbles backwards, and Jason lines him up for another Snake Eyes. As he fires it off, Daytona ducks underneath it. Snow turns towards Diamonds again, only to be met with a stiff uppercut to the jaw, which Diamonds follows up with a chokeslam into a backbreaker. Snow writhes on the canvas before Diamonds bounces off the ropes and connects with a knee across his face. Daytona then drags Jason back to his feet, whips him into the ropes, and lifts him high into the air before controlling with a high-angle sit-out power bomb.

Richard Parker: Oh, baby! Diamonds with the Hang ‘Em High Bomb! This match is OVER!

Nick Stuart: It sure doesn’t look good for Jaosn.

Diamonds then goes for the cover and Turnbull begins the count.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE–

Nick Stuart: Snow gets his foot on the rope! Snow gets his foot on the rope!

Richard Parker: What kind of BS is that?!

Nick Stuart: It’s all legal, Richard!

Richard Parker: Who cares about that?! We all do illegal shit all day long!

Sure enough, Turnbull spots Snow’s boot on the bottom rope and Diamonds looks at Turnbull with wild eyes as he gets to his feet. He begins to walk towards Turnbull, his finger out, eyes bulging, and things don’t look good for Jimmy.

Richard Parker: Jimmy is about to get what he deserves!

Nick Stuart: Get out of there, Jimmy! What do you mean what he deserves?!

Richard Parker: He owes me $20!

Nick Stuart: You’re crazy.

With Daytona’s back to Jason, the Original Villain manages to make his way to his feet and takes in the scene. Daytona has cornered Turnbull into the turnbuckles, and with that distraction, Jason charges full speed at Daytona, clotheslining him over the top rope, sending both men crashing to the arena floor. Dayonta is the first one back to his feet and starts stomping away at Jason before lifting him off the floor and whipping him back-first into the ringside barricade. Diamonds then charges full speed at Jason and connects the clothesline, sending him crashing onto the concrete floor where the fans are.

Nick Stuart: All hell has broken loose here!

Richard Parker: Daytona looks like he’s snapped. I don’t like what I’m seeing in his eyes.

Nick Stuart: And what are you seeing?

Richard Parker: Lust. Blood lust.

Snow makes his way back up to his feet and is grabbed by the back of the neck by Daytona, who slams Jason’s face into the steel railing before dragging him over it and back to the timekeeper area. Jason scrambles to his feet and plants his fist into the midsection of the Rhinestone Cowboy before connecting with the discus elbow. Daytona stumbles away, but Jason maintains the pressure as he connects with a running bulldog. Jason rolls into the ring to break Turnbull’s count before rolling back out and watches as Daytona pushes his way back to his feet. Jason goes for a Snake Eyes, but Daytona catches it, lifts him up into the air, and connects with a power bomb onto the ring apron.

Richard Parker: This isn’t going to be where Jason wants to be at.

Nick Stuart: I imagine not, but it’s where he is at.

Richard Parker: What is Daytona doing?

Nick Stuart: He’s pulling a table from out underneath the ring!

As Daytona sets up the table, Jimmy Turnbull admonishes Daytona for doing so and warns against it. Daytona, though, is no longer listening to Jimmy Turnbull or even to his better senses. He grabs Jason and pulls him up to his feet. He lifts Jason into the air only for Snow to connect with a series of elbow strikes into the face of the Rhinestone Cowboy. This forces Daytona to drop Jason. Jason finally connects the Snake Eyes that drops Daytona to one knee. Jason takes a few steps back and goes for a running knee, only for Daytona to catch him. He then lifts him up into the air for a powerbomb, and then powerbombs him through the table. Before Daytona realizes what has happened, Turnbull has signaled for the bell to ring.

DING DING DING!

Richard Parker: What is going on?!

Nick Stuart: Jimmy Turnbull has called for this match! Dayonta Diamonds broke the rules–

Richard Parker: So did Jason!

Nick Stuart: Well, I think this is a bit further outside of the rules, Richard.

Richard Parker: This is crap!

Daytona looks around, bewildered.

Vince Howard: Your winner, by way of disqualification… JASON! SNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!

Daytona immediately charges into the ring and begins yelling at Jimmy Turnbull and puts his hands on the referee.

Nick Stuart: We need security out here, stat!

Richard Parker: No, no, let Daytona have his way with Jimmy! And get me my $20!

Just then, the Enemigos charge into the ring, separating Daytona Diamonds from Turnbull! Jimmy slips out of the ring while Daytona starts attacking the Enemigos.

Nick Stuart: This has just gone from bad to worse! Folks, we’re going to head backstage and hopefully we can get this situation resolved in time for our next match.

Richard Parker: Get them, Daytona! Get them!

Nick Stuart: Oh, knock it off. Daytona screwed up. Meanwhile, Jason Snow has advanced to the next round of the Almasy Tournament!

Richard Parker: I want my $20!

