ReVival 76

We open…to a plate of pancakes.

They look really good, y’all. Stacked high and proud, covered in just the right amount of syrup, a fat pad of butter just starting to melt a little on top.

As we zoom out a bit, we see this plate is in fact on a silver platter, which used to have a cloche over top of it. We know this because we see the person holding the silver platter – a Plague Doctor wearing PRIME-blue robes and a bright pink mask – is holding the silver lid in his other hand.

Majestic. Just majestic as hell.

And the nose of a Zaddy leans over. He gives the pancakes a deep wafting inhale…ahh, and an exhale.

(voice): And on October 3, he asked me what day it was.

We pan over, and see a broad, muscular man with salt-and-pepper hair and beard, a piercing gaze, and the pinkest get-up you ever saw. His bright pink military-style jacket is flowing, though we can’t tell where the wind is coming from. The blue leather and gleaming plates of the FIST of DEFIANCE are strapped tightly around his waist. The kids would say he’s got “aura”.

The Kraken.

Henry Keyes.

Henry Keyes: …it’s October 3.

He takes the plate of pancakes and begins walking – we realize now that all the walls are wooden, and we’re headed down a corridor of more wooden walls. There’s a grand room with a door in the distance.

In that distance, we see black-robed Plague Doctors going hither and yon – one with a huge tray of raw steaks, one wheeling a barrel across the floor – and a pink carpet that’s been rolled towards the door.

Henry Keyes: Hey there.

Keyes winks with his left eye towards the camera.

Henry Keyes: If you’re an uggo, you may not understand what’s going on here – and even if you’re a certified Plastic, you still may not understand what’s going on here, but I have tremendous news.

He makes his way to the grand corridor of what we must assume to be some sort of boat or dirigible or something. He pulls out a pink fork from one of his many pockets and stabs at the pancakes. They’re delicious, you can just tell.

Henry Keyes: It’s MEAN GIRLS DAY. And those in the know, know that the two meanest girls alive today are going to have a special little exhibition match for you tonight, as the QUEEN of the RING, LINDSAY TROY –

We hear a roar of cheers from off in the distance – and we see sunlight through the door of the great room. It looks like it leads to the parking lot of Amalie Arena.

Henry Keyes: and the KRAKEN, HENRY KEYES –

He takes another couple steps, and we can confirm – we’re definitely near the arena.

Henry Keyes: put down two DISTINCTLY fugly bimches from DEFIANCE Wrestling, the Rain City Ronin. But, see, here’s the dirty little secret – I’m not just here for one little tag team match, no no! You see, I like to tell people that I’ve become the most dominant world champion in the wrestling world today as the FIST of DEFIANCE – but then I talk to my Bestie, and I come to watch PRIME live and in person, and it occurs to me that maybe…MAYBE…a few folks around here might disagree with that assessment.

Keyes follows the pink carpet out towards the parking lot and takes another big bite of pancake. GOD, they’re good today. Our perspective swivels around Henry so we’re no longer following him, and instead are in front of him – behind Henry, we now see that the “something” from before has all the appearance of a huge wooden airship or some kind. One wonders how many photos are going to sneak onto social media.

Henry Keyes: This idea kept churning and churning in the back of my mind, and Miss Troy could see that it bothered me – when she finally shared something I didn’t want to hear. She said, “you can’t really KNOW who’s the best until you actually fight.” And you know something…she made a hell of a good point.

In the back of the parking lot, a mullet comes into frame with Scott Hunter’s body attached to it. It’s a very sad and somber body. He could probably use a hug. Scott’s got headphones plugged into something in his pants pocket, and he’s paying absolutely no attention to the Kraken – which is odd for reasons that I’m sure Henry will contextualize for you later. We do hear Scott, though, if only for a few fleeting moments.

Scott Hunter: …I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but Heaven knows I’m miserable now…

The lyrics turn to rhythmic mumblings. He sways his head to what we imagine The Smiths might be playing, but in like a moody way, before continuing on his way out of view.

Henry Keyes: NEVER LET IT BE SAID THAT HENRY KEYES, THE CO-CONSUL OF VAE VICTIS, IS A COWARD!

There it is. The contextualizing.

Henry Keyes: As FIST of DEFIANCE, I have tremendous sway, and while it may be shocking to the Conor Fuses or the Pat Cassidys of the world, SOMETIMES I like to use my powers for good. DEFIANCE’s Favoured Saints are my people, and Lindsay Troy is my people. I had my people talk to my people. And the two greatest in-ring rosters in professional wrestling today have a fantastic little piece of news – and IIIIIIII get to share it!

He takes another huge forkful of pancakes and wolfs it down – it occurs to us watching that Keyes may have some of that Joey Chestnut gene given how much food he’s pounded with such ease. His plate is completely clean, minus a couple smears of syrup. He chuckles and uses his jacket sleeve to wipe it clean before holding it in his hands and staring into it, almost like a photo in a frame.

He winks again, and turns the plate to face the camera.

It’s commemorative, it’s shiny, and it’s available for $49.99 at the merch booth.

It reads:

FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY

PRIME X DEFIANCE SUPERSHOW

WINTER, 2025-26

The PRIME half is bright blue with intricate logos of some of their most famous stars, while the DEFIANCE half is a deep crimson with logos of their own. A faint VV stretches across both sides.

Henry Keyes: Get in, loser. We’re going headhunting.

He tosses the plate over his shoulder – Plate Catcher Plague Doctor is fortunately on the scene, and he keeps the collector’s item from shattering on the pavement.

Keyes exits our view.

And we roll on…

https://drive.google.com/file/d/14q3pjk321OC19Np6Azs2Trak6dJWsKVD/view?usp=sharing

Signs. Feed. Me. Signs.

THE LABELT
L’ALIAS
ON OCTOBER 3RD, HE ASKED ME WHAT DAY IT WAS
AND I SAID OCTOBER 12 BECAUSE I’M A FRED DICK FAN SO I’M NOT VERY SMART
NED REFORM’S MOM NEVER PUT HIS ART ON THE FRIDGE
I WISH THIS SHOW WEREN’T IN FLORIDA
ANTI-PRIME PRESENTS: ANTI-REVIVAL -76
TCHU ONLY LIKES ORANGE, GREEN, AND PURPLE
LUC LABELLE’S MOTHER PATTI IS HERE TO SEE HIM WIN THE TITLE

Nick Stuart: HELLO EVERYONE, AND WELCOME TO REVIVAL 76 AT ALAMIE ARENA, HERE IN TAMPA, FLORIDA!!!

Richard Parker: MY NIPS COULD CUT GLASS RIGHT NOW, NICK!!!

Nick Stuart: I’M SO HAPPY YOU VOLUNTEERED THAT INFORMATION WHEN NO ONE EVEN ASKED YOU, RICHARD!!!

The crowd is raucous and uniquely Floridian. Lots of pit viper sunglasses. Rowdy. You KNOW they been drankin’! Mmhmm!

In the ring, Vince Howard stands with a microphone at the ready.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for ONE… … … … FAAAAAaaaaalllll… Introducing first—

SUDDENLY!

Intruder #1: AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Intruder #2: AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Vince finds himself joined in the ring by the Intruders. As you can plainly see, they are screaming in his face. Then, they both rip the microphone from Vince’s hand, and scramble out of the ring to the timekeeper’s table.

They then steal the ring bell.

Intruder #1: WE HAVE THE DING THING!

Intruder #2: WITHOUT THE DING THING TO DO THE DING DING YOU CANNOT DO THE RING THING!

Intruder #1: WE ARE NOW THE KING OF THE RING BECAUSE WE ARE THE KING OF THE DING THING!

Intruder #2: WE CAN TIE IT WITH STRING AND SLING AND SWING UNTIL WE FLING IT INTO THE—

Intruder #1: STOP RHYMING! I’M GETTING DIZZY!

Intruders #1 and #2: AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The Intruders run away with the ring bell, as suddenly a small squadron of enemigos descend upon them.

We cut back to the announce table.

An awkward moment shared between Nick and Richard.

Richard Parker: Oh, the Enemigos are gonna beat the shit out of those guys.

Nick Stuart: Let’s uh… let’s cut to something else while the Enemigos… retrieve the ring bell.

We cut to something else.

…Previously On…

…THE NEWS…

Max and the Herald stand before the precious WON ACTION NEWS VAN, a fresh and crispy new fiberglass face of Max Kael mounted on the front of it.

Max Kael: Just when I don’t think I can love a thing more, we’ve gone and made it even better!

The Herald looks at the creepy, dead-eyed face of the Mayor-Elect of Arkham, a wide, toothy grin stretched across its shiny face.

The Herald: Yeah… I don’t know, it kinda creeps me out.

Max Kael: That’s cause you’re a creep, my the Herald!

Kael slaps the back of the Herald’s head, hissing at the young man before turning his loving green eyes back on the unpleasant fiberglass creation.

Max Kael: This is one of the most beautiful pieces of land-craft EVER created. I won’t hear anything else about it! And it still remains a mobile NEWS VAN, capable of controlling our entire NEWS Segment, regardless of where it is!

The Herald: That’s a lot of exposition…

Nodding his head enthusiastically, Max hooks his hands around the lapel of his suit.

Max Kael: Suuuuure is!

☠️☠️☠️☠️

On the lawn of Arkham City Hall  sits a lonely podium. Luckily it is not lonely long. Unfortunately its company is Max Kael.

Max Kael: When running for Mayor, I ran on a need, a purpose, a drive to find the ancient, invisible beast that roams the mountains surrounding Arkham, feeding in unholy, unnatural ways that modern science can not explain.

There is a murmur among the gathered media.

Reporter Dort: When did you ever bring this up before?

Reporter Baites: … Are you referencing the 1928 Dunwich Incident? Rumored off spring of the Whately Family, a family you’ve recently been seen doing business with?

Max stares flatly at the two reporters, a plain, no additional flavor sneer ripcording across his face.

Max Kael: As I was saying, in keeping with my campaign promise, I am organising a research team to immediately begin combing the region in search of this fabled, mythic beast. I believe it could bring in potential tourist dollars in a time when our country desperately requires some kind of ecological, biological or spiritual sacrifice of some sort.

Reporter Dort: A sacrificial what?

Reporter Baites: … the Dunwich Horror was killed, you realize that, right?

Oozing back into a relaxed shrug, Max flashes that silver toothed grin of his.

Max Kael: Did they now?

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…Snark Darkly Presents…

… THE WON ACTION NEWS TEAM…

That hard hitting, high action NEWS music blares out as we get opening shots of all the ONE ACTION NEWS TEAM members.

The Herald, Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington!

Kai, the lovely baby-momma of Bryan Dawkins, who Dawkins hasn’t rescued yet because her farts smell bad.

Kirk the Sportshead, reanimated head of Lowell Dot Com.

And of course Mayor-Elect and Lead News Anchor…

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael!

We cut to the WON ACTION NEWS STAGE where Max Kael is seen seated, as per usual, behind his WON ACTION NEWS DESK. As usual he is dressed in his three piece black suit with #D60000Red bowtie.

With a wicked grin aimed at Camera 1, Max allows a low, unpleasant chuckle snake it’s way between clenched metal teeth.

Max Kael: WORMS of PRIME, lend me thy ear! The first match of the night hath passed and now it is time for the only NEWS program you need to worry about.

Turning to Camera 2, Max leans forward.

Max Kael: We bite.

We are immediately brought back to Camera 1.

Max Kael: Tonight we’ve got a truly awe inspiring guest, an entity known for both obscure concepts of death as well as powerslams. Please welcome the Lord of Lycopolis and Cynopolis, Son of Big Lariat Osiris and the Basket-Case Nephthys…THE GREAT POWERSLAM ANUBIS!

The Mayor-Elect of Arkham stands, gesticulating toward the stage’s side entrance.

From that entrance, an utterly massive being emerges. Dressed in black with a jackal mask over his head, and carrying a staff with a set of scales attached to one end. This man… nay, god walks slowly towards Max with a slow, calculated stride. When he gets to the desk, he stares long at the seating arrangements.

After a few long moments, Anubis carefully sits down, and it’s perhaps at this moment that Mr. Kael realizes that he has gravely underestimated the size of his guest seating. Or maybe he realizes it and just doesn’t care.

Powerslam Anubis: Greetings, o woeful mayor-elect of Arkham. You have summoned the great Powerslam Anubis through the power of the news.

Max stares up at his guest, jaw slack as his brain attempts to wrap itself around this new tumor of unpleasant truth. A small spark catches behind the Mayor-Elect’s left eye, blinking some life back into his face. The other eye joins, blinking with the other as they rev Max’s brain back up.

Max Kael: … ugh, you’re way too large for that chair. WE NEED A BIGGER CHAIR. I’m so sorry, giant-massive Powerslam Anubis.

A wild, half-made Kael turns toward Camera 1, a large vein thumping out of his sweat brow.

Max Kael: NEED A BIGGER CHAAAAAAAAAAA-

We immediately cut to a “WE’LL BE RIGHT BACK” sign for a few skips of a heart-beat before returning to the WON ACTION NEWS STAGE, Powerslam Anubis now in a larger chair, cobbled together from several small chairs.

Max Kael: So, godhood, I’ve been looking into it recently. What would you say are the pros and cons of being the Great Powerslam Anubis?

Powerslam Anubis: The pros are that I am able to judge all those who come before me with the unerring accuracy afforded to me by feathers through the medium of my hit television show, such that I have passed many judgements upon mortal men and sent many to unceasing oblivion.

He pauses.

Powerslam Anubis: The cons are that the mask is itchy, and I sometimes have to deal with…

He grimaces, and sneers.

Powerslam Anubis: Chad.

Leaning forward, Max lets his chin rest on the knuckles of his hands as he stares up at Powerslam Anubis.

Max Kael: Oooh God of Judgement! You know I’ve been known to be pretty judgemental, maybe I could be like yo-

Before he can finish his thought, Max coughs. A ragged, awful, wrenching cough that brings with it a thick, black fluid. It dribbles down Max’s chin and onto his suit. Kael takes a moment to look down at himself in confusion before shaking it off.

Max Kael: So this Chad. I’ve never heard of him but it’s clear he’s important.

The Mayo-Elects posture shifts, his strength rapidly leaving him. His eyes stare at the staff in Powerslam Anubis’s hand, something twisting in agony behind his gaze.

Powerslam Anubis: Is something the matter? You look pale…r than usual. As though a thousand screaming entities are bursting from your seams. Perhaps it is the great Powerslam Anubis’s imagination.

Grimacing in such a way as to make it look like he’s smiling, Max shakes his head.

Max Kael: Naw, it’s fine. I’m fine. Probably the baby whale I ate earlier. Say, what’s that… uh, that long stick thing there.

He runs his hand through his hair, pulling a clump out. He stares at the dry, bloody clump of hair in his hand, shock melting into bewilderment before he tucks it into his pocket. He’ll just deal with that later.

Powerslam Anubis: These are my scales of dominion. They are but an extension of my will, of my judgement. ……..I also named my best powerslam after it.

Max Kael: … of course you did.

Wheezing and coughing, Max shrivels into his chair as though he were a villain in an Indiana Jones’ film.

max kael: … great… fascinating… heh-… go to a commercial… eeeee..

We cut to a commercial for MEAT?. Remember that? Neat.

Returning back to the interview, Max is now in a hazmat suit and looking a little better.

Max Kael: Welcome to part two of my interview with the God known as the Great Powerslam Anubis. Turns out I was allergic to the Scales of Dominion’s vast wisdom and orderly… uh… order. So I got myself a hazmat suit and ate a puppy. A whole puppy. Don’t worry, it was organically sourced. Don’t boo me, boo a society that allows that! Okay!

Turning back to Powerslam Anubis.

Max Kael: What are your plans, as of right now?

Powerslam Anubis: At this very moment, the great Powerslam Anubis intends to travel to the land where the sun rises and throw around nineteen or so men and women around as though they are small, painfully mortal children until he alone remains.

There is a pause as Anubis considers his words.

Powerslam Anubis: And then the great Powerslam Anubis supposes he will have dinner afterwards. Likely not organically sourced puppy, though.

Max nods enthusiastically, his eyes wide with excitement.

Max Kael: If you need some, I know a guy. Sounds like you’ve got big plans in Japan. I’ve got a couple of friends heading that way as well, maybe you could look out for them while they’re there? I haven’t mastered teleportation. Which is probably a good thing cause I’d only use it for nefarious purposes. Hm.

His eyes swivel back to the God across the desk.

Powerslam Anubis: I imagine you speak of the Hugo Vale and the Daniel Green in this case. Lively sorts. The type that might solve the equation of toilet plus cherry bomb equals an unsigned variable, perhaps.

Anubis places a hand on his chin, thinking.

Powerslam Anubis: Anyhoodle. As one who has mastered the art of teleportation, let the great Powerslam Anubis tell you. It is not easy. At least one time, the great Powerslam Anubis teleported into a wall.

He pauses.

Powerslam Anubis: The wall did not survive.

The Mayor-Elect of Arkham stares at Powerslam Anubis then back at the camera.