ReVival cuts elsewhere as we see Daytona going after the Enemigos and Bader tending to Snow.

Nick Stuart: Folks, still no update on health of Hayes Hanlon after Rose’s brutal attack.

Richard Parker: Let me just say this about that vile, heinous act from Rose.

Nick Stuart: Okay.

Richard Parker: …coolest thing she’s done in a while.

Nick Stuart: Well… regardless, his presence or, lack thereof, could prove significant in our next bout. We’ve got Max Kael. We’ve got Flamberge. It’s second round action, coming right up!

Snark Darkly walks out onto the stage looking like an AI was attempting to create the offspring of Mr. Rogers and Richard Nixon, spitting out this human-enough thing. The crowd in the Fiserv Center begin to reign down boos. Lifting a microphone to his lips, Snark smiles broadly, the corners of his mouth stretching just beyond where human lips limits should be.

Snark Darkly: Introducing my client… TOWERING over his opponent at Six-Foot-Four-Inches and weighing in at Two-Hundred-Sixty-Five pounds… MAAAAAXIMILLIAN. WILHELM. KAAAAAAAAEL!

The lights in the arena cut out, an ominous, low sound drowning out the Milwaukee faithful.

“You should see me in a CROWN!”

As Elephant Gun Riot’s metal cover of “You Should See Me In A Crown” roars out over the crowd the lights on the stage flicker back on. Standing in the center of the stage with his iron crown upon his head is Arkham Mayoral Candidate Maximillian Wilhelm Kael. Wearing an atrocious smile that bisects his long face, Max lifts his arms above his head.

“I’m gonna run this nothing town,

Watch me make’em bow

One by One by… ONE

One by one by…”

Max glissades his way to the ring in rhythm with the song paying little to no attention to the PRIME audience. Lost in his own mad vision of the world around him, Kael moves to the angry words of the music.

Reaching the edge of the ring, Max moves to the steps before climbing them slowly. Reaching the top, he climbs the outside of the turnbuckle and once again raises both of his hands slowly into the air.

“You should see me in a CROWN!

Your silence is my favorite sound

Watch me make’em bow

One by one by ONE

One by one by oooone!”

Slithering down the turnbuckle and into the ring, Max slinks to the center of the ring where he slowly removes his crown, holding it high above his head before moving back to his corner. The music slowly fades while the arena lights return to their original radiance.

Nick Stuart: Not unnerving in the slightest.

Richard Parker: You’re unnerved? Feel these nipples!

♫…

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…oh, shit.

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

As “ooh la la” by Run The Jewels featuring DJ Premier & Greg Nice blares through the speakers, teal and copper sparks shoot out around the stage. A series of nicknames flash across the screen:

PRIME WRESTLER OF THE YEAR 2023

THE BEARDED DRAGON

THE LIZARD KING

THE ACE

LE PROTAGONISTE

LE COURONNE TRIPLE

THE NECK COLLECTOR

F L A M B E R G E

The Frenchman, with Universal Champion Cecilworth Farthington, a piece of human furniture, and his fellow tag champion Joe Malone just behind him, soaks in the loud reception from the crowd and confidently takes a lap around the ring before stomping up the ring steps and stepping through the ropes.

Max Kael sizes up FLAMBERGE, tosses a free snarl at Malone just to try and big dog him. Joe jostles the jolf bag on his shoulder in response.

DING! DING!

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Base instincts at play, the fine and sharp ones. Then, Max takes a step to his side. FLAMBERGE does the same. They circle each other, from a wide range at first, but as the circle continues its circumference decreases in size, until finally, FLAMBERGE GRABS MAX BY THE NECK AND–

Max wisely slips away and slides right out of the ring. A fan gives him some lip. Max threatens to backhand him.

Nick Stuart: A wise move by Max there.

Richard Parker: Slap that dickhead, Max!

Nick Stuart: I can’t believe I need to say this, but Richard, do NOT encourage the talent to attack paid audience members.

Richard Parker: Ok. And I can’t believe I need to say this, but Nick, do NOT tell me what to do.

Max yells at FLAMBERGE to back away from the ropes. But FLAMBERGE planks on the top one, lazily reaches down for Max, who swats FLAMBERGE’s hand away and yells at Ashley Barlow to do something. Ashley starts counting Max out.

Max’s eye twitches. FLAMBERGE, still planking, still dangling his arm down almost playfully reaching for Max. Max, pissed about all this, clearly, grabs FLAMBERGE by the wrist and yanks him out of the ring!

His body hits the apron awkwardly, and the Frenchman collides with the floor.

Nick Stuart: Ouch!

Richard Parker: La la, ah oui oui!

FLAMBO sweeps Max’s legs out from underneath him! Max’s back hits the floor hard!

Nick Stuart: Ouch!

Richard Parker: La la, ah oui oui!

Max and FLAMBERGE begin crawling up to their feet around the same time, but the Frenchman is indeed a step ahead – not for long, however, as Max thumbs FLAMBO right in the eye, which as you might expect, significantly delays FLAMBERGE’s ascent, while Max propels himself upward.

A Frenchman, on his knees.

Max just cant help himself.

Scissor kick to FLAMBERGE’s head!

Nick Stuart: Ouch!

Richard Parker: Not doing it again, Nick. I’m over that bit.

Nick Stuart: Already?

Richard Parker: Know when to end a good time, man. This is why you’re a drunk.

Nick Stuart: …I am not such thing and I could sue your ass if I wanted for that.

Richard Parker: Yeah, ok. Maker’s Mark, that’s who you should sue.

FLAMBERGE finds himself rolled back into the ring. Max’s lengthy form quickly swarming him, and sending several stiff fists to FLAMBERGE’s head area.

But FLAMBO, as we all know, ain’t no punk.

There’s a brain in there, making an incredibly calloused calculation.

And once its done?

Max Kael: OWWW, MY BALLS!

Richard Parker: ah oui oui!

Nick Stuart: Really?

FLAMBERGE sent his knee right into Kael’s balls. Direct hit. There goes my battleship type of direct hit. The kinda direct hit that does not allow a man to breathe. The kinda direct hit that causes a grown man to lay in the fetal position, clutching his private parts as both a comfort action and security measure.

But FLAMBERGE has stood up.

And that psychotic son of a bitch just did some more calculus.

A KICK RIGHT INTO MAX’S BALLS WHOSE CUPPED HAND DOES NOTHING TO HELP!

They don’t want you to know this, but this is why math is banned in PRIME.

FLAMBERGE destroys nuts.

Ashley Barlow has had enough. She warns FLAMBO that if he does it again, he’ll be disqualified.

HE KICKS MAX IN THE NUTS AGAIN ANYWA–

Oh. Nah. He was just kidding. It was a feint. Ashley rolls her eyes and Max leans up from the mat.

MAX PUNCHES FLAMBERGE IN THE NUTS!!!

Ashley now issues a stern warning to both men as they writhe on the ground, cupping their privates.

They appear to understand.

Ashley backs away for the action to resume.

Richard Parker is wheezing laughing at the commentary desk.

Nick Stuart: You’re a child, Richard.

Max and FLAMBERGE both begin that ascent back up to their feet (The Frenchmen shields his eyes with a knife-edged hand). As they arrive from their knees to their feet, both men stagger, and then, finally,

FINALLY,

they lock up.

Neither man gives up their poaition right away, which causes both of them to grow frustrated. They both free themselves from the tie up and re-engage, but FLAMBERGE sends a knee into Max’s gut, and judo tosses him into the turnbuckles!

Max bounces off the turnbuckles, stumbles out, and right into FLAMBERGE, who traps Max’s arms and

HEADBUTT!

HEADBUTT!

HEADBUTT!!!

Max drops like a sack of shit to the mat! FLAMBERGE makes the cover!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

Kick out by Max Kael!

FLAMBERGE hooks the legs!

ONE!!!

TWO – S.E.M.B.!!!

STOP!!! EATING!!! MY!!! BEANS!!!

Nick Stuart: Max Kael with a mandible claw here!!! Disgusting!!!

Richard Parker: But effective!!!

Indeed, that mandible claw attack has all but made FLAMBO forget he had a damn pinfall attempt seconds ago. Max has forced the Frenchman onto his back, and now he has no choice but to pull out some kind of dirty trick to avoid tapping out!

gaspbut low blows will now get them disqualified! He’ll have to think of something quick to – oh, there’s a rope right there.

Ashley Barlow sees Flamberge’s ankle drape the bottom rope, and forces Max Kael to quit the shenanigans with a five count that he makes full use of.

Max breaks the hold and he rises up to his feet. FLAMBERGE, meanwhile, pulls himself up in a very cool looking way with the ropes, like a gecko on a wall.

He turns around and MAX CHARGES HIM!!!

The Lizard King planks on a dime, pulling the top rope down with him, and Max topples to the outside!

Le Protagoniste rolls under the bottom rope, stands on the apron!

He LEAPS OFF!!!

DOUBLE STOMPS TO MAX KAEL’S CHEST!!!

NOOOOOOO!!!!

Max Kael rolls out of the way! He stands to his feet and reaches in his pocket. FLAMBERGE shields his face just in time from the pocket sand!!!

Max Kael: Curses!

Max takes off running.

FLAMBERGE considers giving chase, but he kinda just hangs out instead. Max will come back around, he’s sure of it.

Max, meanwhile, assumes he is being chased – and as he works around the ring, he shoots a couple of birds and sticks his tongue out at Glue – a possible DQ causer, a heady, veteran movie, but Glue just pretend they have no idea what that gesture even means.

Max makes his way back around the ring and finally sees FLAMBERGE standing there, waiting for him.

But, hang on a second.

That’s DOCTOR Ned Reform on the ring apron!