Max Kael: Huh. Well.

He looks back at Anubis and then back at the camera.

Max Kael: I can’t ever die now because I don’t think I’m going anywhere fun. And now, SPORTS!

☠️☠️☠️☠️

Back to the SPORTS NOOK with KIRK THE SPORTS HEAD!

The metal spike crackling with blue energy has left a series of small burn marks in the wood nook where Kirk is stored. It’s probably not up to fire code but when you’re an undead head, you don’t really worry about those kinds of things.

Kirk the Sports Head: Are we ready for some SPORTS?! Last week I got cut off but this week it’s gonna be smooth sailing!

More blue energy arcs out excitedly as his jaw jiggles from side to side.

Kirk the Sports He-

The feed crackles and spits before sputtering out. There is the briefest of moments where Kai can be seen staring down into the camera.

Kai: Hello? Can anyone h-

The feed crackles again as Max Kael can be seen glaring at the screen.

Max Kael: How the FUCK is sh-

Bzztz

Another static shift to Kai once again.

Kai: –b-z Bryan, I’m i-bzz

Max Kael: Cut the feed. CUT THE FUCKING FE-

Kai: -ham! I’m in –

The feed immediately cuts to black, the last image of Max’s enraged face, eyes glowing a hateful, sickly green.

We rush backstage; the PRIME logo in the background and The Christie Camp (Danny and John) in the foreground. The Christies are forehead to forehead, with John in a more dominant position (as coach), his hand clenched to the back of Danny’s neck. This creates heavy intimacy in a two-man huddle between the deputizing duo.

John Christie: Blaze of glory…

Danny Christie: Blaze of glory…

John Christie: Blaze of glory…

Danny Christie: Blaze of glory…

Mike Wills frantically tries to catch the audio with a microphone in hand while staying aware of camera composition, ducking and diving around the huddle.

John Christie: Blaze of glory…

Danny Christie: Blaze of glory…

The term “blaze of glory” repeats back and forth, orchestrated fully by “Cornerman” John Christie.

Matt Mills: Danny Christie, please. Your thoughts on your match tonight?

The war cries of “blaze of glory,” sparking clear motivation within The Christie Camp, fade into quieter repeated chants. John Christie then breaks away, just as amped up as Danny Christie — if not more so. John is centered in the shot while Danny looks content to take a backseat with a death-kill game face applied.

John Christie: Listen. The talking is over now. We’ve done plenty of that. We’re not talk show hosts — far from it. Yet we’ve done more bastard talking this week than we have in our whole lives. And trust us, if we wanted to go on The View, then that’s what we would have signed up for. But we’re here… so enjoy it.

Matt Mills: John, aren’t you worried about the inexperience?

John Christie: Inexperience, nothing! We have here the best fighter ever born, and he came straight from these nuts! My big King Kong balls! And this bloke is a dying breed. You don’t get blokes like this anymore. And if you think the Christies are just turning up here in fancy dress to get laughed out of the building, then you’re all fools. No judges’ scorecards… just experienced raw pain.

Matt Mills: You’ve been quick to mention the PRIMEates… the PRIME faithful…

On cue, “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond hits from ringside.

John Christie: What about them?

WHERE IT BEGAN

Matt Mills: Aren’t you worried about the potential disconnect?

The song slowly builds momentum with anticipation.

WAS IN THE SPRING

AND THE SPRING BECAME THE SUMMER

WHO’D HAVE BELIEVED YOU’D COME ALONG

John Christie: Worried…? We are Christies.

John holds his glare with Matt Mills before exiting stage right.

HAAAAANDSSSSS

The PRIMEates — the PRIME faithful — latch on to Neil Diamond’s timeless cult classic and belt out the lyrics. It looks like Matt Mills’ questions are answered as Danny Christie reaffirms John’s point by sitting in the moment with Matt momentarily. He then sharply exits in the same direction as his father.

Nick Stuart: Welcome back, fans. We’re ready for our next bout, with a debuting Danny Christie taking on Blaze Claymore.

Richard Parker: Christie is a former boxer and from Wales, which means he’s right out of a Guy Ritchie film!

The living legend that is Neil Diamond, with his iconic song “Sweet Caroline”, begins. The fans pop simultaneously with loud cheers. This is preceded by equally rapturous singing of the lyrics. Once the song plays to its chorus, out steps the custodian of Neil’s classic song, “Fair Game” Danny Christie. Danny is closely followed by his father, “Big” John Christie, in a trainer/cornerman capacity. Danny remains loose and comfortable, demonstrated by shadowboxing. John remains steely focused.

Vince Howard: The following contest is for one fall. Making his way to the ring first, from Wrexham, North Wales, weighing in at 215 pounds… “FAIR GAME” DAAAANNNNYYYY CHRIIIISTIIIIEEEE!

The fans increase the volume as they belt out the chorus, and Danny laps it up. The bare-knuckle king sings with the audience as he makes his way to the ring. With his arms outstretched, Danny touches the fingertips of every enthused fan on his journey to the squared circle. Once both men get to the first ring post, John begins to take over—first by supplying Danny with a sip of water and then applying Vaseline to specific areas of Danny’s face. John takes up a position outside the ring, while Danny lightly bounces on the canvas, basking in the moment.

Richard Parker: That guy is his dad? He’s huge!

Nick Stuart: As the nickname would imply, yes.

Silence fills Amalie Arena, which would be normal as we wait for the evening’s next competitor to arrive but then it goes on… and on…

A confused and somewhat annoyed Vince Howard looks over at the time keeper who just shrugs, checking his watch. The PRIME announcer turns and looks at Elvis Nixon who sighs and lifts his arm to begin making a ten count – but stops suddenly as he sees Blaze Claymore slowly walk out from the back.

The Main Event looks like he hasn’t slept in days as he forgoes his usually boisterous entrance, trading in Good and Bad for just Ugly.

Blaze’s typically well-volumed hair is out of his signature ponytail and clings to the side of his face like Samara from The Ring. He wears faded grey sweatpants and a crumpled white t-shirt that is easily at least one size too big with “#SAVEBLAZE” screen-printed on it.

The area remains in stunned silence, dwarfed only by the void caused in the absence of any music, pyrotechnics, visual motifs, and even the SAG Award-winning* Actor’s favorite red carpet.

Fans in the front row recoil as Blaze, holding a stack of his headshots, walks over to them and tries to hand some out. When no one obliges, Blaze just pulls the pile back to his chest and continues his zombie shuffle down to the ring.

Vince Howard can barely believe what he’s seeing, but tries his best to do his job.

Vince Howard: …. Coming to us… from uh… Hollywood, California! Weighing in at 180 pounds he is the MAAAAAAAAAIN EV-

Blaze doesn’t wait for Vince to finish before he steps into the ring and hands the announcer one of his glossy headshots.

Vince Howard: (whispering) What are you doing!?

Blaze just holds his arm out with the glossy photo, eyes shielded by his dripping wet hair, pooling at his feet in the ring.

Vince Howard: (whispering) If I take one will you leave me alone!?

The Main Event just keeps his arm outstretched until Vince snatches one of the photos with his free hand and walks away as Blaze turns and stalks over to his corner.

Vince Howard: Blaze Claymore, everybody!

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Well, uh, here we go, I guess.

Richard Parker: Jesus, has Blaze even showered since ReVival 75?

Nick Stuart: I have no idea and I’m not about to ask him. Danny and Blaze lock up in the middle of the ring, looks like Christie is using his slight size advantage to take control.

Indeed, Christie pushes Claymore towards the corner. The Main Event tries to push back, but after an initial surge he loses ground to Christie and walks backwards towards the corner.

Nick Stuart: Claymore stuck in the corner now, and here comes Elvis Nixon to break it up.

Richard Parker: And here comes Blaze Claymore with the slap!

The crowd goes “ooooooh!” as Claymore reaches above Elvis Nixon to slap Christie as he was obeying Nixon’s call for a break. As Christie recoils, Claymore presses the advantage, locking up Christie and pushing him towards the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Blaze Claymore taking advantage after a tactical slap.

Claymore Irish whips Christie to the other side, but the Welsh man plants his foot and reverses. As Claymore comes back, Christie takes him out with a Lou Thesz press, causing the fans to cheer!

Nick Stuart: The fans certainly liked that display, and Blaze Claymore rolls to the outside!

Richard Parker: Maybe he needs to take a vape break.

Nick Stuart: Vaping and smoking is not allowed in this building, Richard.

Richard Parker: Have you seen this guy? Acting like he’s Hollywood, treating people like trash…you think he cares that he’s not allowed to vape inside?

Blaze Claymore walks around the outside of the ring, trying to collect himself. In some matches, this would be a cue for the fan favorite on the inside to do some fun flippy plancha to the outside to ignite the crowd even more. However, Danny Christie is staying in the ring, beckoning for Claymore to join him. Nixon gets to a four count before Blaze Claymore slides under the ropes and approaches Christie.

Nick Stuart: Christie not pressing his advantage. Looks like he prefers to keep this thing in the ring. It’s the only place he can win by pinfall, after all.

Richard Parker: Are you rusty? You’re saying the most basic things. It’s like you haven’t done a match in almost a year, which i know isn’t true because we’ve been working together every week for years at this point.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think I’m acting any different than usual.

Richard Parker: Maybe we’re both just rusty.

Shut up Richard!

Anyway, Blaze Claymore walks towards Danny Christie and gestures to want to do another test of strength tie-up. He holds his arm out for Christie to interlock fingers, but as soon as they do Blaze pulls Christie forward into a huge kick, leveling him.

Nick Stuart: Blaze Claymore with a cheap shot, and you’ve got to imagine that Christie is mad at himself for not pressing the advantage.

Richard Parker: Should’ve let the man vape in peace.

Blaze Claymore stomps on the neck of Danny Christie, targeting his neck and shoulder area. He lifts Christie up, then takes Christie down with a belly-to-belly. Blaze jumps on the cover.

ONE!

TW…

Nick Stuart: Not yet, Danny Christie gets the shoulder up before two. Like I said, this is our first look at the man from Wales. Blaze Claymore on the other hand is coming off a tag team loss against Max Kael and the Green Vale Gang. I’m sure he’s looking for a bounceback tonight.

Richard Parker: Nah, he probably wants to lose.

Nick Stuart: …

Richard Parker: I was kind of being a jackass, but doesn’t he look…I don’t know…not too motivated?

Nick Stuart: You might be right partner. Between the activity early on and the way he didn’t even argue with the ref to count faster, I have to wonder if Blaze Claymore is all the way in the building tonight.

Claymore gets up slowly despite being the aggressor, and it gives Christie a chance to recover. Claymore takes a swipe at Christie, but he ducks and hits Claymore with a spinning backfist strike.

Nick Stuart: Big strike from Christie and Blaze Claymore is stunned!

Claymore staggers into the corner and Christie is on top of him. No break this time as Christie attacks him with strikes in the corner. Then he grabs Claymore’s head and runs to the middle of the ring, planting him with a bulldog!

Nick Stuart: Running bulldog, and now it’s Christie on the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

Richard Parker: Come on Blaze, show some fight!

He got the shoulder up before the three count, but Christie has all the momentum at the moment, and he knows it. He shoots up and raises his arms in the air, causing a small cheer. His dad on the other side slaps the apron and smiles.

Nick Stuart: Danny’s father, “Big” John Christie, looks really proud of his boy tonight!

Christie points at his dad, then gets back to work. He lifts Blaze up, then takes him back down with a snap suplex. Staying on the ground, he quickly works to the side of Blaze’s body, locking him in an armbar.

Nick Stuart: Impressive groundwork from Christie, who is a retired bareknuckle boxer.

Richard Parker: Remember when we used to have one of them here? What was his name…Patty? Patty May?

Nick Stuart: You’re talking about Paxton Ray.

Richard Parker: Am I?

Nick Stuart: I’d think so.

Richard Parker: I don’t think I remember him.

Nick Stuart: Yes you do! He was a former Intense champ and bareknuckle boxer. He was an awful man. He paralyzed his tag team partner!

Richard Parker: Affiliated with MESSIAH? Fought with Fred Dick in the WARCHAMBER?

Nick Stuart: Yes!

Richard Parker: Never heard of ‘im.

Nick lets loose a sigh that can be heard in the third level.

Richard Parker: Ain’t I a stinker?

Meanwhile, Christie is wrenching on the arm, trying to get Claymore to tap. The Main Event inches to the ropes and finally gets his leg on the ropes, causing Elvis Nixon to break up the hold. Claymore gets up slowly, testing his arm, as Christie waits to pounce.

Nick Stuart: It’s been mostly Christie so far, and it really does seem that Claymore isn’t showing his normal fight. He better take his opponent seriously if he wants to come away with a victory!

Richard Parker: He looks distracted almost.

As Claymore looks out, in fact completely opposite of the direction that Christie is, he looks out at the jeering fans who are enjoying his misfortune. Then he cocks his head to the side and leans forward, as if he’s looking out into the crowd at someone in particular. Then, he narrows his eyes.

Nick Stuart: Did you see that? It looks as if Claymore was staring at someone or something out in the crowd!

Richard Parker: Must have seen someone vaping. I hope he calls security on them.

Christie grabs Claymore from behind, but Blaze is quick to meet him with a forearm to the face. Christie takes a few steps back to recover and eats a Yakuza kick, causing the fans to boo.

Nick Stuart: Huge Yakuza kick, and it looks like Blaze isn’t distracted anymore!

Christie gets up but runs right into a headbutt rush from Claymore, completely taking him out of it. Christie falls to his knees and Claymore quickly hits him with a curb stomp, looking up and sneering before dropping to the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

TH…

Nick Stuart: Danny Christie with a gutsy kickout, but he’s in trouble here!

Claymore keeps the intensity going, pulling Danny up and locking in a standing armbar. As Christie shouts in pain, Claymore shouts in his face, saying “This is how you do an armbar! Why aren’t you taking notes?”

Nick Stuart: Claymore really turning up the heat here. I wonder what he saw that got him worked up?

Richard Parker: I already gave a smartass answer. Do you want another one?

Nick Stuart: Not particularly, no.

Richard Parker: Are you sure? I got a few good ones.

Nick Stuart: I’m sure.

Christie is waving his other arm wildly as he tries to get out of the armbar. He sees the ropes within reach, but Claymore is wrenching on his body, causing him to cry out in pain. Christie inches towards the ropes, then moves his hand towards them…and misses!

Claymore laughs and releases the hold just a bit to pull Christie away from the ropes. But that brief release gives Christie the strength to turn his body to face Claymore. He uses his arm to break free and grabs Claymore…

Nick Stuart: Pump Handle Piledriver! What a move from Christie! He leaps onto the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE…NO!

The fans groan as Claymore barely gets his shoulder up. Neither men leave the mat as the fans cheer for Christie to finish this off, but he isn’t quite ready to get up.

Nick Stuart: It seems like it took a lot out of Christie too! Both men are down!

Elvis Nixon looks to both men, then starts the ten count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

As he reaches four, both men stir. Claymore pulls himself up by the ropes as Christie gets to his knees. By the time Elvis reaches five, both men are more or less moving, so Elvis decides not to be all dramatic and he calls off the count.

Richard Parker: They only got to five? That was it?

Nick Stuart: Yes, great determination by both men.

Richard Parker: Not very suspenseful if you ask me.

They meet in the middle of the ring and trade blows. Forearm from Christie, right hand from Claymore, punch from Christie, knee to the stomach by Claymore. Claymore takes the advantage, kicking and punching until he’s got him trapped in the corner. He sends a stiff kick to Christie, leading him to slump into the corner. Claymore gets a gleam in his eyes and runs to the opposite corner.

Nick Stuart: Here we go! Claymore is looking for the Blockbuster!

Claymore dashes towards the corner and leaps…

And finds no home home!

Nick Stuart: Christie moved! Claymore bounds out of the corner, and here comes Christie, going for an uppercut!

Indeed, Danny Christie’s boxing background makes his uppercuts lethal, and if he’s able to connect with it to Claymore’s chin, it’ll be over.

But he doesn’t connect.

Nick Stuart: Claymore dodges and plants a stiff kick to the midsection! Christie is bent over, Claymore takes a few steps back…

Richard Parker: You better give this move name the enthusiasm it deserves!

Nick Stuart: HOLLYWOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Not enough o’s, 8/10.

Nick Stuart: Christie is down! Claymore on the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Vince Howard: The winner of this match…BLAAAZE CLAAAAYMOOOOOOORE!

The boos rain down as Claymore celebrates in the ring. Christie is already rolling towards the side of the ring, where his dad John collects him and they start to walk up the ramp. John throws an arm over his shoulder as they walk up.

Nick Stuart: Unfortunately Danny Christie wasn’t able to get a win in his debut, but he has nothing to be ashamed of here. He fought valiantly and almost had it won. I’m sure he’ll be a force in PRIME going forward.

Richard Parker: But Claymore is a force now!

We go to commercial.

RELIVE IT ON THE ACE NETWORK

Back from commercial, the camera opens on the soft smile of Angelica Brooks.