He’s screaming big words at Ashley Barlow!!!

From under the ring, two tweed-suited rich prick boys have emerged.

Hugo Vale, Daniel Green!

Richard Parker: YES!!!

Daniel Green NAILS FLAMBO in the back of the head with an elbow, and drops him!

Nick Stuart: And here comes Glue!

Richard Parker: And there goes Ned Reform!

And there goes Max Kael, darting back into the ring.

Ashley Barlow turns around just in time to see Cecilworth Farthington lay Hugo Vale the fuck out with a lariat, and Joe Malone send Daniel Green hurling backwards into the guardrails with a massive dropkick!

Glue help FLAMBO up to his feet, and turn their attention back to the Green Vale Gang.

In many ways, this is sad. They all would get along so kingly.

But lines drawn were crossed, and ass whoopings had to be handed out.

Daniel and Hugo reach their feet.

It’s chaos outside of the ring as FLAMBO slides back in.

But the match is sufficiently uninterfered with at this time, and Barlow’s more than happy to let the four outside the ring kill each other unless or until it crosses the lines she’s drawn.

Max, meanwhile, welcomes FLAMBO back into the ring with a stiff forearm shot to his jaw! Another! Another! A 12-6 Elbow from the Frenchman interrupts Max’s flow of strikes, and a chop to Max’s throat interrupts the flow of his ability to breathe.

Snark Darkley, outside the ring, has approached Daniel with a gift, by the way.

A ring bell.

Inside the ring, the violence continues! Strikes continuously thrown from both men, both former Intense Champions who know how to embrace these moments where punches and kicks become swords and shields. Closed quarters brutality. Max DUCKS an elbow from FLAMBERGE, before returning with A BROWBEATER – No, narrowly avoided by FLAMBERGE’s lizard instinct. Did he mlem after that?

DING!!

The audience gasps.

FLAMBERGE and Max both stop.

Daniel Green’s ass just Frisbee threw that ring bell at Cecilworth Farthington’s fucking head.

Cecilworth ducked it, but…

It caught Joe in the corner of his eyebrow.

Hence the ding.

And that thang is bleedin’.

Green Vale Gang realize quickly that the temperature just turned up further than, well, maybe they had planned for.

And against their better judgment, they leap over the guard rails and depart through the crowd, who litter them with food and drinks and other trash.

Joe’s got a match after this, and his eye is cut.

Cecilworth considers giving chase, but he knows he’ll see them again sooner or later. Proper comeuppance will be had.

In the meantime, action continues in the ring.

SIDEWALK SLAM BY KAEL!

Nick Stuart: COVER! WE GOT A COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: TRIANGLE CHOKE! MAX IS GOING FOR THE TRIANGLE CHOKE!

FLAMBERGE attempts to fight away but Kael is relentless in his approach. Both men remain on the mat as each of them is trying to gain a submission advantage over the other. Of course, Le Protagoniste knows chokes very well, and begins to attempt one of his own!

Nick Stuart: The Neck Collector is living up to his moniker. He’s trying for the guillotine choke…

Max knocks FLAMBERGE’s hands away and aims for his own triangle choke.

But FLAMBERGE wiggles free at the last second and tries for a desperation olympic slam…

But Max Kael lands on his feet and without hesitation charges forth, looking for FLAMBERGE’s neck again.

Richard Parker: NECK PLAY, NECK PLAY!

FLAMBERGE escapes Kael’s clutches and snatch Kael’s head with one arm. Julien tucks Wilhelm’s neck into his armpit. Meanwhile, whatever FLAMBERGE can do, Kael can do too…

Nick Stuart: I believe BOTH men have each other in a half-headlock choke right now with one arm each!

Richard Parker: And I believe I’m having seriously intense deja vu right now!

Cecilworth Farthington is now up on the ring apron, demanding Ashley Barlow disqualify Max Kael, Why? For many reasons, it seems, including Joe’s eye.

Which allows FLAMBERGE to hit a totally banned-ten-minutes-ago-low-blow.

Max Kael, God bless him, falls to his knees from the third low blow he’s received.

Neck exposed.

It’s all elementary from here.

Nick Stuart: MARIE ANTOINETTE!!! THE GUILLOTINE CHOKE!!! AND OOOOH, IT’S LOCKED IN TIGHTLY!!!

Max has two choices. He can tap out or pass out.

Max takes the soldier’s way out.

Ashley Barlow lifts Max’s hand.

It drops.

She does it again.

It drops again.

A third time.

Ashley Barlow calls for the bell!

DING DING DING

FLAMBERGE has done it. He has advanced, through all kinds of churlish nonsense from Max Kael and his buddies, to the quarter finals.

Cecilworth and a Bleeding-Eye Joe joins FLAMBERGE in the ring.

Vince Howard: HERE IS YOOOOUR WINNERRRR…. FLAAAAAAAAAAMBEEEEEEERGE!!!!

We cut elsewhere while the glue boys glelebrate.

Nick Stuart: Next up, resident real stuntman Sebastian Gold will demonstrate some stunts from Disney’s live-action remake of Watership Down, hopping this Summer into a theatre near you!

An elaborate, thunderdome-style motorcycle course has been set up in an abandoned warehouse. A spotlight clicks on, revealing SEBASTIAN GOLD decked out in head-to-toe glistening gold gear. Even his face is caked in sparkling gold glitter.

Nick Stuart: Sebastian will recreate the iconic scene where the rabbits outrun a cyberpunk gang on speedbikes in post-apocalyptic Tokyo. One of my favorites as a kid.

Gold looks at the daunting track stoically. This should be fucking awesome.

Rich Parker: Gold recently revealed that he’ll be challenging for Fred Dick’s Intense title. Perhaps he thinks this stunt will intimidate his Sketti-sponsored opponent?

Nick Stuart: I think the annoying punk just wants to show off.

Whatever the reason, it’s time for some stuntwerk. The countdown begins. 3. 2. 1. GO!

But the Golden Boy does not move.

Nick Stuart: Is, is something wrong with Bash?

Suddenly, the sparkling Gold figure starts to…slide apart? Sebastian’s entire form droops and slides apart as if he were thin pasta sheets layered with cheese and red sauce and gold glitter paint.

Rich Parker: That cheat Sebastian Gold has been lasagna this whole time!!

Nick Stuart: Ugh, no. But something’s clearly happened. Where is Action Bastion??

Nobody knows. The rest of Sebsagna Gold slides apart into a golden mush on the floor.

Meanwhile, two human beings dressed as rats crawl into the frame.

Toddrick.

Miguel.

The Lasagna Boys.

They skitter around Sebasagna’s Gold remains before they start munching on it.

All we hear, for a while, are the guttural sounds of two rat men gnoshin’ on Lasagna.

Then, they make an announcement.

Toddrick: Sebastian Gold has been kidnapped.

Miguel: We did it. We kidnapped him.

Eating sounds. Smacking lips.

Toddrick: Fred Dick said to do it. Said he ran his mouth at him in the bathroom. Said, we gotta turn Bass Gold into a Lasagna Boy, like us.

Mmm nom nom.

Belches.

Moist chewing.

Miguel: He’s one of us now.

Toddrick: One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us.

Toddrick nudges Miguel.

Lasagna Boys: One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of us. One of–

Jesus Christ literally cut away, why are you still here???

ReVival moves on.

The lights go out in the United Center for a few seconds before a lone spotlight hits the stage. There, in all of his beautiful glory, is a man. This man is made of cardboard. This man sparkles like cardboard doesn’t. This man is a cardboard cutout of Joe Fontaine.

There’s murmurs in the crowd as Joe Fontaine emerges from the darkness and pushes over his own cardboard cutout while Jack White’s “Love Is Blindness” hits the PA system. He is dressed in his finest gaudy-ass green bedazzled tearaway suit and non-tearaway shawl. His half of the PRIME Tag Team Championship is wrapped around his waist.

Emerging from the darkness behind him? Why, that’s FLAMBERGE. That’s the PRIME Universal Champion, Cecilworth Farthington. They form a triangle shape with Joe taking center stage and the Universal champion walking leisurely behind the pair of them. The triangle is for flavor. Oh, somewhere behind Cecilworth is fabby and the jolf clubs he carries, but no one cares about fabby.

The PRIMEview has but four words for this display:

GLUE FRIENDS STICK TOGETHER
except fabby

Beautiful.

Vince Howard: Introducing first… from Phoenix, Arizona, weighing in at one hundred and eighty-five pounds! HE HAS… a list of nicknames I’m not willing to repeat! HE IS! ONE HALF OF THE PRIME TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS! HE! IS! JOOOOOOOEEEEEE FOOOOOOOONTAIIIIINNNEEEE!!!

Joe is frowning when he gets to the ring, and he hops up to the ring to discuss an element of Vince Howard’s entrance that he doesn’t like with the man himself.

Nick Stuart: Last month, Joe Fontaine shocked a lot of people with a big first round upset over Nate Colton in the Almasy. Can he do it again?

Richard Parker: God, I hope so.

Nick Stuart: You know, I asked that question kind of rhetorically because I knew how you’d respond.

Richard Parker: FUCK CANCER JILES, ALL OF MY HOMIES HATE CANCER JILES.

Nick Stuart pauses as though he’s uncertain if he’s homies or not.

The lights dim.

A cool breeze makes its way through the air.

Those in attendance rise to their feet.

Richard Parker: Here’s to hoping this is the last time we have to suffer through this.

Nick Stuart: Agreed.