Angelica Brooks: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my guest… the self-appointed Anti-PRIME World Heavyweight Champion… Matt Ward.

The shot widens to reveal the PRIME Hall of Famer, Anti-PRIME title belt slung across his right shoulder. He too sports a smile. Less soft. More bastard.

Angelica Brooks: Tchu, later tonight, you will main event your first PRIME show in quite some time, and…

Tchu: More than a dozen years, Angelica. Don’t sugarcoat it.

Angelica Brooks: Right. Over a dozen years. Not since Colossus VIII in 2012.

Tchu: Think about that… so long ago they still numbered Colossus. It’s safe to say my career is in its final days. This may well be the last time you ever interview me, Angelica. It’s time for me to write how this thing ends.

Angelica Brooks: So, what made you call out the PRIME Universal Champion, Cecilworth Farthington, in the midst of a 200-day title reign? As a PRIME Hall of Famer and former Universal Champion yourself, you certainly don’t have anything to prove. Why this non-title match?

The Inhuman Being takes a deep breath and shifts the weight of his championship gold to the other shoulder.

Tchu: First of all, everybody’s got something to prove. Everyone. Secondly, I think I made it clear at Ascension why Farthington. If he’s the top dog, the face of PRIME, then it seems fitting that the Anti-PRIME should be targeting that individual and everything they represent. As for the non-title thing, that’s because Lindsay Troy is angry I wrecked her Culture Shock announcement and she’s terrified at the prospect of me dethroning her champion. The utter disrespect…

Lindsay Troy: That’s an understatement.

Ward smirks as Tampa’s Favorite Daughter steps into frame and the hometown PRIMEates lose it. The Boss has traded in her expertly tailored suits and sky high heels for her bright pink and PRIME blue Besties in the World ring attire complete with a military-style coat to match.

Tchu: Well, speak of the devil and she appears…

Lindsay Troy: (sneering) Yes, well, unlike you, Matthew, I’ve been here. I’m not like you who pops in and out when it suits you and your pissy mood.

She gives a nod to Angelica.

Lindsay Troy: Angie. Pleasure as always.

A glare back at the Inhuman Being.

Lindsay Troy: So, where are all your lawyers? David and Lawyer Plague Doctor don’t like to be kept waiting.

Ward lifts an eyebrow at “Lawyer Plague Doctor” but decides against questioning it. Which is probably for the best.

Tchu: They’re not necessary. Sounds like you’ve got no issues giving me what I want. And they bill by the hour, so thanks for saving me a few bucks.

The Inhuman Being laughs at his own joke, the only one who seems to find anything funny.

Tchu: I won’t keep you. I think we’ve both got rather big matches tonight, so… good luck.

Lindsay Troy: (smirks) Sure.

Tchu: Ahhh… see, I actually meant it.

Lindsay Troy: And you were so convincing, too.

Tchu: Tell me, what happens if I step into that ring tonight and pull off the upset? What happens if I go out there and do what nobody else on your roster has been able to do? What if the ReVolution stomps out the ReVival? I don’t think that plays well for PRIME.

Lindsay Troy: (laughing) You don’t give a shit how it plays for PRIME, Matt. You care how it plays for you. Ironically, that seems to be all you’ve ever really cared about. You. Your place. Your feelings. Your desires. What your vision of PRIME should be. What you want your daughter to be. It’s sad. You’re sad. You want to know what’ll happen if you win tonight? PRIME keeps rolling. Cecilworth will defend the Universal Title against Nate Colton at ReVival 77. The winner will face Chandler Tsonda. And you and your ballooning self-absorption will have to deal with me at Colossus, and we both know what happened the last time I had to put your ego in check.

There’s a brief, tense silence that follows.

Tchu: Guess we’ll see if the ReVolution will stomp out the ReVival then too.

The Queen leans in close so that she and Ward are nearly nose to nose.

Lindsay Troy: Not with your shitty knees it won’t.

She shoulders past him on that last barb, making sure to jostle the Anti-PRIME title on her way down the hall. The camera lingers on the Inhuman Being glaring after Troy as ReVival goes elsewhere.

Blaze Claymore paces back and forth outside the loading dock doors of Amalie Arena.

The Main Event, fresh off a win against Danny Christie, looks jittery and restless under a glaring set of super-powered security lights. The Main Event’s hands shake violently as he tries to run his fingers through his stringy, still-unkempt hair.

A mixture of sweat and humidity clings to the soaked-through #SAVEBLAZE shirt – the one Sonja shoved in his bag before he left Montevideo with a note about ‘fan support.’ And, sure enough, it may have been the one thing that saved him tonight.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a cellphone; his thumb hovers over the touchscreen.

Blaze Claymore: No. I shouldn’t. She’s probably busy.

Blaze is frenetic, lowering and raising the phone in his hands – seemingly unsure what to do with it. Just then, the doors behind Blaze open, cutting him off as a familiar face, no, a pair of faces, emerge from the other side – ones he wasn’t expecting to see.

Elise Ares (surprised and feigning interest): Oh hey, BBY! Oh em gee, D, you’ll never guess who it is!

Elise scans the dock area, her initial surprise dulling.

Elise Ares: Hold on… something’s missing. I can’t put my finger on it.

The D: The girl?

Elise Ares: The girl, yes. OUR girl. At least she is now that she’s totes gone viral. She should be live streaming or something right now, strike while the iron is hot. We taught her better than to miss a publicity opportunity! The least she could do is share…

The D steps past Elise and out into the night air.

The D (disappointed): Right? You think she is viral now? Just imagine another collab with the Pop Culture Phenoms! Would have been great to get in on her viral success.

Blaze stares blankly back at the pair as the D pulls out a blunt.

Blaze Claymore: What did you say?

The D: Hey man, don’t worry about us. Elise just needs to post some more thirst traps and we’ll be back in the algorithm. Like Neo jacking into the Matrix.

Blaze Claymore: No. The posts. You said her posts have gone… viral? What does that mean?

Elise gives Blaze a suspicious look as she lets out a smoky breath that is just about as dank as the evening Florida air. She rubs her chin, thinking about how to make this situation more about her before looking up at Blaze.

Elise Ares: Uh… doy? Isn’t that why you’re wearing the shirt? That hashtag she’s been trying to push for the last couple months has been everywhere after she posted her latest video. I thought hashtags were sooooo three years ago but she sure proved us wrong.

Blaze Claymore (panicked): Wait… what do you mean everywhere?

Elise looks over at the D, who shrugs. Realizing she just sounds old, Ares begrudgingly reaches into her handbag and pulls out her phone, tapping rapidly on the screen and scrolls, not really seeming to pay attention as she takes another drag.

Elise Ares: It’s this one, obvs, from a couple days ago?

Elise hands her phone to Blaze. His eyes grow wide as he taps the screen, watching as a scene both disturbingly familiar and somehow altogether foreign greets him. He hears screaming from somewhere in their Montevideo motel room. His screaming.

Sonja Cuchilla (softly through the speakers): Hey everyone. I wanted to share another update after one of Nathan’s paranoia attacks just a little bit ago. As you can hear – he’s still struggling to get through the night, but the doctors say the only way for him overcome his fears is to confront them. No matter how much it may hurt.

The way Sonja says that last work makes Blaze begins to shake. His eyes flicker a shade of blue and purple, but just for a split second – or perhaps just a trick of the light reflected from Elise’s phone.

Sonja Cuchilla (softly through the speakers): I just know that we will come out stronger with your support. Remember that only together can we SAVE BLAZE. Love you all.

A digital glitching sound crackles over the last part of the video as it suddenly ends. Elise goes to take her phone back, but Blaze reactively recoils, swiping up, looking through Sonja’s account.

Elise Ares: I think that one already has something like… 20,000 views. I mean it’s no #TigerQueen but it’s pretty impressive, you know, for her.

Blaze Claymore (whispering): Twenty… thousand?

Elise Ares (scoffing): Yeah. I know, right? She’s basically cornered the mental health advocacy market overnight. I was following her to help her out or whatever, while you were… whatever it was you were gone for. Thanks for THAT, bee tee dubs. Tee bee aitch, I totes forgot about it, then suddenly she was all over my feed. Jealous.

The D: Don’t be jealous, Elise. You could’ve been a great advo-cacer but you were too busy being the FIST of DEFIANCE. It’s okay to let people have things you don’t care about.

Blaze continues to scroll – through photos of his mother’s home at night. A carousel of selfies from his loss to Max Kael. A shot of him and Klein in the parking lot of the Indianapolis zoo.

Elise Ares: Are we being punked? Is Ashton Kutcher around here? Is MTV like… cool again or something? I really DO need to get plugged in. This is embarrassing.

Elise rolls her eyes and looks over at the D pointing to her phone.

Blaze Claymore: Oh god…

Elise Ares (annoyed): Isn’t it just the worst? There’s soooo much content to go through; I kept trying to find your accounts, for “support” or whatever, but nothing came up – just that hashtag. It’s catchy, though. I guess. Anyway, honest opinion, does smoking make me look hotter?

Blaze cuts Elise off.

Blaze Claymore (horrified): No no no no this is all wrong.

Elise Ares: Rude.

The D: Blaze, my man, how did you not know? Obviously you were in on this together, you know – go-rilla marketing or whatever they call it. Are you method acting for the next phase of this publicity blitz?

Elise Ares: Oh I get it, he’s trying to be like the Daniel Day Lewis of social media. Or Joaquin Phoenix. Or Nicolas Cage.

The D: That’s who I was thinking of. Nicholas Cage.

Blaze looks up, eyes wide.

Blaze Claymore (frantic): What is this? What do I do!?

The D: For $2,300 and incidentals a day I could really make these shine.

Elise Ares: For nothing, she still managed to get tens of thousands of followers. Better to be lucky than talented, I guess.

Blaze begins to hyperventilate.

The D not-so-subtly reaches over to take Elise’s phone back before taking in another puff – choking back a smoker’s cough.

The D: Hey, woah man. No need to get bent out of shape or anything. Just chill. I’m sure you’ll find the money somewhere. Here this’ll make you feel better in the meant-

Blaze slaps the D’s hand away, sending the still-lit blunt flying. The Main Event steps forward, his eyes wild.

The D (disappointed): Ah man… this character isn’t believable at all. I liked the other one more. This one doesn’t have direction.

Elise gives The D a knowing look as she hands over her cigarette. He takes a satisfying toke and lets it out slowly.

Elise Ares: Yeah… cool “acting” and all, but this is exactly the vibe we don’t need right now. We’ve got a match coming up and we’ve already lost waaaaay more than we normally do.

Just as Blaze looks like he is about to lose it, his phone rings, the screen lighting up as he stops – frozen – to see Sonja’s name staring back at him.

The D and Elise look at each other once again before Elise takes a final drag and flicks the cigarette off the edge of the dock.

Elise Ares: Sooooo, yeah. We’re just gonna… go. And let you and Sonja… do whatever it is you’re trying to do. I’m sure it’ll be great. Right, D?

The D: Yeah. Keep it up! … Or not if it’s going badly.

The pair step away from Blaze as he looks up from the phone, an expression of shock still on his face… his wide eyes framed by streaks of black under smeared makeup meant to cover the dark markings that served as a memory of his time with Max Kael.

Elise and The D let the dock door shut behind them, leaving Blaze Claymore behind as he clutches his phone like a grenade whose pin is about to be pulled.

As the camera cuts backstage in the very unfortunate world of Tampa, Florida at the Amalie Arena, we find that the Universal Champion, Cecilworth Farthington, is in the finest of forms. That form of course being keeping his head dipped down low while he focuses his precious and valuable time writing messages on his cellular communication device. The Universal Championship sits upon his waist as it always does.

“Hey there, champ.”

Champ–sorry, the champ–looks up, less because of the speaker and more because the speaker is now blocking his light. How very rude. Who would dare?

A cursory glance reveals the darer: blonde hair, blue jacket, and a bemused smile on his face. Probably the most friendly he’s looked on camera in a long time; it’s a shame he’s here under such unfriendly pretenses.

Nate Colton: Figure you’d be holed up in the Glue Palace or something.

Cecilworth Farthington: Sometimes you need to get some fresh air. It’s the chlorine fumes. The first hit is always good but the returns are diminishing after that.

Mildly irritated that he now seems to be in the middle of some form of human conversation, Cecilworth slides his phone into his jacket pocket to give the blue jacketed wonder an appropriate amount of attention.

Cecilworth Farthington: It’s been a while Nate, how’s things? I mean other than your blood feud with all of my friends. You really rile them up, FLAMBO just makes weird hissing noises like a human glitch when even mention of your name comes up.

The New Diamond’s smile grows wider. Oh shit, is this genuine happiness? It’s been over a year since we’ve seen that.

Nate Colton: Good. Tell him I said that I hope his hometown holds a vote and decides they’d rather be German.

Cecilworth Farthington: If I knew what that meant I would. Also it would involve me talking to him and that’s… tricky.

Farthington looks down to his Universal Championship wondering if it is the shiniest the belt has ever been.

Nate Colton: Looks good. Been too long since I’ve seen it this close, you know? Nice to get a reminder of what I’m doing here.

Cecilworth Farthington: Yes, it is good to remind you of why you are here. I quite agree.

This is getting a little tense, isn’t it? Sounds like the perfect time for someone to break that tension up.

“I hear the voice of a preacher from the back room…”

Please don’t mistake me using lower case to mean that this isn’t being screamed at the top of the person’s lungs.

Nate and Cecilworth turn to see Quinn Fleetwood walking up, bellowing the lyrics to his entrance theme.

What, no one else sings their entrance theme when entering a scene? Just this jackass? Okay then.

Quinn Fleetwood: Calling my name on the way to the bathroom..

He also doesn’t know all the words. He also can’t sing worth shit.

Quinn Fleetwood: I trace the face to…uh…I wanna get better! Better, better, better!

And he literally skipped to the chorus. But he’s here!

Cecilworth Farthington: Why is he here?

He may be here, but some people are not certain why this would be the case for the current moment in time. The Universal Champion’s friendly chat with his next challenger comes to a crashing halt due to the beautiful singing voice of The One True Fleetus.

Quinn Fleetwood: He is here…I mean, I am here because it seems this place is just handing title shots to anybody.

The New Diamond rolls his eyes.

Nate Colton: Yeah, your old man was dropping that same shit the other day. Shouldn’t expect any less from another horse’s ass.

Quinn Fleetwood: Whatevs. All I know is that I won what will certainly be voted Match of the Year against the lawn man, and that certainly means more than whatever you’ve done over the past year.

The Universal Champion, annoyed by Quinn’s error, corrects his ways.

Cecilworth Farthington: Lawn man three.

Weird how a man brought up in British aristocracy really cares about getting the names of a family line correct.

Cecilworth Farthington: But the adult toddler here does ask a good question, what’s the one thing you’re putting your hat on ahead of our little championship encounter, Nate, what’s that one thing that shows you’re going to step up and strip all of this away from me?

The adult toddler takes a break from being indignant to make a “oh shit did he just say that?” face and turns to Nate Colton to see how he will respond.

There’s a flash of anger in the New Diamond’s eyes, but it doesn’t last long. He speaks with a quiet confidence, almost antithetical to what we’re used to in professional wrestling.

Nate Colton: Hard to say…it’s been a pretty rough stretch. Haven’t had a title shot in over a year. Haven’t seen a main event in almost as long. Couldn’t break through in the Manhunt. Ate shit in the Almasy again.

Quinn’s face brightens with every admission of failure from Colton. You’d think it would have the opposite effect on Colton himself…yet his composure never wavers; his voice never falters.

Nate Colton: But don’t think any of that makes a damn bit of difference, ‘cause most guys still couldn’t handle me on their best day. And if I thought for a second that I couldn’t take that belt from you, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. In fact…

Nate turns back to the adult toddler.

Nate Colton: I tell you what. Gimme your best shot, Quinn. If it’s good enough, I’ll stand aside. You’ll get that Universal Title shot that you think you deserve. Fair?

Quinn Fleetwood: As fair as my beautiful skin!

Quinn rears back to punch Nate Colton. He’s been waiting for this as long as he’s been in PRIME. He can’t wait for his knuckles to go straight into…

The wall?

Quinn Fleetwood: Ow! God dammit! How did I miss?

There’s literally no explanation. He is standing right next to him. There is no way he should’ve hit the wall behind him. And yet, here we are.

Nate Colton: Jeez, Foster must be a worse trainer than I thought. Here, try it again. Make sure to set your feet first.

Quinn Fleetwood: I’m not trained by Foster Nackedy, I’m trained by the hands of GOD!

He shouts “GOD!” as he sends another fist towards Nate, but God must be on vacation, because again Quinn’s fist sails past Nate’s head and finds nothing but air.

Nate quickly makes it apparent that there won’t be a third attempt. He does this by slipping behind Quinn and locking on the Colton Clutch. The One True Fleetus flails against it, but quickly fades.

Eventually, Colton releases the hold, and Fleetwood slumps to the floor.

Nate Colton: There. I just beat up the guy who had the “match of the year” with the lawn man.