The Crumbotron 97000 kicks on, illuminating the crowd. On it, the BEST superkick montage in the business begins to play. Avalon, Parker, Troy, Youngblood, Stanislav, Flamberge, Cecilworth, Hanlon… Puddings, Nova, Balaam, Palmer, Colton, Winters, Walker…

Nick Stuart: Jiles’ third Almasy, and he’s made it out of the first round every time, Dick. What’s he got to do here tonight in order to say the same thing about Round Two?

Richard Parker: Nick, in my most unbiased of opinions, I’m not sure if that’s possible. Even for him.

Nick Stuart: Unbiased, huh?

Richard Parker: Unbiased.

The superkick montage comes to an end, and with it, the start of the most recognizable guitar riff in PRIME begins.

BOOOOO~!

“I’m the one your mama warned you about”

“When you see me, I will leave you no doubt”

“I’m the coolest man that ever walked this earth”

“I’ve been the coolest since the day of my birth”

Richard Parker: I AM THE FOOL! HA! Fuck him.

“I AM THE COOL”

At the top of the ramp Vickie Hall, Cancer Jiles, and Big Hess emerge.

BOOOOO!!!!!

Before the three of them make their way down to the ring, a hellfire volley of pyros turns the lights back on for a brief moment.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! BOOM-BOOM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!……… 

BOOM!

Jiles walks out in front, arguing and belittling each and every PRIMEate looking in his direction. Vickie and Hessian are close behind him. Vickie is also casting aspersions with no remorse while Big Hess has his head on a swivel should someone get frisky.

Nick Stuart: I’ll say this, Jiles appears to be as COOL as a cucumber. You sure wouldn’t know his career is on the line by the way he is acting. I guess it’s just another gigantic, double bounty, career on the line, MAIN EVENT match for him.

Richard Parker: Hey Nick…

Nick Stuart: Yeah?

Richard Parker: Shut the fuck up.

As is the trend, if you’ve noticed, Vince Howard has not provided an entrance call for The COOLYMPIAN. Does this make sense? Is he in the Richard Parker camp save when he MUST make a call? You be the judge.

And stay tuned.

The Golden Ticket reaches the ring steps. Before entering the ring he kisses his love goodbye, tosses his T-shades high up in the air where only Big Hess can reach them, and then spits in the direction of Richard Parker.

Richard Parker: I hate him.

Hessian and Vickie head back up the ramp and disappear through the curtain. Meanwhile, after posing for the crowd, Jiles walks over towards Elvis Nixon to go over “his” personal set of rules with the senior officiate.

Richard Parker: And of course this mutant, this disgusting parasite, this abomination to all things good and just…and all things NOT good and just…just a terrible awful person…or creature…or piss jug. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire? No…it’s even worse…I wouldn’t even let him store my piss. It could bubble up and ferment inside him and–

Nick Stuart: You are DISGUSTING right now, and I can’t, in good conscience, let you continue–

Richard Parker: –WELL I WILL CONTINUE, NICHOLAS! CANCER JILES IS A FLESH AND NIGHTMARE BONES PRISON! JUST THE IDEA OF HIM MAKES MY SKIN CRAWL AND MAKES NIGHT TIME LAST LONGER! HE IS AWFUL AND HE IS AWFUL AND THE POWER OF HOYT COMPELLS YOU YOU SCAB, YOU ABSOLUTE PITIFUL WORM, YOU–

DING DING

Glue Friends stick together, save Hayes Hanlon, but we all know why he isn’t here. And FLAMBERGE, for what it is worth, is very exhausted from earlier. Why wouldn’t he be? He just had a match with one of his besties in Max Kael. Cecilworth, for his part, seems a little bloated. Maybe from traveling and food choices? Then again, maybe he isn’t, because maybe he has been able to have a more balanced diet of maybe vegetables that have things called vitamins and nutrients. But he is Universal Champion, a fact that is akin to a burr in the ass crack of The Golden Ticket. And despite the bell ringing, he is still executing his will, making sure Nixon understands EVERY ONE of the rules laid out by The Manhunter.

Joe Fontaine charges outward and launches himself.

Oh yeah.

Dab.

Cancer Jiles turns just in time for The Prince of Jolf to nail him FLUSH and dead to rights.

Go. Back. 2. Chicago.

This. Thing. Is. Done.

The Prince of Jolf goes for the cover.

Why does he go for the cover?

Cancer Jiles isn’t on the canvas.

You, as a member of the audience, might be wondering why Joe Fontaine, The Prince of Jolf, who definitely hit Cancer Jiles flush with his finishing move, the shining wizard, and even had the dab to go with it, is literally just standing there as Fontaine, on his knees, looks upward unexpectedly.

The Prince of Jolf merely stares.

Cancer Jiles…Cancer Jiles.

Cancer Jiles: Ha. Scab.

Rabbit punch to the dried up cut on The Prince of Jolf’s head. The blood is flowing.

You can’t Go Back 2 Chicago…when you’re ALREADY IN CHICAGO!