Cecilworth Farthington: Lawn Man three.

Almost irate at the very idea of Nate Colton not respecting appropriate numbers of the Lawnmower Man Dynasty, Cecilworth gets a bit of those wild and crazy eyes on the go. As he looks at the slumped True Fleetus, he sees a perfect vessel for proving his point. He leaps up onto Fleetwood, rolls him over and locks in the Article 51, there are lots of noises of pain and yelling and discomfort. After a good few seconds of yelling piercing everyone nearby’s eardrums, Cecilworth relents and breaks the hold.

Cecilworth Farthington: You know, that was harder than I thought.

Cecilworth watches Quinn flop against the wall.

Cecilworth Farthington: Well that was fun but Nate, I don’t look down on you. I wanted you as part of the family when I first stepped foot in this company. You pushed me to my very limit the last time I was in a ring with you, on a night where it could have easily gone the other way. That bothers me, that bothers me because the world thinks you’d be Universal Champion given the chance. That I am a pretender to your throne. You may not see that in yourself, but the rest of the world does.

Quinn Fleetwood (from the floor): I can’t see it…or anything.

Champion and challenger do not take their eyes off each other–they don’t dare–but they do spend just enough attention on Quinn to kick him in the ribs from either side.

Nate Colton: I appreciate the vote of confidence, champ. But don’t give me that “pretender” bullshit, ‘cause anyone who says that ain’t worth listening to. Some guys can fake their way to the top, but the real ones stay there…and I’ve faced you enough to know that you’re as real as it gets.

As the two men say nice things to each other, Quinn has rolled away and is now trying to pull himself up using the table next to them. He slowly gets to his feet, though by the way he’s swaying that may be temporary. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but another voice cuts through the space.

“Speaking of real: me. Hey. Sup.”

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

That’s right, people have come around and seen the light. They know that Quinn Fleetwood is their man and they want to get behind him forevermore. You can almost hear them chanting “FUCK EM UP FLEETWOOD FUCK EM UP” with two crisp claps.

What a night. What a moment.

Nah, for real, it’s Chandler Tsonda.

The Model Citizen is draped, as ever, in sultry materials in tones ranging from darkest midnight to vantablack. He’s the picture of leisure in athleisure.

Chandler Tsonda: Seems like you two are at an impasse, so I’ll break the tie. (points to Nate Colton) He’s my vote for Uni champ. No offense intended, Ceece, love your early work. Does that solve the ReV 77 question for you boys? Call the whole thing off and grab three vodka sodas to celebrate?

The Almasy winner seems, only now, to notice Quinn Fleetwood, undulating from side to side and halfway to out on his feet. He gestures in Quinn’s direction.

Chandler Tsonda: Ok, ok, FOUR vodka sodas including whoever’s little brother this is, but if the catering bartenders check ID’s, I’m not vouching for him.

Quinn Fleetwood: Little brother? I’m a…I’m a proud only child…for now… of Chet Fleetwood, the greatest man on the planet. And you…are gorgeously handsome.

He stops for a second, realizing that wasn’t an insult like he had intended. He’s still a little woozy.

Quinn Fleetwood: I mean you are interrupting the title shot I was about to get after beating the Grass Man…

Cecilworth Farthington: Grass Man three.

Quinn Fleetwood: …and listening to these jerksnots be nice to each other for some stupid reason. So drink your bubbly potato juice somewhere else, okay?

The Viet Viper opens up into a grin that, if monetized, would fix the American economy, from grocery prices to housing market stabilization to universal basic income. A grin with the transformative power of radical policy change. It’s pretty magnetic, is the point.

He looks to Farthington and Colton with surprise across his features, though the grin never dissipates. Turning back to Quinn, Tsonda engages directly with the once and future Universal champion.

Chandler Tsonda: Was that…were you speaking to me, little baby boy?

Fleetwood does his version of puffing up his chest, which bears some visual similarity to a small-but-harmless hedgehog going spikes out.

Chandler Tsonda: See, all I came to do was offer a little bit of banter, as the lads say.

Tsonda takes a step in the direction of Fleetwood, leaving them perilously close to an eye-to-eye standoff.

Chandler Tsonda: It was gonna be a little “hey Ceece, are you even the top Glue guy anymore? that FLAMBERGE sure is an ace in the ring!” to sow dissention among their ranks.A pinch of “Tchu looks like he’s in great shape, I sure wouldn’t want to be getting in the ring with him a week before a pivotal title defense” to underscore the point. Hell, a soupcon of “you’re my boy, Colton, take that ol’ Oxford-educated blueblood down a notch next week” and then dap him up because, as previously mentioned (points to Colton, they smoothly execute a fist bump) that’s my guy.

The #1 contender cracks his knuckles.

Chandler Tsonda: And now, you deprive the world of all of that by slandering the good name of the noble vodka soda?

Quinn Fleetwood: God, will you shut up before I…

The threat goes unnamed as a sudden bout of vertigo shakes our little Faulty Spark Plug, causing him to sway again. The venom is out of his face and voice, replaced by a look of uncertainty and nausea.

Ty Quinn Fleetwood: Ugh, I don’t know if it’s the vicious beatings from before or your obscene verbosity, but I’m starting to feel lightheaded. I need to go sit down.

Chandler Tsonda: That only leaves you and me one thing to do, bub.

Tight zoom on the faces of both men, a real gunfight at the OK corral moment. You can almost hear the Ennio Morricone score.

And then Tsonda, a man of his word and a brutal competitor behind the blessed cheekbones, does his worst.

Chandler Tsonda: Boop.

The Colossus challenger boops Quinn Fleetwood, a two-finger poke straight to the middle of the forehead. Sure, there’s force behind it, but it’s nowhere near a shove, and miles from an actual strike. And yet.

CRAAASHHH!

That was the sound of Quinn Fleetwood going through the aforementioned table, the tablecloth falling on him and covering him up like some adult toddler ghost. He groans (oddly sounds like boos) from the rubble as the three men watch. Tsonda, for the first time, makes common cause with both Farthington and Colton.

Chandler Tsonda: So, three vodka sodas?

We may never get our answer, and we certainly won’t now, because we fade elsewhere.

From the perpetual embarrassment of Quinn Fleetwood, we return to ringside and are treated to quite the sight. Vince Howard–he’s not the sight, although he’s looking very handsome as always–stands in the ring. Next to him is a very large object, covered by a very large curtain.

Probably nothing to worry about.

Nick Stuart: Fans, it’s time for the Alias Title Match! New champion Anna Daniels is set to make her first defense, but she’s been very tight-lipped about her chosen stipulation! Any ideas, Richard?

Richard Parker: I’m sure it will involve stabbing. Or crocodiles.

Nick Stuart: She’ll be taking on Luc Labelle, who’s coming off consecutive victories against Steve Lemieux and Kenny Freeman.

Richard Parker: He’s still pretty new around here, but he’s proven himself to be a hell of a fighter. The key is going to be how he handles The Muse, who’s survived in PRIME for four years now; she’s cagey, she’s clever, and she can kick your head all the way off your body.

Nick Stuart: Right you are! Let’s go to Vince Howard in the ring!

Vince Howard: The following match is set for one fall, and is for the Alias Title!

RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the challenger! Accompanied to the ring by his brother, Michel Labelle…hailing from Montreal, Quebec, Canada! He weighs in tonight at 91 kilograms! THE MONTREAL MAIN EVENT! L’ASSASSIN ROUGE! LUC! LABELLLLLEEEEEE!!!!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

A piercing siren rings out as a blue Fleur de Lis fades into existence on the big screen. As the bluesy riff of Émeute Dans La Prison blares through the arena, images of Montreal flash along to the beat. The first few are glitzy, glamourous landscape pictures of the skyline, but they gradually shift more and more into the underbelly of the city, until images of low-income neighbourhoods adorned with graffiti are playing on the Tron.

The chorus kicks in and out marches Luc Labelle, an almost-permanent scowl etched onto his face. He’s a killer, but not a silent one, as he jaw-jacks in French with any fan that dares to boo him. The man just doesn’t shut the fuck up, no matter whether or not anybody can understand him. A few steps behind is Mic, his older and larger–but considerably less mean–brother. Mic waves to the fans before taking up a safe position near the timekeeper’s table, while Luc continues his traditional entrance.

When Luc finally rolls into the ring, as intense as ever, the young man eyes the mystery object in the ring with a look of scorn, before turning his attention toward the camera for his usual trash talk. He runs his mouth any chance he gets, all things that the network would surely censor if he were to say them in English. Can he cash the checks that his mouth has been writing?

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

You’re expecting A Darkness in My Soul to start playing here, right?

Nah.

The Muse, the moment, and the current Alias champion comes out…sans both music and her fur coat. In its place is a snake skin jacket and a toothy grin as she carries one of those long skinny microphones hosts and interviewers from the 70s would occasionally wield.

Anna Daniels: Greetings, primates!

The booing doesn’t really seem to phase her that much. In fact, it only makes the toothy grin toothier. She laughs.

Anna Daniels: Ain’t you sweet? It’s almost like you don’t know you’re about to witness history. Ya see, because of this thing…

The Alias title is whipped out like a handkerchief from a jacket pocket.

Anna Daniels: …we have the power to determine the stipulation for this bout. And make no mistake, we thought about it long and hard. We could force this dweeb into any match we want and nobody can say a damn thing!

BOOOOOO!

Anna Daniels: Given that it’s supposed to be a stipulation in our favor, we can stack that deck mighty high. Do we force a deathmatch upon him? Perhaps a Gauntlet? Maybe we can even summon the lost soul of our lost son in a Dark Arts Altar match. Or get us both to grow into kaijus and destroy this entire city!

See, you think she’s joking. But these have been matches elsewhere.

Anna Daniels: But we decided…nah. Because you see, rivals, Troyists, and humans, we have a long and proud history. See, fate often tries to fuck us in the ass. Usually it succeeds at first. But eventually, with our grit and pure talent, fate inevitably becomes our bottom bitch! We’re not afraid of any match against anybody. We’re hella resilient that way. So we needed something that exemplifies that.

It’s only at this point that she gives a glance to her opponent.

Anna Daniels: This is why you are here, Lucas Libel. TIME TURNERS! REVEAL THE WHEEL!

As Mr. Labelle starts jaw jacking at Jimmy Turnbull about how disgraceful this whole thing is in a language ol’ Jim-Bob doesn’t comprehend, the Lasagna Bo–erm, Time Turners pop out looking like a mix of Drag Race contestants and eccentric time travelers. Toddrick is trying his best given that he’s stiff as a board, trying not to trip over a bizarrely long scarf, and screeching something about wire hangers. Miguel, looking like Cleopatra if a rainbow and clashing patterns were vomited upon her, does the bulk of the work.

What they are pulling onto the ramp…is a wheel. A wheel of many colors and double the amount of sharp pointy corners. Mad Max meets carnival. On this wheel, there are words.

Gamble.
Wingman.
15 Minutes of Pain.
Lockout.
Numbers Don’t Lie.
Stunt Double.
Falls Count X.
LT’s Love and Admiration.

…ah, fuck. They’re all here.

Anna Daniels: Such a shame Sebagna is no longer with us. He would’ve made an attractive Eighth Marilyn Monroe. Now as for you!

Anna finally slips into the ring with both a microphone and, strangely, a remote in hand. She looks at Luc thoughtfully.

Anna Daniels: This is the Wheel of Misfortune. It contains every. Single. Stipulation from Alias past. The object is simple. You spin the wheel, we make the deal, the deal is sealed, and we’re off to the races. Any last words?

Luc Labelle simply glares at her.

Anna Daniels: Oh, le strong silent type! How…boring. May the odds be never in your favor.

The glare stops as she hands over the remote with one single button.

He presses the button.

The wheel spins.

Time Turners: SPIN THE WHEEL MAKE THE DEAL SPIN THE WHEEL MAKE THE DEAL SPINTHEWHEELMAKETHEDEAL

The chanting doesn’t cease until the spinning does. When it does, confetti from somewhere pops out. Specifically, a Soviet red and a Pineapple yellow. The arrow stops at Falls Count X.

Anna Daniels: Interesting. You wouldn’t happen to know what X is, do ya?

Given the confused look on his face, it seems like Luc Labelle doesn’t have a damn clue. He scrambles towards his brother at ringside and tries to get the answer. But all of that is interrupted by the ringing of the (La)bell.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Well fans, the wheel has spoken! Anna Daniels is defending the Alias title under Bryan Dawkins’ rules–pinfalls and submissions can only occur near a member of the Red Army, but it appears that Luc Labelle isn’t aware of that!

Richard Parker: If he was any kind of student of the game, he’d already know what X stands for!

Champion and challenger circle each other; Labelle grits his teeth in determination, while Daniels grins like the Cheshire Cat. She feints a few times, teasing a few jabs, before snapping a low kick that catches Labelle in the thigh.

Luc grimaces as he shakes the pain out of his right leg, only to catch another. He checks the third with his shin, only for Daniels to spin around and lash out at his other leg. This one catches him flush, and the Montreal Main Event drops to his knees.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

–say the fans, because while neither of these two are fan favorites, they do love some chaos and violence, which are the Muse’s stock-in-trade. She grabs Labelle by the hair, ready to perform more violence…but instead, gets her own dose of chaos, in the form of a double leg takedown.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

It looks like the PRIMEporium had a buy one, get one free sale, because the chaos leads straight into more violence. Labelle quickly moves into a mount position and starts the ground-and-pound.

After a few shots, Daniels kicks her legs up and hooks Labelle’s arms, rolling him backward into what would normally be a pinning predicament. She doesn’t bother; instead she shoves herself away from Labelle, rolling backwards and up to her feet. By the time Luc stands up, Anna’s already headed for the ropes.

He starts after her, not knowing or caring what the Muse is planning. After all, he’s been in PRIME for a few months now. He’s got a few matches under his belt…though, most of those were against Steve Lemieux.

You know what the sandwich man has never done?

This.

CRACK!

Nick Stuart: Holy Toledo! Anna Daniels with a springboard knee strike to the head! What incredible agility–and what force! Labelle crashes to the mat!

Daniels saunters up to her opponent, a playful smirk on her lips, and makes the cover. With her pinky.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Jimmy Turnbull won’t count it, of course. But Anna keeps playing her own game, laughing in Turnbull’s face as he waves off the “pinfall.”

Labelle stirs, causing Anna to take things seriously again. She pulls the Montreal native up and slams a series of elbows into the side of his head. Le Bourreau steels himself against the blows, struggling up to his feet. Anna swings even harder, but follows through a little too far…and Labelle takes advantage immediately, slamming her to the ground with a textbook sweeping hip throw!

WIth lightning speed, Luc moves into a back mount. Instead of going for more strikes, this time he lifts up the champion–first to her feet, and then to her shoulders with a snap German suplex! Daniels flops on the ground, and Labelle floats over into the cover.

Which…again, Jimmy does not count.

Luc Labelle: Compte-le, imbécile!

Jimmy Turnbull doesn’t speak French, but he’s good at context clues.

Jimmy Turnbull: You need a Red Army member nearby to make a pin!

Luc Labelle: Tabernak!

L’Assassin Rouge jumps up to his feet, and gets into Jimmy’s face–going so far as to grab the official’s shirt as he spouts a string of blasphemy that would make any Quebecois sailor blush.

Nick Stuart: He’d better cool it if he doesn’t want to catch a fine…or worse, get disqualified!

Richard Parker: Can he get DQ’d if nobody from the Red Army is around?

Nick Stuart: I…don’t know.

Luc turns around, and if he was mad before, now he’s absolutely apoplectic after seeing Anna Daniels laughing at him. She hasn’t even bothered to stand up. He snarls and charges in, but she deftly spins on the mat and brings him down with a drop toe hold. Luc’s face slams hard against the mat…and then hard against Anna’s foot, as she kicks him in the side of the head!

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels really showcasing what makes her dangerous–her unpredictability!

Richard Parker: That’s for damn sure. You never know what she’s gonna do next, but you know it’s gonna hurt!

Nick Stuart: She thrives in this kind of chaos, Richard–and Luc Labelle still hasn’t acclimatized to it. He’s definitely got an uphill battle tonight.

Daniels drags Labelle back to his feet and whips him into the ropes. He tries a desperate lariat, which Anna easily ducks. Luc rebounds, and immediately gets a facefull of boot again, this time in the form of a picture-perfect dropkick. Labelle staggers backwards and tumbles over the top rope!

The Muse looks down at her challenger, expecting him to need a moment that she’s not about to give him. But Labelle is made of sterner stuff; he’s already pushing himself back up.

Just gonna have to put him down again. Oh well.

RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Nick Stuart: A slingshot crossbody, and Labelle is down again! Anna’s got this match well in hand already!

Richard Parker: I wouldn’t count the challenger out yet, Nick! There’s a reason he earned this shot, and it’s not his award-winning poutine recipe.

Nick Stuart: …what?

The Wavemaker is pressing her advantage, shoving Labelle against the guard rail and delivering precise kicks to his midsection. Labelle drops his guard to protect his ribs, only to catch one on the head. He raises one arm in response, leading Anna to shift her aim again…and that’s when she finds out Labelle’s plan. That shift wasn’t to block. It was to catch.

THUD!

Nick Stuart: Look at that strength! Labelle hoisted Daniels up and SLAMMED her into the apron! It looks like the challenger is making his move!

Richard Parker: Now let’s see what he does with it!

Richard gets his answer soon, as Labelle wraps up the still-reeling Muse and launches her with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex, right back into the guard rail!

CRASH!

He’s about to drop down for a pin, but he finally remembers the rules. He drags Anna by the arm, looking for a place to pin her where it might count.

He stops after…ten feet?

The pin is immediately waved off by Turnbull; much to Labelle’s chagrin. He points to a fan at ringside, who’s wearing a red t-shirt.

Luc Labelle: Il porte du rouge! Ça devrait compter!

Anna, now back in control of her facilities, giggles.

Anna Daniels: That’s not even a Red Army t-shirt!

And thumbs Luc in the eye.

Le Bourreau staggers backward, giving Daniels enough space to stand, grab his arm, and whip him into the barricade.

CRASH!

The Muse, further inspiring herself, takes a few steps back and runs in for a big boot!

CRACK!

Labelle slumps to the floor, but Anna pulls him back up. Can’t get a pinfall here unless the Red Army suddenly shows up.

As the saying goes, if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed…

Anna Daniels: Let’s go find some comrades! This way, dummy!

She pulls Labelle by his hair, leading him up the ramp while peppering in occasional punches to keep him dazed. It works for a while, until he starts firing back…but the brawl has momentum now, and they keep on going.

Nick Stuart: Now it’s really picking up! But I think the farther they get from the ring, the more trouble Luc Labelle will be in!

Richard Parker: Every match in PRIME is a trial by fire, Nick! He’s gonna have to sink or swim now!

Nick Stuart: You can’t swim in fire!

Richard Parker: Not with that attitude.

The brawl continues up the ramp, champion and challenger both gaining, then losing the advantage. One brutal strike after another sends them across the stage and through the entrance. It isn’t until they get into the hallway that they finally get a little separation, and that’s when Anna makes a break for it.

Only she seems to be running toward the opposite wall.

It’s a plan that makes no sense…until she jumps, plants one foot on the wall, then pushes off into a vicious roundhouse kick! Labelle goes down to a knee, putting him in perfect position for a snap suplex onto the floor!

It’d be a great time to go for a pin…if Bryan Dawkins or Ivan Stanislav was there.

She spares a moment to look around, but that’s a moment too long, as Labelle delivers an elbow to her back. The New Era staggers, allowing Luc to clinch her and deliver a series of brutal knees to the ribs. He drags her a little farther down the corridor and throws her in a different direction, sending Daniels crashing through a set of doors.

Just as he pushes herself up to a seated position, she catches a sliding elbow to the jaw! She’s prone, and ripe for the picking…if Alexei Ruslan or Arina Timofeyevna were around.

Labelle pulls Daniels up, but she counters his brainbuster attempt with a knee to the face. She then uses her unbusted brains to stagger away, trying to regroup. Labelle follows, but he looks just as low on gas as she does.

Good. Keep following, little lamb. Right to the slaughter.

She’s setting the pace. Dictating the terms. She knows exactly what to do when the opportunity arrises…if Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz suddenly–

…huh.

Would you look at that.

Randall Schwartz: Okay, but…the Food-O-Matic 9000! That’s three times the power of the 3000 model!

Kenny Freeman: That’s not how any of that works.

Looks like it’s your lucky day, Anna. The Masters of the Moscowverse just stepped into the hall.

Now.

Labelle finally catches up to Anna, swinging wildly and hoping to put the Muse down. One of those swings misses completely, allowing Anna to step behind, hoist Luc into the air, and drive his shoulders into the floor in her best Sid Phillips impression.

Nick Stuart: BLUE TARDIS BOMB! Anna had to wait for her moment to strike, and she did so with authority!

Turnbull checks on the Masters to make sure they’re close enough, then slides in for the count.

ONE!

TWO!

…

…

Umm…

Where’s the three?

The camera tells us where it is: backing down the hallway, away from the match and out of range.

Jimmy Turnbull: Red Army members left the area! No pin! No pin!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHH!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Anna glares down the hallway at Freeman and Schwartz, but it’s clear that they have no intention of getting closer. Especially now that Anna’s pissed at them.

Nick Stuart: I don’t believe it! Freeman and Schwartz just abandoned Anna Daniels out there! What does this mean for Anna’s championship reign?

Richard Parker: What does this mean for the Whoresaw Pact?

Confusion reigns, but this time it’s Labelle who takes advantage. He crawls away from the action, hoping for a moment to catch his breath and regain his bearings. It’s a moment Anna has no intention of giving him; as soon as she notices that he’s gone, she gives chase.

It’s a slow chase, but Anna still catches up…and Luc Labelle catches a backstabber as a result! The impact from Anna’s knees sends him catapulting forward into the place Kenny and Randall just left–catering.

A wicked grin crosses the Wavemaker’s face as she spies the layout. Meat and cheese tray, fresh fruit, beverages–including coffee, although some guy with the ugliest shirt she’s ever seen is using it right now. At the far end there’s a few chafing dishes, for those with a healthier appetite.

You know what this match has been lacking? Something that’s required for a chafing dish?

Fire.

Anna Daniels: Crispy crispy time, bitch boy!

She flings a tray of pork tenderloin slices on the ground, revealing the beautiful little fuel can with its beautiful blue flame underneath. Time to show this meathead what PRIME is all about. Time to…

CRACK!

…get kicked right in the goddamn face.

Nick Stuart: COUP DE COEUR! Luc Labelle with a desperation kick, and Anna goes down!

Fueled by desperation, L’Assassin Rouge picks up the Alias Champion and locks her arms behind her. A quick turn puts her in position to be lifted up…and then brought down hard on her neck.

Nick Stuart: LA FIN! That’s got to be it!

But is it?

After all, there needs to be a Red Army member present, and Luc Labelle has no idea if that’s the case. The only people there are himself, Daniels, Jimmy Turnbull, and some dude in a hideous shirt.

But he also knows that those moves were his last gasp. There’s nothing left in the tank; it’s now or never.

Labelle rolls over, tossing an arm over the collapsed form of Anna Daniels. The stranger drops his coffee and dives to the floor.

When a referee is needed, Speedy Riggs will be there.

And if a referee isn’t needed, because Jimmy Turnbull is just getting into position himself…well, Speedy will be there too.

Speedy Riggs: ONE! TWO!

ONE!

Speedy Riggs: THREE!

TWO!

Speedy Riggs: ¡Tocar el timbre!

One could easily forgive Luc Labelle for breaking his own pinfall here. He heard a three count; the match is over. He would love to jump up to his feet and celebrate his victory, and his first championship in PRIME.

But he can’t. He’s just too exhausted…

THREE!

Amazingly, this works out in his favor.

DING DING DING

Jimmy Turnbull helps Labelle to his feet, enough to raise the Montreal Main Event’s hand.

Luc Labelle: Que diable vient-il de se passer?

De se passer, indeed. Vince Howard gives us the short version from ringside.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner, and NEW Alias Champion…LLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUC! LAAAAAAAAAAAAABEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLE!

Needless to say, Luc Labelle is very confused. Lots of questions on his mind. But when his brother shows up to celebrate, and one of PRIME’s ringside attendants presents him with the Alias Title, suddenly those questions don’t seem so important.

Nick Stuart: Tremendous win for the young Montreal native! We knew this match was going to be chaotic, but I can’t imagine anyone expected this!

Richard Parker: You think that’s chaos? Wait until Anna wakes up and she finds the Masters of the Moscowverse!

Nick Stuart: That’s a good point, Richard! Are we seeing even more cracks in the Whoresaw Pact? Definitely something to keep an eye on–but for right now, all eyes are on the new champion!

We take one last look at the new champion, clutching the Alias Title to his chest. The next time we see him, he’ll probably be complaining about all the bullshit that surrounds a typical PRIME match.

But right now? He doesn’t seem to mind.

Cut.

We cut to a locker room in the Amalie Arena where The Anglo Luchador, not booked, but still there, sits on a folding chair, looking at his phone. He looks intently before a wry smile forms on his mouth and a chuckle emanates from his throat.

TAL: Oh it’s true! The strange white guy mispronouncing the word “tzatziki” totally is a malaka. Stereotypes are funny when they’re European.

His joy is short-lived, as the door flies open. However, much to the Luchador’s chagrin, it’s not Philip Rivers as written by the classic football humor site Kissing Suzy Kolber.

It’s…

Randall Schwartz?

Randall Schwartz: You!

The Entertainer puts an exclamation point on his, uh, exclamation by pointing his finger at the Luchador, who just stares at Schwartz in confusion.

Randall Schwartz: Don’t give me that look, you fiend. You know exactly what you did, and I’m finally here to address…

Randall pauses, clearing his throat before reiterating his point.

Randall Schwartz: I am finally here to ADDRESS MY ENEMY.

The Luchador looks around with feigned confusion. Or real confusion. We’re not sure if he’s mocking Randall or treating him with the standard contempt and mistrust he would anyone associated with Ivan Stanislav.

TAL: Uh, ok. Is that enemy in the room with us right now?

Okay, maybe it’s the former.

Randall Schwartz: Does my finger pointing mean nothing!?

He points again, just in case it’s unclear.

Randall Schwartz: I’ve got some real beef with you. Some beef with chopped cheese, to be precise.

TAL: I’m sorry. What?

The Entertainer pulls out his phone, opening the photos app to reveal a chopped cheese sandwich, specifically the one handed over to him last year at ReVival 42 in Philadelphia. The Luchador’s face contorts. Or at least we think it does. It’s hard to really suss out facial expressions when the guy’s wearing a mask.

TAL: Wait, what? That? When. I mean. You expect me to remember an incident involving a vastly inferior sandwich to the noble and venerable cheesesteak on the same night when I had to smell a Bobby Dean bowel movement up close and personal?!?!?!

Voice: And when you lost to Cancer Jiles.

Into the locker room strolls Kenny Freeman, the yin to Randall’s effervescent yang.

TAL: Oh hey, what’s up, Beavis. You mind telling me why Butthead here is so mad about a sandwich from almost two years ago?

Kenny can’t help but shrug his shoulders in response.

Kenny Freeman: The machinations of Randall’s mind are his and his alone to interpret.

This gets a slight side-eye from his compatriot.

Randall Schwartz: What the hell, Kenny? You know how much grief I had to put up in Philly that night? I still get calls from some 445 number telling me to shove that chopped cheese up my ass. I’ve done nothing to deserve such disrespect.

Kenny just rolls his eyes at this, as the Luchador just sighs with exasperation.

TAL: Look, can’t I just enjoy funny food reels in peace? I mean, I’m going through a really tough time in my life right now. One of my stable pals has to take a break because he got hurt. The Philadelphia Eagles are taking years off my life every Sunday. And I was just reminded of the time I had to smell Bobby Dean’s bowel movement up close and personal after two solid years of therapy trying to memory hole that into the deepest, darkest recesses of my brain!

Kenny and Randall look at each other, before The Entertainer shakes his head.

Randall Schwartz: I’m sorry to hear about your situation, but I still have a matter to be settled and the only way to do this is to either pay me twenty bucks for the sandwich, or we can settle this like men in the ring.

TAL: Hey, wait, didn’t I already pay you twenty bucks?

Randall Schwartz: No.

TAL: Yeah, I did, in fact, I went and I bought a chopped cheese after you and the rest of your goon squad put me in the hospital in Brooklyn. And you know what?

Randall and Kenny both shake their heads.

TAL: IT WAS THE WORST SANDWICH I EVER HAD IN MY LIFE! And it gave me heartburn! So as far as I’m concerned, it’s you who owes me twenty bucks, you mutton-chopped dweeb!

Randall is taken aback by the remarks, but before he can respond Kenny chimes in.

Kenny Freeman: Alright, bud, that’s well enough of all that.

He looks over at Randall, who puts his dukes up looking for a good ol’-fasioned scrap.

Kenny Freeman: Fists down, Randall. I know you wanna fight, but that wrestler’s license has to get reprocessed after our last tag match.

Randall Schwartz: Aw, come on, I’m ready to tear this guy a new mouth hole.

This just gets a confused look from both Kenny and the Luchador, with Freeman shaking his head.

Kenny Freeman: I don’t even know what that means, but…

He raises a hand, as if trying to keep Randall back from getting himself in trouble.

Kenny Freeman: Entertainer, I got this.

Kenny turns his attention to the Luchador.

Kenny Freeman: I’ll tell you what. Randall wants a scrap, but with his situation keeping him out of ring shape for the time being I’m happy to take his place. You name the time and the place, and we can settle this matter of twenty dollars in the right and proper way…

Kenny smirks before finishing his sentence.

Kenny Freeman: A wrestling match. Best of One Fall, to be precise.

The Luchador grins and nods.

TAL: I can think of no better place to square off for the richest prize in all of, uh, petty sandwich-related disputes.

Now it’s the Luchador’s turn to point his finger.

TAL: Mercedes-Benz Stadium. Atlanta, Georgia. December 5 and 6. The Anglo Luchador vs. Kenny Freeman for Twenty Whole Bucks at…

He inhales deeply and does his best Tim Curry SPAAAAAACE impression.

TAL: COLOSSSSSUSSSSSS!!

Kenny takes a moment before nodding in reply, extending his hand in a rare show of sportsmanship…at least, until the Luchador reluctantly starts to accept. Kenny pulls his hand away, once again pointing at his masked rival.

Kenny Freeman: Just make sure you bring the twenty bucks. A deal’s a deal!

With that, the Masters of the Moscowverse turn around and walk away, leaving the Luchador to just look on at them with a sense of puzzlement.

TAL: What the hell just happened?

He shakes his head as he gets back to watching funny reels on his phone. We move on.

A bucket of sketti sits in a sink.

Fred Dick wears a three piece suit that’s pink.

You know what time it is.

Fred Dick: We don’t haaaave a jingle yet, but this is my fuggin’ shoooooow! I hit Hardbody in the nose with a football, and this is my fuggin’ shoooooow! It’s Baffroom Fights, and ya better be ready! It’s mothafuggin’ Freddy and a Bucket of Skettiiiii… which ya win if ya kick my ace!

Grumpus: Nyak! Nyak! Nyak!

Fred looks at the camera. A kind of… resigned look we haven’t seen on his face.

Fred Dick: Ten episodes. Can ya believe it? Ten fuggin’ episodes. Lots happened before. Lots happened durin’. And well, I reckon a lot will happen after.

He looks down at the floor, teary eyed.

Fred Dick: Truth is… I been at war with Reality for so long, I wasn’t seein’ how Reality had actually gotten pretty damn good for ol’ Fred. I’m the Champion of the grittiest division in professional rasslin’. I got my ol’ lady back, a STRONK TWO on the way any day now, and…

He hesitates.

Fred Dick: How do I say it? How do I get it out of my mouth…?

Then, he just shakes his head.

Fred Dick: I came here thinking that I had to prove I was a winner. I’ve done dat. I’ve been doin’ dat. Lawd yes, check tha record. Nawmean? Check. Dat. Muhfuggin’. Record! But the troof? The whole troof, and nuttin’ butt? I’ve won all there is to win — in my heart of hearts, I’ve won it all. I’ve won my Intense Title. I’ve won my woman. I’ve won my family.

He sighs. Adjusts his pink tie.

Fred Dick: Thusly. I want to announce that, upon the conclusion of Night 2 of Colossus, I, Fredward Dick, will retire from competin’ as a professional rassler.

Just then, the door swings open.

Voice Off-Camera: Oh. It’s this bullshit.

Yes, folks, the Besties have found Thee Bathroom and they do not look amused. The blood in Fred Dick’s veins turns to ice upon seeing The Boss and her very pink, very jacked Kraken friend.

Henry Keyes: Oh my God – Danny DeVito! I love your work!

Fred Dick sneers.

Fred Dick: Well, well, well… if it isn’t Tweedle Dee, and Tweedle… my boss, who I still want to have a job from after I walk away from the rang at Colossus… fug… y’all tryna fight my ace in this baffroom, is dat whut this is? Tryna handicap match ol’ Fred on his special tenth episode of Baffroom Fights, turn him into a LIL BENCH, RIGHT HERE ON REBIBAL SEBENTY SIXNTH, AIN’T YA!?! Well ain’t that just RICH!?!?! Too bad, I got me a back up plan. A damn fine back up plan, lawd yes. You ready? Here comes my backup plaaaan… SLEEPER CELL ACTIVATION CODE!!!

Lasagna Boy Miguel falls out of the tile ceiling. Land on their backs on the bathroom floor. He doesn’t scream. He can’t scream, because the wind is knocked right out of his diaphragm. He can’t breathe. Like a toddler, he just lies there, open-mouthed, a scared look in his eyes, but otherwise totally unable to express himself.