Richard Parker: I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I–

Nick Stuart: The blood is cascading down Fontaine’s head from that cut Daniel Green caused–

Richard Parker: JUST KILL HIM GET IN THE RING AND KILL HIM STOMP HIM INTO GUTS AND THEN STOMP THE GUTS UNTIL THEY ARE GUTS AND JUST MURDER THIS PIECE OF–

Little shuffle. The Golden Ticket has The Prince of Jolf in his sights. He is calculating percentages in real time like he’s The Terminator but without the T-Shades because, well…I can’t say. I can’t say because I am not supposed to look at or even think about the T-Shades. Hey, crumb, hows a little Terminal Cancer sound? Oh, great? Well, Joe Fontaine, Prince of Jolf, are you ready? The Prince of Jolf better be. Because The Prince of Jolf isn’t…

Small package.

Grab of the tights.

ONE

TWO

NOOOOOOO

VIOLENT kickout by The Golden Ticket. And if you think Joe Fontaine is going to only be called The Prince of Jolf for the rest of this match, you are very much mistaken. Why? Because The Prince of Jolf nearly got the win right there with a throw of chicanery. The Hardest Working Man In PRIME is IRATE, but only for a moment. Those big eyes, bugging out, they remain transfixed on The Prince of Jolf…but his expression shifts. Cheshire cat smile. A little golf clap.

A jolf clap.

Fontaine claps back.

The two are clapping at each other, pantiming one another. And as they rise, they draw nearer to each other. Slowly. Clapping. There is an insidiousness to this process, an inherent danger. They are nearly chest to chest. Well, as best as can be expected.

And they’re smirking.

And they’re so sarcastically clapping.

At each other.

It’s as though, as this goes on and on, the level of sarcasm drip is due to flood the world. The pacing growing slower. More maniacally. The world is a oyster to these to jay brones. Your eyes are focused on them. On this spectacle. And you, at home, you are standing there. Watching. Chanting. Clap forever. Clap. Clap. Clapclapclap. Clap forever. Clap. Clap. Clapclapclap.

The two, with ruthless quickness, drop to their knees, at the same time. An arm lifts from each. A duo of attempted low blows, their fists colliding with each other on total accident.

Nick Stuart: This unorthodox, this odd–

Richard Parker: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!

King Cool and The Prince of Jolf. The Main Event and The Prince of Jolf. The COOLYMPIAN and The Prince of Jolf. Locked in this odd struggle, their fists having smashed into one another. This is a standoff. That is, until Fontaine wildly swings his free arm to try and poke Jiles in the eyes. The Manhunter brushes it away, as though he is Neo from The Matrix, just learning he is The One. Oh, and a YAWN too?

The audacity!

Fontaine goes for an eye rake.

Jiles catches him in the corner of the mouth with his fingers, pulling him to the canvas with a fish hook. He braces The Prince of Jolf, also known as The Prince of Jolf, to the canvas digging his fingers into Fontaine’s maw. The visual is impressive, the blood flowing down his face, through the socket of his eye, his hands wildly going for the ropes. Vickie Hall, for her part, grabs onto the bottom rope, and plants her legs into the ring apron, yanking it back, hanging as though she were a deranged monkey at The Hell Zoo. Nixon admonishes Jiles, but do you think The Golden Ticket cares?

Ha.

Ha.

Stay tuned.

(He doesn’t.)

That is, until The Prince of Jolf hits him in the nose with the back of his head. Stars flood The COOLYMPIAN’s eyes, and they are of the Night Two variety. A dangerous proposition. Fontaine goes for a forearm.

No he doesn’t.

The Prince of Jolf RAKES the ABSOLUTE HELL out of the eyes of Cancer Jiles.

Elvis Nixon explodes from the canvas, demanding an end to this behavior. Fontaine, crimson rushing over his lips, staining his teeth, can only grin wildly. Pucker. Kiss. Another. Eye rake.

And Jiles is in agony.

Up and through The Prince of Jolf pinning him, managing to leverage himself onto the nearby bottom rope.

ONE

TWO

THR–

NOOOO!

Nixon sees. And Jiles kicks out. And Fontaine’s feet fall to the canvas because Big Hess has yanked back the rope so the whole balance deal is thrown off. FLAMBERGE, his fatigue palpable, steps forward, ready to throw down for his Glue Bro. Nobody tries to big up The Vanilla Baby.

Vickie is apoplectic. Her natural state of being. Also, my god, she’s just the most hideous being that has ever existed. How do you fill a flesh suit with that much raw sewage? How is it even remotely possible? And THOSE FUCKING EYEBROWS!

Nixon knows that things can change at the drop of a hat, that things can get pear shaped in a hurry. Combustible elements. Bad juju. Jiles looks to take advantage, getting up, reaching into the tights, putting on a pair of brass knuckles…

DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

That ding is something you’d hear in an AKI Engine wrestling game. The Manhunter’s knees knock, and he starts stumble bumbling forward, as though he is one of Little Mac’s victims in Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!!®

Foretold, the rise of Dick Puncher The Invincible.