Fred Dick: Got dayum idjit…

Then, Miguel finally gasps.

And cries.

Fred Dick, face red, is unable to hide his severe embarrassment.

Fred Dick: Fug Miguel… ya fugged me right in front of the Bosslady, mang…

Henry Keyes extends an arm to the fallen Miguel, who isn’t quite sure how to react, because this is his first time seeing this particular Zaddy. Keyes winks with his left eye and beckons that yeah, bro, take my hand. Take it firm.

Miguel does so, and Henry lifts him to his feet. Then he pats Miguel on his shoulder. Grins.

And launches him into a stall with a Biel Throw. Lindsay cackles and throws her arms into the air like a referee signaling a touchdown.

Lindsay Troy: You got some great hang time on that throw, Henry!

Henry Keyes: Thanks, I’ve been working on it!

He then registers that there’s an enormous bowl of noodles in marinara just sitting there in one of the sinks.

Henry Keyes: Hang on, is this how you party in PRIME? I thought bathrooms were for hot goss.

Fred Dick: Party!?! What kinda party you thank this is? An ace whoopin’ party!?! Cuz YOU RIGHT!!! IT IS AN ACE WHOOPIN’ PARTY!!!

Fred telegraphs an overhand slap towards Keyes.

Keyes blocks it with his left arm, then MOLLYWHOPS~ Dick with a Propellor Edge Chop! Another! Another!

Henry Keyes: FINALLY, some ACTION!

Keyes wrenches Dick’s arm and hurls him across the baffroom towards his Bestie tag partner – the heel of Lindsay Troy’s shoe cracks across Fred’s face with a spinning heel kick! She roars in triumph.

Lindsay Troy: Man, that felt good! I’ve been wanting to do that for over a year and a half. Hey! Dipshit!

She picks Dick up by the scruff of his neck.

Lindsay Troy: YOU CAN’T SIT WITH US.

She shoves him towards Keyes, who swings his arms forward, slamming his cupped hands FLUSH into both of Dick’s ears.

BELLLLLLL CLAP~~~~~

Fred Dick falls to the cold, baffroom floor.

Fred Dick: Neow dat’s… DAT’S how you rang a man’s dinger, neow! Lawd yes!

Fred tries to stand up, but the crystals in his ears are all fucked up from that bell clap, and he dizzily falls back to the floor.

Keyes looks over to Troy.

Henry Keyes: …do I give him the Coins here? What do you think?

Lindsay Troy: PLEASE.

Keyes looks down to the fallen Fred and almost gives a pitying glance, before shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head.

Henry Keyes: She did say “please.”

Henry grabs both of Fred’s wrists and yanks back, driving his whole body forward – and his nose is met with the Kraken’s knee.

Then Henry does it again.

Two Coins for the Ferryman.

He looks over to the Queen of the Ring.

Henry Keyes: Now tell me what you were going to say about Benny?

Lindsay Troy: Oh, right. So Ami heard from Angel who heard from Bex that Benny has some–

She looks down at Fred and nudges him with her boot.

Lindsay Troy: Are you conscious or dead?

Fred groans, mutters something about Benny and Alexa’s…

Lindsay Troy: Wrong answer.

She kicks Fred in the ribs, then looks at her Bestie.

Lindsay Troy: We don’t need him hearing this. Let’s go get cheese fries. I’ll tell you on the way.

Henry Keyes: As long as they’re not served in another sink.

They leave, practically arm-in-arm.

Fred Dick: Miguel…

Miguel rolls over, looks his mind-master in the eye.

Miguel: Yes, my liege?

Fred Dick: Go… put over… the sketti…

Miguel crawls to his feet.

He lumbers over to the sink.

He reaches his hand in the sketti.

He shovels a handful of sketti messily into his mouth.

Miguel: What do I say, now?

Fred Dick: Say it tastes good.

Miguel: Okay. It tastes good.

Fred Dick: Real good.

Miguel: Real good.

Fred Dick: Alright… that orta wrap it up. Anythang else you wanna say?

Miguel: Yeah. Brian Kelly killed a kid by making him get on a lift during thirty mile per hour wind gusts.

Fred Dick: GOD DAMN IT, ALLEGEDLY!!! ALLEGEDLY!!!

Miguel: Nah he did that shit—

We cut abruptly.

“What do you even do here besides frame the hallway like a piece of human furniture?”

Anna Daniels accosted one of the many backstage employees of PRIME that help bring the magic to television screens. They had no interest in an answer; it was just fun to rattle one of the many nameless peons keeping this sinking ship afloat just a bit longer. They pulled a rolling suitcase just behind them, one with multi-directional wheels because fuck the tipping over bullshit of those lesser cases.

Regardless of anything else that had been going on, Anna trots down a corridor of the Amalie Arena in Tampa with a satiated grin and a pep in their step. The world wasn’t just their oyster, it was practically pearl after pearl. It would take something monumental to dampen this mood in some way. Something like… a hoodie clad figure slowly creeping up behind them.

The Muse pauses just before the motorcade where their transport to get out of this hell forsaken city and state was waiting. Perhaps one last farewell to the unwashed masses of Florida, along with the nameless, unimportant production assistants was in order? Undeserved maybe, but that’s just the kind of generous Time Lord they were.

Anna Daniels: Well my–

As they turned around, Daniels was met with a face full of palm that pushed them to, and subsequently smashed them against, a nearby wall. An agonizing groan tumbled out of their throat as they tried to straighten up and gather their wits. No chance. The figure’s left hand gripped the collar of their shirt, roughly pinning them against the wall. Hands up? No dice, as a fire laced right fist smashed against their cheek. Another followed. Then another. A barrage of blows found their way to their cheek and jaw.

Cold precision. An assassin like calm; that was not present here. The strikes were slightly sloppy, technique traded for power and fury. Six punches had been thrown (and landed) to the now battered face of Anna Daniels. It was hard to tell through their doubling vision who exactly their attacker was. But they didn’t have to see to know the identity of the person currently trying to cave their skull in.

In spite of this knowledge and the pain, the vessel’s facial features cannot help but form a smile.

Unlike the assailant who tried to fight back so valiantly even when things were so unbelievably fucked, the Multitudes aren’t nearly as foolish. They know they deserve it. They even knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later. The thrower of punches clearly doesn’t like this, neither the lack of defense nor the sick sort of euphoria the victim gets from it. The sloppyness of all intensifying with each strike and hoping to erase that grin from existence. Only for it to form back into place even with cracking bones.

Another blow forces the wind out of her lungs and every strike after that is telegraphed with several messages. Questions. There’s that pesky “why?” again. Why? Why me? Why now? But as the attack continues, another why question forms. Wiping the blood from the nose and an aching mid-section, they look at the general direction of the brute.

Anna Daniels: We know you got more in the tank than that. Don’t you dare hold back now.

???: Don’t worry, “sis”. I ain’t done yet.

The figure snatches The Muse by the collar again and rears back…

CRACK

A sickening headbutt crashes against Anna’s skull. If they weren’t out, they certainly weren’t fit to answer any complex questions. But Anna’s ass beater doesn’t let her fall to the ground. Not in a rough manner, at least. Still gripping the Time Lord by the shirt, they’re lowered down into a sitting position.

Even so, something in there speaks.

Anna Daniels: Funny how history repeats itself, eh? Attacked in a parking lot. Alone. Defenseless. Nobody to help. Even now. Poetic justice. The cycle should repeat, right? We’re supposed to just keep taking it. Just like you want us to.

Under normal circumstances, Anna would play her role of villain getting their comeuppance. That’s what the people want after all and it would certainly give the sibling some closure. Unfortunately, once one exits the arena, one is done with playing with the rules for the night. There’s a glow in those eyes.

Inhale. Facial bones crack. Sinew shifts backs into place in a grotesque fashion not equipped for any streaming service. Budding black eyes stop and reverse. The drying blood starts to turn back into liquid and fly into flesh, becoming one with it.

In the shifting mess that is currently her face, the Muse steals a glance at RIA.

Anna Daniels: Feel better?

There should be some reaction; Disgust? Fear? Concern? Lockhart pushes her head free from the hood of her cloth jacket. Her face is cool, calm, a stone carving given flesh. Her eyes? Narrowed lids, pupils potentially in miosis, windows to her aching soul that her colored contacts do little to hide. She scoffs.

RIA Lockhart: That’s a stupid fuckin’ question and you know it. But that’s the point, right? No matter how much I beat you, how much I ravage my knuckles on your face, it’s never gonna give me full satisfaction because I never wanted this. Unfortunately, I’m too fucking emotional to just ignore being wronged and I’m too stubborn to walk away.

Up Daniels goes, jerked to their feet with far less care than they were lowered with.

RIA Lockhart: I need you to understand something and I want this point to be crystal fucking clear…

The two stand near eye to eye. Lockhart reaches towards her left eye with her free hand. One empathetic pluck, then another to her right eye; the rainbow contacts are now crumpled on the floor, her blue-gray eyes laid bare.

RIA Lockhart: Whatever games you wanna try to play, any way you want to try and fuck with me? I’ll match it. Because I’m not entirely sure you quite understand what this whole thing between us means to me.

After a moment, the shifting stops. Anna looks back at Lockhart, the skin glowing and blemishless. The eyes, a striking green. The grin never leaves.

Anna Daniels: Too emotional to ignore being wronged and too stubborn to walk away.

She can’t help but laugh at the irony being lost in that rainbow colored sauce.

Anna Daniels: The fact that you are the way you are only makes it worse, ya know. All that emotion and pain screaming into the abyss. No place for it to go. Career infinitely stalled. And all that holding back! Even now, you’re doing it.

The Time Lord gives a shake of the head.

Anna Daniels: Are you willing to do whatever it takes to right the wrongs, Lockhart?

Lockhart scoffs, the left side of her lip curling slightly upward.

RIA Lockhart: By whose standards? Cuz you and I have made it pretty clear we ain’t looking through the same microscope at this point. As for holding back… I’m human. I can’t always turn my empathy off like it’s a fuckin’ television. But I have some news for you; I’m not holding back right now for that reason. I’m holding back because–

Without warning, the Psychoberry rocks her upper body forward. For a moment, her lips are pressed up against The Muse’s. RIA pulls back shortly after, making sure to lock eyes once again with Anna.

RIA Lockhart: Your ass belongs to me, and I’m not done with you yet.

Lockhart finally released the Time Lord’s shirt from her grip. She grips the sides of her hood, throwing it back up over top of her head. With one last icy glance, RIA turns on her heels and heads back towards the arena.

Anna merely touches her lips. At first, she fakes shock. Then there’s a smirk. She talks to the camera.

Anna Daniels: Excellent. Now all we gotta do is set up the date. And ReVival rolls on!

…yes. What they said.

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: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing first, from York, England! Weighing in at 240 pounds…he is! “Dandy”! Charrrrrrrrles deeee LACYYYYYYYYY!

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: Representing the Red Army. She stands at five feet and ten inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and thirty-five pounds. Hailing from San Diego, California… she is THE SECOND COMING! ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSE!

A gentle yet deliberate electronic pulses as if it’s underwater. A soft synth pad floats in and expands, filling all of the cracks that are left behind before reverberating electronic elements creates a dreamy world.

I still got your lip balm in my Jacq
Time to throw that shit away

Stepping out from the backstage area is the Second Coming, Rose, as “bb.” by Naika plays through the stadium. The fans are on their feet, cheering her on, as she moves to the center of the stage. She stands there, focused and determined, wearing a pair of red army tights with ROSE painted on the sides in red and a black sports bra.

Oh, I, oh, I’m in my bag
Getting finer by the day
And I don’t ever wanna feen you anymore

She drops to one knee on the stage as the spotlight lands upon her. Her left fist touches the metal stage and she punches it twice, feeling the electricity in the air.

When you’re going through the motions
Losing focus, losing grip
Pick myself up off the floor
I’m not hurting anymore…

The buzz from the fans grows louder.

I swear, for a second there
I forgot what a bad bitch I was

She then explodes to her feet with a sudden step forward as pyro and fire go off behind her.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

What a bad bitch I am
I’m feeling good
Right on track

She marches to the ring, eyes locked and focused, ignoring everyone around her except for what lies in front of her. She rolls under the bottom rope and hits the ropes twice before moving to her corner, determined.

It feels so good to be bad

The music then fades.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: A big opportunity to get some forward momentum between these two.

Richard Parker: Dandy Boy may have come up short when he challenged for the Alias Title at Ascension, but he’s always dangerous – and you know Rose is looking for an impact statement after the last time we saw her.

Nick Stuart: You mean, when she was absolutely pulverized by the Glueminati’s Director of Security, Hank.

Richard Parker: That’s the one!

de Lacy has a clear size advantage, while Rose has youth and agility on her side. As they eye each other across the ring, each competitor looks to sway the opening contact towards their favor – Charles would prefer a traditional lockup, and Rose wants anything but that.

Charles arrogantly presses forward and reaches for the Second Coming with a swipe of his paws, but Rose ducks! She peppers in a few leg kicks, which sting “Dandy”. She goes for another kick, but de Lacy grabs the leg and takes her to the ground with what could best be described as a modified Russian Leg Sweep. He looks to press an advantage with his superior mat game, trying to wrench and twist Rose’s leg and head at the same time.

While effective for a moment, Rose slips out of the hold and springs to her feet! She charges the ropes, rebounds, and connects flush with a basement drop kick that sends de Lacy sprawling to his stomach!

She looks to quicken the pace of things, and she charges the ropes again – springboards – Moonsault connects! She lands squarely on de Lacy’s spine! She rolls him over and shoots the half!

ONE!

TWO! Charles de Lacy gets the shoulder up!

Nick Stuart: Rose looking to end things early here.

Richard Parker: British people know all about wars of attrition – just ask our Universal Champion. Rose has the right idea here, her best bet is to end things before de Lacy has the chance to grind things out in the late game.

Nick Stuart: Another kick from Rose here – and another, she’s really building some momentOHHHH! Where did THAT come from?

Without warning or theatrics, de Lacy bursts forward, hoists Rose high in the air, and FLATTENS her with a spinebuster! He’s already breathing a little heavy, and he checks his lip to see if there’s blood – seeing none, he decides to measure out his next attacking angle.

Rose is slow to get to a knee, then to a foot. de Lacy pounces, lifting Rose up again and dropping her across his extended leg with an Inverted Atomic Drop. He follows it up immediately with a discus forearm! Rose is down! Charles hooks the near leg!

ONE!

TWO! Rose kicks out with authority!

Both competitors retreat to opposite corners of the ring and take a breath. They’ve each taken a few shots, they’ve each kicked out of an early pinning predicament, and we’re at something of a stalemate.

Charles de Lacy, for his part, has a smug air about him. The longer this match persists as a relative draw, he calculates, the better the odds are of him being able to press his 100+ pound weight advantage to the end. Rose sees this pompous older man and decides she doesn’t like the look of his face.

de Lacy steps out of his corner first, at a deliberate pace that has all the trappings of a hopeful collar-and-elbow; Rose EXPLODES out of her corner, charges across the ring at full speed, and throws her patented Thorn Prick – “Dandy” ducks the bicycle knee! She stumbles. He turns around and finally gets that lockup he’s been chasing – Rose swings her arms up to try to block – but he’s too strong! de Lacy transitions to a tight side headlock and LEANS on her with his full weight! Rose struggles to keep her feet under her.

Nick Stuart: Home run swing from Rose there, and Charles de Lacy showing the value in well-executed, meat-and-potatoes fundamentals.

Richard Parker: That’s a nice way of saying Charles de Lacy is too old to pull off anything flashier than this!

Nick Stuart: Well, for the moment, the lack of flash is working in his favor! He’s really wearing Rose down with this headlock!

The momentum of the leaning headlock takes them to the ropes, and de Lacy continues leaning his weight onto Rose. Referee Ashley Barlow starts a five count, and at four, he goes for an Irish Whip – Rose reverses and sends Charles flying! He rebounds, she leaps – HURRICANRANA! She’s got his shoulders down and she reaches back for his legs!

ONE!

TWO!

TH-NOOO! He gets a shoulder up!

Rose maintains leg control and rises to her feet. She lifts the leg up and SPIKES his knee into the mat, TWICE for good measure! He howls out in pain and grabs at his quad as he rolls on the mat. She sees the exact sort of opening she was hoping to crack from the opening bell, and Rose now views de Lacy’s leg the same way a starving cartoon character on a deserted island might start looking at their friend who’s stuck there too – it’s a big ol’ (winner winner) Chicken Dinner.

She launches into a relentless series of Dragon Screws on the injured leg, de Lacy howling in pain with each successive whip. While he’s got plenty of life still in him, it’s a life that doesn’t see an immediate path forward towards getting upright.

Rose throws a stomp into both of de Lacy’s legs, then squarely presses her feet squarely into the backs of his knees, wrapping his ankles around her shins and trapping them. “Dandy” shakes his head and frantically tries to escape, but to no avail – Rose reaches down and grabs Charles’s hands! She rocks for momentum – rocks again – rocks a third time, pulling him backwards! She’s pressing Charles up from the mat!