Jiles crumb les (ha) to the canvas, and Fontaine dives onto him, ready to once again excise The Golden Ticket away from The Golden Ticket, for himself, for the glory of Glue, for his Gluepanion and Gluebrother (Gloprother?), Cecilworth Farthington. Oh, and he has the tights.

ONE

TWO

TH–NO!

Wait…

WAIT!

JILES reverses.

AND HAS FONTAINE’S TIGHTS!

ONE

TWO

THR–

Wait!

A reversal!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE–

And back to Jiles!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

THREE!

Three?!

REEEEEEVERSAL!

Joe trying to leverage as much as he can–

ONE

TWO

THREEEEEEeeeHA!

NO! REVERSAL AAAAGAIN!

ONE!

TWO!

STOP!

Both men, stand up!

Jiles lashes out, throwing a knife edge chop into the chest of Fontaine.

Smooth Joe Cool merely dabs, despite the clear handprint branding his chest.

ANOTHER knife edge chop.

Fontaine dabs again.

The COOLYMPIAN goes to throw another chop–

Joe is ready.

He grabs the arm, swinging Jiles to the canvas in an impressive grappling and submission set up display that would seem not so out of place in a contest involving the Universal Champion. Is Jiles ready for Article 51?

He shouldn’t be.

Because Dick Puncher The Invincible grabs Jiles in a greco roman knuckle lock and STOMPS on his dingus!

Nixon is THIS close from throwing this match out. And why wouldn’t he? This insanity, this display, what in the world is going on here?

But Fontaine realizes the match is still going on. He realizes The Golden Ticket is prostrate on the canvas, grabbing at his done and dusted nards. And he sees an opportunity to put this bad boy to bed for good and all.

The Ace (of Clubs) yanks Jiles from the canvas, and holds him in a standing headscissor. He looks right into the camera, then to the audience. You feel it? Joe Fontaine feels it. All of Glue feels it. Hayes, you little slugger you, this is for you. The Aerial Apothecary who has not hit a single aerial move in this second round match up grabs hold of The Hardest Working Man In PRIME (head out of the gutter, you pervs) and is ready to drive The Golden Ticket right out of…The Golden Ticket.

Joe Fontaine: MEMPHIS!

Oh yeah, Uncle Jeff.

Joe Fontaine: DEATH!

It’s so time.

Joe Fontaine: CERTIFUUUUoooouuughhhhhh ooooouuhhhhh uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu 🙁

Low blow.

From The Cancer Man.

Jiles moves forward.

Terminal.

Cancer.

One.

Two.

Three.

And just like that, the match is over. The most odd, the most challenging, and perhaps one of PRIME’s most fined contests is over. Joe Fontaine put up a hell of a challenge, but unfortunately for him, and for Glue, Cancer Jiles is going to advance.

That’s why Elvis is totally raising his hand in victory.

That’s why the peacocking about the ring is happening.

That’s why Cancer Jiles

Joe Fontaine: HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII YAH!

The FAMED 45 Days Purge connects! And Jiles is down on the canvas. But not for long. The Manhunter is back up, only to be waylaid by a flying forearm from Smooth Joe Cool. Fontaine, sudden burst of energy, launches toward the corner, and in one quick motion, leaps to the top turnbuckle, landing flush on Jiles with a moonsault!

COVER!

ONE!

TONY!

TWO!

BOOKS!

How the HELL did Tony Gamble get into the ring?

FLAMBERGE and Cecilworth are ready to ANNIHILATE this fool.

Fontaine pays him no mind, despite Nixon having to stop his count. Jiles is ripe for the picking.

Smooth Joe Cool loads up, launching himself forward with a super ki–

Terminal Cancer connects.

How dare you?

How FUCKING dare you?

You crumb.

You absolute pitiful scab.

Fontaine now sees stars. And blood. His own.

He doesn’t see ANOTHER Terminal Cancer smash into his jaw, throwing him onto the canvas in a splay. The Golden Ticket dives and hooks the leg.

One.

Two.

Three.

DING DING DING

And as Glue realizes what has happened, as Gamble has run his way through the crowd, The Golden Ticket slithers out of the ring, right into the grouping of Vickie and Hessian, having plucked his beloved T-Shades and fixing them where they belong. Not a hair out of place.

Ha.

Vince Howard: Your winner…and advancing in the 2025 Seymour Almasy Memorial Invitational…CAAAAAAAAAAANCER! JILES!

Richard Parker is having an aneurysm. FLAMBERGE is trying to help up his fellow Tag Champ, who is very much out cold. Cecilworth’s eyes are daggers at the cockroach who he had hoped would have been killed for good and all on this night.

Chicago is booing because they hate this, which is good, because if they hate it, it means all is right with the world.

The member of the only real Hall of Fame in wrestling that matters moves on.

Stay tuned.

FADE

TO

BLACK