Nick Stuart: SURFBOARD!

Rose is definitely straining at the weight disadvantage, but she’s pressing with all her might, both wrestlers shaking and trembling with the strain of this submission hold. Referee Barlow checks on de Lacy for the verbal submission (as his hands aren’t available to him), and he’s howling out in pain but shaking his head in a definitive “no.”

Rose’s grits her teeth and uses all her strength to literally press de Lacy upwards in this surfboard, amplifying the pressure to his legs, back, and shoulders. It’s an impressive display of surprising strength, but one she can only hold for a few seconds. She releases his wrists and repositions so that she’s sitting upright rather than pressing the surfboard from her back – only to reach forward and snake an arm around Charles’s throat! She pulls back on his neck while pressing his locked legs in opposite directions!

Richard Parker: Look at that – she’s trying to collect a neck out here!

Nick Stuart: This looks absolutely nothing like a FLAMBERGE maneuver, but she’s certainly got de Lacy reeling here!

de Lacy’s in a world of hurt, but he’s a proud man from a proud lineage (even if he is the black sheep) – he has no interest in sulling that lineage here, to Rose, by a submission of all things. But he’s not quite sure how to get out of this hold with pure wrestling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the escape hatch – the ropes. He’s juuuuuuust close enough to pull, and pull, and finally reeeeeach over with his freed hands, grabbing the bottom rope and forcing a rope break. Rose obliges at the count of 4.

Rose definitely spent a ton of energy trying to force multiple intense submissions, but she can plainly see that this was effective – de Lacy struggles to get his bearings, and he’s practically out there on one leg.

The moment CDL gets two feet on the mat, Rose charges across the ring, looking to devour the Chicken Dinner in one bite! CDL, either out of grand strategy or (more likely) fight-or-flight instinct, throws his leg forward, countering Rose’s charge with an absolutely banging knee strike! The downside, of course, is that this knee was on his bad leg, and he’s hopping…but he sees Rose is stunned from the hit, and knows that if he’s going to even out this fight and bring it into the deep waters, he can’t let her recover yet.

He limps across the ring and throws a clubbing European Uppercut, which connects! Rose responds with an elbow smash! Uppercut! Elbow! Uppercut! El-NO! Charles counters!

Three more European Uppercuts! Rose is reeling now! Charles grabs her by the wrist and cinches in a tight hammerlock!

Nick Stuart: Stand and Deliver on its way!

Indeed, with the hammerlock set, he swings her arm over, measures, reaches back, and THROWS a mean-looking lariat – Rose breaks free of the hammerlock!

Richard Parker: Look out!

She times it perfectly, using the momentum of the lariat to swing up, around, behind, and onto de Lacy’s shoulders! She wraps her legs around his head – TILT-A-WHIRL HEADSCISSORS! de Lacy goes flying and splats on the mat! Rose springs up and charges, full steam ahead!

Nick Stuart: THORN PRICK!

Rose hits de Lacy HARD with that bicycle knee strike!

Charles’s body must be on autopilot at this point as he uses the ropes to get vertical, despite not having a stable base underneath him, despite all the high-flying offense he’s received, despite all the momentum being behind his opponent. But damn it, he’s vertical, and if he could just turn things back around and get on even footing again…

CRACK!

Unfortunately, Charles de Lacy’s Lights go Out.

Nick Stuart: Picture perfect superkick by Rose, and de Lacy is down! She’s got the far leg hooked!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner! The Second Coming! rrrRRRRROOOOOOOSE!

“What’s Up Danger” by Black Caviar and Blackway blasts through the arena speakers as Ashley Barlow raises The Second Coming’s hand in victory.

Nick Stuart: A hard-fought match and a contrast in styles tonight, and the victory goes to Rose! That’s two in a row, partner!

Richard Parker: Let’s not get started calling her a juggernaut just yet, but I have to give props – with all his experience, I thought Charles de Lacy might have had something in his back pocket, but it just wasn’t there for him tonight.

de Lacy rolls under the bottom rope and limps his way to the back, Rose takes her arm away from Ashley Barlow – less out of hostility, and more a sign that the adrenaline may be wearing off. She grits her teeth in pain.

Rose leans against the ropes, clutching at her ribs. The match against Charles de Lacy, while victorious, had definitely taken its toll, one that she was still feeling. Music plays in the background as Barlow helps CDL to his feet. Cheers from the crowd, still a surprise to the second-generation wrestler, puts a smile on her face. Before she can step out of the ring though, the tenor changes immediately.

♫…

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, one-half of the PRIME Tag Team Champions steps out from the Argyle area with a glare stitched across his face and a microphone in his hand.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is here!

Richard Parker: Looking much better than two weeks ago when he was found laid out.

Nick Stuart: Well, I would hope two weeks would be enough time to heal.

Richard Parker: Look, you can’t rush these things. Of course, Fontaine — and I’m sure FLAMBERGE agrees — believes Rose is responsible for what happened to him at ReVival 75.

Nick Stuart: Well, considering what FLAMBERGE did to Rose, it’s fair game. And we don’t know that Rose did anything to FLAMBERGE.

Richard Parker: Sure, Nick. Suuuuuuuuure. Of course, it tracks that you’re a Rose apologist.

FLAMBERGE remains planted at the top of the ramp. Rose moves towards the edge of the ring, eyes locked upon the French Phenom. She motions for him to make his way down the ramp, but he doesn’t move in the least bit.

Richard Parker: Are we going to have us a staring contest?

Nick Stuart: Unless someone blows in FLAMBERGE’s eyes, I don’t think Rose is going to win that one. Lizard brain and all.

Richard Parker: I mean, he is what he is.

Nick Stuart: Is there a French version of Popeye?

Rose holds open the ropes, inviting FLAMBERGE down the ramp. The former L’Uni, though, slowly shakes his head.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And all of a sudden, the big, heavy hands of the ‘good boy’ Hank are wrapped around the neck of the Second Coming and launch her across the ring like a ragdoll. Rose lies on the mat, groaning in pain, not helped by the fact she just had a rather physical match.

Richard Parker: You would think Rose would have learned by now, but alas, there she is on the mat again thanks to the Good Boy, Hank!

Nick Stuart: What a downright disgusting move by FLAMBERGE. Instead of facing her square on, they continue to attack Rose from behind, laying her out. The Glueminati more than outnumber her and when you put someone like Hank in the mix, the scales are tipped even further.

Richard Parker: Look, Rose started this whole conflict by declaring war on our Universal Champion, Cecilworth Farthington, she can’t be surprised they bit back. And besides, you talk about being outnumbered – where’s the Red Army in all this? Some loyalty they’ve shown!

Nick Stuart: It does make it deplorable behavior, though.

FLAMBERGE remains firmly planted in the same spot he’s been in since he came out. Hank, meanwhile, stalks the battered body of Rose before reaching down to peel her off the mat. As he does, Rose fires back with a forearm to the jaw followed by an elbow to the midsection, which doubles the Good Boy over. Rose flies off the ropes and connects with a flying knee that sends Hank crashing to the mat.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Rose, fueled by adrenaline and cheers, pops back up to her feet and glares up the ramp at FLAMBERGE who seems unflapped. She turns her attention to the rising Hank and goes at him only for Hank to connect with a clothesline that flips Rose inside out.

Nick Stuart: She put up a good fight.

Richard Parker: I mean, sure. At the same time, Rose just came off a match and Hank is a monstrous Good Boy. Now, we can watch Rose be put out to the glue farm. Again.

“The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir erupts as Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Rulsan emerge from the backstage area. FLAMBERGE quickly moves out of the way, not anticipating the arrival of Stanislav. Stanislav rushes down the ramp and charges into the ring where he tackles Hank to the mat. Hank tries to push back, but the Russian Bear is the motherfuckin’ Russian Bear for a reason. Ivan grabs Hank off the mat and throws him out of the ring, before following after him.

Nick Stuart: The Russian Bear is taking it to Hank here, making good on his promise to be there for his Red Army comrades!

Richard Parker: Rose hasn’t been seen with The Red Army much over the past few months, but Ivan specifically called her out last week that he was there for her and he has stepped up in a big way ahead of his match with Steve Harrison.

Nick Stuart: And that leaves us with FLAMBERGE and Rose once again… is something going to happen?

Richard Parker: Rose is back up and has returned her gaze upon the French Phen—

Nick Stuart: WHAT IN THE WORL-

CRRRAAAACCCKKK!!!!!

Ivan is brought to his knees after what seems to be an aluminum crutch nearly wraps completely around the back of his head, swung by someone just beyond the barricade.

Nick Stuart: The Russian Bear just took an absolute SHOT from someone in the crowd!

With Ivan down to a knee, Hank takes advantage and keeps the big Russian from getting any footing with a big kick every time Ivan tries to collect himself. Alexei has taken notice, snapping his baton into “Beat-Capitalist-Pig-Dog-Mode” and rushes in, only to be met with sweeping backhand of the crutch, clocking him in the forehead.

Nick Stuart: Alexei took one to the TEETH! What is happening???

Ruslan flies ass-over-teakettle through the air, careening one way, while his hat flies the other way. He lands high on his shoulders, nearly crumpling in half and stares up at the ceiling, watching little hammers and sickles circle his head.

With plenty of damage done, the figure wielding the now-bent crutch, and clambers over the barricade utilizing the other, making way to the steps with the lone crutch under one arm. The figure is fairly tall, wide like a bull, with a hood pulled over his head.

Richard Parker: No way, no WAY!

Rose, meanwhile, has held onto the ropes for dear life after Hank’s vicious clothesline, keeping her attention on the Bearded Lizard, but as the man-with-the-crutch finds his way through the ropes, she’s forced to avert her attention.

The figure steps in, and stops. Rose seethes, breathing heavy.

He then rips the hood back, and maannnn-

-that mustache hasn’t lost the least bit of sheen.

Richard Parker: IT’S HANLON! HAYES HANLON IS BACK!!

The crowd shares their mixed reactions as the Event Horizon stares Rose down. The Daughter of Dusk wants to spit, and forces herself off the ropes, fire in her nostrils. Hayes takes a peek at Ivan, who is WILDLY enraged, but still dealing with a slight concussion and the big boots of Good Boy Hank.

Home Run Hayes limps toward center ring, approaching Rose-

-then stops.

He beckons Rose to look at his right ankle, then points to it. He shakes it out, like the Hokey Pokey, then proceeds to put his weight on it.

It’s fine.

Nick Stuart: Oh no. Oh NO…

He then beckons her to look at his left ankle. Again, he looks down, gives it a hearty shake, then plants it to the mat.

Also fine.

Richard Parker: You reap what you sow, Rose!

Hayes takes up his remaining crutch in a baseball stance, and waggles it overhead, ready for a line-drive.

Rose spits, grits her teeth, and with nothing left to do, makes a move toward the Event Horizon.

But a big, low arcing swing Ken Griffey Jr. would be proud of takes her out at the knee, sending her flat to the mat.

OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: A HOME RUN SWING FROM HANLON!

Richard Parker: A HOME RUN, AND A RECEIPT, NICK! Hayes has NOT forgotten ReVival 72!!!

Hanlon thrusts his arms, and the crutch, high in the air, adrenaline coursing. Ivan still can’t get away. FLAMBERGE remains on the ramp.

But Hanlon is not done.

While Rose clutches her knee, Hayes retrieves the crutch, taking it to a corner and placing it horizontal, balanced on the middle ropes before stalking over to The Second Coming. He pulls her to her feet, and guides her around the ring in a circle for all to see.

Nick Stuart: We need…somebody! But I don’t know who!

Richard Parker: That might be the whole point, Nick!

Hayes pulls her in close, then points two fingers toward her eyes, and beckons them over to his.

Nick Stuart: Oh no…

Hayes pushes her off the ropes, and on the rebound, he lifts her high into the air-

Nick Stuart: Oh NO!

-and absolutely BURIES her with The Epoch, her body snapping the crutch damn near in half as she collides into the mat.

Richard Parker: EPOCH!!! You REAP what you SOW!!!

The Comeback Kid bounds to his feet, letting out a loud “WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” before barking more smack toward Rose. Ivan has finally found equilibrium, escaping Hank’s clutches with a sharp headbutt, and charges toward the ring, rolling inside and desperate for Hanlon’s blood.

But Hayes is gone, backpedaling up the ramp. He points to the raging Russian Bear with a wicked grin behind that immaculate ‘stache, before meeting FLAMBERGE on the ramp.

Ivan, knowing the moment has been missed, shifts his attention to Rose, battered in the corner on top of the bent and broken crutch. “Daggers” hits the speakers, hammering the arena, as Hayes beats his chest and spits his trash, while FLAMBO may not have blinked once in this entire sequence.

Richard Parker: HAYES HANLON IS BACK! The man with the best mustache in the business! He’s BACK, bay-bay!

Nick Stuart: And just like we said, the Glueminati is everywhere. If it wasn’t Hanlon, it could’ve been Fontaine or Farthington!

Richard Parker: That’s the danger of going toe-to-toe with the best in the business!

Stanislav glares up the ramp. The Bearded Dragon stares, and Hayes bounds back and forth behind him. FLAMBO finally, after all this time, raises the microphone to his face.

FLAMBERGE: You asked for the war, Rose…and you HAVE IT.

He drops the mic to the floor with a thud.

We cut to commercial.

RELIVE IT ON THE ACE NETWORK

We cut outside the arena where Jack Marley, in all his broken nose glory stands with Doc. Jack has a facemask on now so he may as well be Dashing Jacky Marl-Marl now because my brain has melted. He stands unconsciously vaping some of that THC as Doc just stares at him and waving his hand at the smoke. It had been an odd last few weeks and this is one of those rare times where Steve Harrison has not arrived at the arena with his Octopus bros. Finally, a car pulls up and Harrison steps out and slings his bag over his shoulder. He begins his walk up to the arena and then pauses when he sees the two waiting for him outside.

Jack Marley: Eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

Harrison brushes past them and gets to the door, he half turns back to them.

Steve Harrison: Come on.

Jack and Doc, walk through the door that The Miraculous Man of Mystery (zoinks) is holding. He follows behind them but is met with both stopping in front him.

Steve Harrison: What’s the hold up? Is there a cringey incel begging for tax dollars?

Pause.

They both turn and look at Steve.

Doc: Where have you been?

Jack Marley: Yea, mon I hadn’t even been able to show you my cool facemask. See, look…it has weed stickers on it.

Steve Harrison: You guys wearing wires?

Before they can answer he walks past them and towards whatever changing room he will be allowed inside tonight.

Doc: What the hell does that mean? You literally went missing for a week after this…I mean, our dear Jack got his nose beat on by a Russian Stripper.

Jack Marley: Hey…wait, I put up a fight!

Doc: Against a woman?

Silence from Jack, whose suddenly normally dopey smile is replaced with a blank stare. Harrison continues to walk in front.

Doc: Are you giving us the silent treatment?

Steve Harrison: I have a lot on my mind Doc. You have to forgive me for thinking you guys don’t know how to keep your mouth shut when around the other Octopus members.

Doc walks even faster using all the strength he has in his old legs to get even with Steve.

Doc: I don’t understand, Steve. This is family we are talking about if we cannot trust that then what can we trust?

Steve stops and looks down at Doc. The indifference has been replaced with an annoying look with Steve. This conversation is not something he is happy with because these two and especially Doc just could never see anything wrong with The Marine Biologist or the madam, yuck.

Steve Harrison: I wish I lived in this fairy tale world you have created with my mother and you. I don’t want Rebbeca at HQ and I don’t…never mind, because that is the only thing I need to say to make my damn point!

Jack Marley: A sword…is also something with a point.

Harrison rolls his eyes and begins to walk again, not letting Doc respond. Jacks blank stare has now been replaced with his goofy smile as he nods to himself on a great point about a point that might stab you but not actually teach you a lesson because the rules have been hidden in Joe Fontaines jolf rules.  Christ, what the hell?

Steve Harrison: If you think it is my job to make you all, feel good when I am about to face a damn legend then I am certain I am not the selfish one.

Doc: That’s not even it. I am worried about you…about your mom, about everything right now. Ellis could be around any corner.

Harrison laughs.

Steve Harrison: Right.

Doc: What?

Jack Marley: OK. YEA. WHAT. OK. YEA!

Steve walks further ahead and mumbles to himself loud enough to hear.

Steve Harrison: Hey, Ivan…maybe you should just me out of my misery.

Scene cuts to the jolf god and his millions of friends because he is a complicated guy but such a friendly fellow with such amazing sports equipment.

Welcome to the loading bay of the Amalie Arena!

We’ve got all sorts of things, like… Well, like things. Forklifts and trucks and whatnot. Don’t let Jared Sykes in here, is what we’re trying to say. Anyway, we’re here because this is where we’ll find Joe Fontaine and FLAMBERGE, PRIME’s illustrious tag team champions. They appear to be talking a little strategy about their upcoming match against the eGG Bandits, so let’s listen in.

Joe Fontaine: So then I said, “That’s NOT a banana!”

There’s laughter. Mostly from Joe and an unseen studio audience. FLAMBERGE responds as only FLAMBERGE can.

FLAMBERGE: They forgot the “b” – it was the pineapple!

Joe Fontaine: Who’d have thought they’d make a critical error like that?

There’s a pause.

Joe Fontaine: Speaking of critical errors that should regret all of their life choices forevermore, any idea why Rose decided to jump you last show?

FLAMBO studies his friend for a moment, analyzing, trying to determine how concussed he might still be. There have been studies that show, when dealing with a person experiencing memory loss, too much new information too quickly can be extremely dangerous. It’s a delicate balance trying to reintroduce someone back into a world from which they’ve mentally lapsed, and the Frenchman is far from qualified to say just how much “new” information would be safe to share regarding the months-long conflict between Rose and the Glue Boiz. And so, in that moment, he chose a sort of gentleness we rarely see from the Bearded Dragon.

FLAMBERGE: I legitimately have no idea.

Joe Fontaine: Yeah, that tracks. Not even sure she knows!

FLAMBERGE: Maybe she confused me for the other black person on the roster.

FLAMBERGE stiffens suddenly and tilts his head. Something in his nerve endings, or maybe some specialized sensory organ, picking up a shift in atmospheric pressure. Joe sees it in his face, his poise and, despite lacking the requisite physiology, subconsciously adopts a similar stance to his tag partner. As though they can sense inclement weather approaching. And that’s when they hear footsteps. Two sets; one that echoes like booming thunder, the other falling quicker and sharper like driving rain. The tag champs glance up at the raised platform behind them and quietly nod to one another as a pair of figures emerge from where the production trucks are parked and start to approach them.

“Told you we’d find them out here.”

JoeBERGE curl their hands into fists and grit their teeth as sleekit Tony Gamble saunters up to them accompanied by the hulking Hessian at his side.

Tony Gamble: What’s the matter fellas? Not enough room in the Gluite now that Cecilworth’s new bubble bath is taking up all the real estate?

Hessian: Or did you make yourself scarce because you knew we’d come looking for you?

Though his last encounter with Hessian ended rather unpleasantly, Joe seems to be more confident this time, what with the Neck Collector by his side and all.

Joe Fontaine: Well the joke’s on you, we’ve got nothing to say to you.

He pats FLAMBERGE on the chest with the back of his hand and gestures past the Bandits.

Joe Fontaine: Let’s get out of here before the Bandit curse rubs off on us and our group disintegrates into nothing as well.

Tony and Hessian are aghast as Joe and FLAMBERGE push past them, but a giant paw claps over Joe’s shoulder and causes him to stop dead in his tracks.

Hessian: You wait a goddamn minute!

Before he can utter another word he feels two sharp digs to the ribs as FLAMBERGE moves like a blur to get between the two and pushes the big man back, causing him to break his grip and stumble backwards. Hessian cradles his torso and winces as FLAMBERGE stands defiantly before him. Tony moves as though to retaliate, but the Neck Collector raises a finger to his face and tuts.

FLAMBERGE: How typical of the canaille. I would consider my manners if I were you, the concrete is not kind to les oeufs.

Behind FLAMBERGE, Joe brushes his shoulder empathically.

Joe Fontaine: You heard him. The Oofs.

The Murder Show’s nostrils flare with a snort as he straightens to his full height to tower over the tag champs. Sensing FLAMBERGE’s sincerity, Tony steps to the giant’s side and holds an arm out to keep him at bay.

Tony Gamble: Let them be Hess. Better to paste them in the ring than out here, we wouldn’t want to upset the establishment after all.

FLAMBERGE turns his nose up at the remark and scoffs something under his breath.

FLAMBERGE: On dirait que tu oublies qui fait le collage par ici, petit garçon pois.

Hessian chuckles and takes a step back.

Hessian: Tony’s right. As much fun as it’d be to drop you right here, we’ve got a guaranteed title shot in two weeks. No point in having it pushed back so Troy can set the rest of the family on us to soften us up for you more.

Joe snorts a snort of his own and rolls his eyes.

Hessian: Don’t roll your eyes at me! (Points at FLAMBERGE) If Monsieur Shit-Don’t-Stink here was so great he should’ve had no problem pulling double duty at Ascension, but no, Troy threw the kids at us instead so he could focus on the Almasy and add another easy month of no defences to your title reign.

Tony visibly cringes.

Hessian: I wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if the match got pulled again and we ended up facing Gammy and Pop-Pop Troy at Seventy-Seven instead, or The Second-Cousins-Twice-Removed, or – God forbid – she calls in the big guns and we have to tag against The Nanny and The Dog Groomer before we get a shot at you!

FLAMBERGE narrows his eyes at the slight.

Tony Gamble: The only reason he isn’t fighting The Husband this week is because Lindsay Troy saw sense enough to pull back on the power plays. There’s already enough sour grapes towards your little protection racket without adding more fuel to the fire.

The Neck Collector snarls and takes a step forward. Joe catches movement on the platform behind Hessian and Tony and echoes FLAMBO, causing the Bandits to step back once more. They start raising their fists in tandem, just in case.

FLAMBERGE: You have the audacity to point this finger at us. You would not even have a shot at our titles if not for L’Abandonneur. Hypocrites!

Joe’s eyes flick past the Bandits once more. Then he steps forward.

Joe Fontaine: Yeah! Who the hell are you to admonish us? You let Cancer make puppets out of you!

He takes another step. The Bandits respond with another step back, wounded by the remark but ready to throw down.

Joe Fontaine: You would have had a shot at the titles months ago if you were worthy of it, but you weren’t. So you let Cancer do the heavy lifting for you!

Another jab of the finger. Another step forward. Another step back. Back against the wall of the raised platform.

Joe Fontaine: In two weeks you’re going to find out the hard way why we’re the tag team champions and you’re not! In two weeks, we take out the trash!

Joe glances past the pair once again and this time Hessian and Tony notice it.

Joe Fontaine: fabby! NOW!!

At this point everything becomes clear; why Joe and FLAMBERGE had to get on the other side of the Bandits, why they had to push them back. It wasn’t intimidation, it was planning. By the time Hessian and Tony hear the groaning of the wheels, it’s already too late. Behind them, beyond the raised platform, fabby grunts and kicks off the wall between him and the empty dumpster he’s been hiding behind this whole time. Without a full load it’s surprisingly light, and fabby sends it hurtling towards the edge of the platform.

KUH-DUNNNNGGGG!!

Hessian and Tony have just enough time to let out a cry before the dumpster careens off the platform and swallows them whole, trapping them inside. A moment of silence follows during which FLAMBERGE and Joe fist bump one another, rather pleased with themselves. Then the steel starts reverberating with pounding echoes as the Bandits holler from within, hammering on the insides of the dumpster. Joe leans forward, cupping a hand to his ear.

Joe Fontaine: Huh? What’s that? I can’t quite hear you.

He gives the dumpster a sound kick for good measure.

FLAMBERGE: Let us go see if we can find any Bandits who might be able to offer them the assistance, ouais?

And with that, having left the Bandits down in the dumps, JoeBERGE move on.

And ReVival moves on with them.

Nick Stuart: Next up ladies and gentlemen, Elise Ares and The D, the Pop Culture Phenoms, face off against the Anglo Luchador and Crash Jackson of Nobody’s Heroes in tag team action!

Richard Parker: The age old battle of the Pimps versus the Simps. Time to see if Nobody’s Zeroes can carry on without the stuntboy!

Nick Stuart: Let’s go to Vince!

Little V’s rendition of “Holding Out for a Hero” hits the PA. To a raucous and supportive crowd reaction, the Anglo Luchador and Crash Jackson step out onto the stage. Initially, they look composed and somber, but the crowd reaction seems to get them more energized. Nodding to each other, they high five and pose.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, weighing in at a combined four-hundred and forty-nine pounds… the team of THE ANGLO LUCHADOR and CRASH JACKSON… they are NOBODY’S HEROES!!

Crash and Mask come down the aisle, slapping hands with the fans and brimming with a renewed confidence as they come into the ring.

Nick Stuart: Nobody’s Heroes are down to two after the events at Ascension have left Sebastian Gold out of action for the foreseeable future. No doubt, his loss is heavy on their hearts and minds tonight.

Richard Parker: Weak-minded wrestlers generally allow their personal connections to distract them.

“Live For the Night” by Krewella replaces the Heroes’ music. The dastard PCP three of Ares, D, and Klein waltz out onto the stage amidst fog and lights, posing majestically for the salvo of flash photography that accompanies their appearance.

Vince Howard: And the opponents, accompanied to the ring by Klein… they come to the ring at a combined weight of three-hundred and seven pounds… “The QUEEN of SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT STYLE” ELISE ARES and THE D… the POP CULTURE PHENOMS!!

Ares and The D saunter down the rampway side by side, soaking up the attention (whether good or bad) like models strutting the catwalk. They pause multiple times for photo ops that nobody asked for.

Nick Stuart: These guys are certainly into themselves…

Richard Parker: Newsflash, Nick: EVERYBODY is into PCP these days!

Nick Stuart: Um… what did you just say?

Richard Parker: I said that it’s all but impossible not to be fans of these two! They’re natural stars, and two of the BEST PAID talents on the PRIME roster right now!

Nick Stuart: Overpaid, more like it…

With both teams in the ring, Jimmy Turnbull makes his final checks and gives the cue to the timekeeper.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Crash Jackson is starting on behalf of the Heroes, and Elise Ares is living up to her “Leading Lady” nickname by opening things up for the Phenoms!

Richard Parker: They call her that cause she’s like a siren, leading simps into following her on Insta!

Nick Stuart: Kinda like you, Rich?

Richard Parker: Uhhhh… (incomprehensible muttering)

Crash encircles, looking for an opening. Ares hops in place, at the ready. Jackson makes the first move, aiming for a waistline tackle, but Elise skates to the side in a flash and instead lands an inside kick to his ribs. Crash rears up clutching his chest, only to quickly be dropped onto his back by way of a legsweep.

Nick Stuart: Down goes Jackson! And here comes Elise off the ropes… and handsprings herself right into a flipping double-knee drop across the chest!

Richard Parker: Doing something like that takes incredible amounts of agility!

Nick Stuart: Ares hooks the leg for a quick cover!

One!

Tw–quick kickout!

Ares takes Jackson by the hair and sits him up. Two more stiff kicks to the chest leave him stunned while the Leading Lady launches herself back into the ropes. She rebounds with a basement dropkick, once more targeting Jackson’s chest.

Nick Stuart: No! Crash rolls leans to the side!

Jackson extends the arm out, and Elise slides perfectly into his clutch off the missed dropkick. Crash works his way up with Ares trapped, then throws her overhead and flipping onto her back with ease.

Nick Stuart: Crash Jackson turns the tables with a head-and-arm overhead suplex, leaving Ares ragdolling across the ring!!

Richard Parker: That glizzy-grubbing gargoyle! He’s throwing around a woman half his size in there!

Elise rolls off the bump to her corner. Looking dazed, she makes the tag who eagerly steps through the ropes. The D comes swinging, but Jackson blocks the punch and retorts with a few of his own. Crash presses the advantage, forcing The D back and pushing him off the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Crash with the whip, sending The D into motion… he goes down for the back body drop, but NO! The D puts on the brake, hooks the arms… TRIPLE D-DDT puts Crash right on his forehead!

Richard Parker: What do you think the extra “D” stands for? Dashing? Debonair?

Nick Stuart: If anything, it was DEADLY! And now The D crosses the chest with a lateral press to make the cover!

One!

Two!

Crash gets the shoulder up!

The D puts Jackson into a side headlock before he can get off his knees, but the Hot Dog Hero determinedly fights back with a series of elbows to the gut before pivoting around and bull-rushing him into his team’s corner.

Nick Stuart: Jackson tags The Anglo Luchador into the action! Now he lifts The D up with a bearhug… and TAL FLIES INTO THE RING with a springboard lariat!

Richard Parker: I’m surprised he didn’t give himself a HEART ATTACK with that one!

Nick Stuart: TAL locking up the legs as he goes for the pin!

One!

Two!

NO! Broken up by a BOOT to his ear, courtesy of Elise Ares!

Smirking, the Leading Lady saunters back over to her corner while taunting the PRIME faithful and ignoring the verbal reprimands from official Jimmy Turnbull. The former Intense Champion throws her an annoyed glare before continuing to go to work on The D, dropping a few stiff elbows before raising him back onto his feet.

Nick Stuart: TAL opens up The D…

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: BIG CHOP to the chest! The D twirls around off the impact…

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: …and COUNTERS with an open-handed palm strike!

Richard Parker: Slapped by The D!

TAL staggers back into the ropes. Their bounce seems to give him renewed life as he suddenly springs back and lands…

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: ANOTHER chop by TAL!

SMACK!

Richard Parker: And ANOTHER D-SLAP right to his stupid mask!

TAL shakes off the slap and glares back at The D, who stands ready for him to take his next shot.

And that’s one gift cahuayoh the Anglo Luchador isn’t about to look in the mouth.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!!

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: And there they go! Chops and slaps being exchanged without remorse! Neither The D nor the Anglo Luchador are willing to back down!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!!

SMACK!!

SMACK!!

SMACK!!!

Richard Parker: Good god, Nick, it sounds like Vinny Battaglia with a lingerie catalog in that ring right now! I haven’t seen the Anglo Luchador slap and smack a D around like this since–

Nick Stuart: Oh would you stop!

A final knife-edge chop from TAL gets The D reeling back from the exchange. The D’s hand finds Turnbull’s shirt. He suddenly wears an expression of surprise and points to the ringside area. When the official turns to look, The D twirls back to TAL and jams his thumb into one of the two perfectly exposed eyeholes in his mask.

Nick Stuart: Thumb to the eye! And the ref didn’t see it, because The D caught him on the ol’ “made you look” bit!

Richard Parker: No, Nick, he was clearly pointing out that hottie in the front row, and assumed Jimmy T would be interested!

Nick Stuart: The D scrambles to his corner… tag out to Elise Ares! TAL likewise blindly makes to his corner and tags Jackson back in!

The fresh competitors both come charging into the ring, but The D gets the drop on Crash before he can get to Elise with an axehandle strike from the side. Turnbull quickly yells at him and ushers him back to the corner, giving Elise free reign to step down onto Jackson’s neck, lean over the ropes, and pose to the jeering wannabies in the first few rows while putting all of her weight down on his windpipe.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: Ares is choking Crash Jackson while Turnbull’s back is turned!

Richard Parker: Knowing exactly when and where to take advantage of the official’s blindspots are the makings of a good tag team, Nick!

Nick Stuart: The makings of con artists, you mean.

The official eventually turns around after The D is on the apron, and angrily pulls Elise off of Crash, demanding an explanation. Ares feigns ignorance, quickly coming up with a convoluted explanation on the spot involving seeing Derek Jeter in the twelfth row and needing to stand on something for a better view.

Richard Parker: What does Jimmy Turnbull have against short people!? First Gamble, now Elise?!

Nick Stuart: I think the problem he has, partner, is the blatant cheap tactics being used by the Pop Culture Phenoms!

Sucking wind, Jackson fumbles at the ropes in an effort to pull himself out. Elise scooches Turnbull off to the side before throwing herself into the opposite ropes for a head full of steam. When she returns, she leaps and slips through the ropes, grabbing Jackson’s head into a modified bulldog cutter across the middle rope.

Nick Stuart: ARES WITH A CUBAN NECKTIE across the MIDDLE ROPE!

Richard Parker: Gonna get a whole lot harder for Crash Jackson to catch his breath after that! His face is turning redder than a…

Nick Stuart: …like a hot dog?

Richard Parker: Oh, huh… I was going to say like a fire engine, but works WAY better! Thanks, partner!

Nick Stuart: Happy to oblige?

Jackson thrashes on the match, clutching his neck. Outside the ring, Elise struts the ringside aisle, further ratcheting up the annoyed fans with a gyrating dance and shouts of “¿Que Tal Eso?”. Her only supporters are The D and the box-headed Klein.

And Richard, of course… who can be heard breathing heavily over commentary.

Nick Stuart: Will you chill the hell out over there?!

Richard Parker: I’m sorry, Nick! Elise Ares is nothing short of a goddess!

Nick Stuart: Oh, she’s plenty short! And plenty crooked, if you ask me! Now she slides back into the ring… and what are the Pop Culture Phenoms plotting now?

Ares goes to her corner and whispers something into The D’s ear. The D forms his thumbs and forefingers into a box, “framing” Crash Jackson out in front of him and nodding approvingly. Jackson slowly gets his wits back and crawls for his corner.

Nick Stuart: Crash looking to TAL for the tag… but Elise tags in The D first! Now The D is going UP!

Richard Parker: NOW who needs to settle down, Nick!

Nick Stuart: Crash back up… BUT NO! Ares LAYS HIM OUT from behind with a low dropkick to the back of the legs! He’s on his back in the center of the ring, and here’s The D DIVING OFF THE TOP… and B MOVIE SPLASH CONNECTS! Shades of High Flyer, Jack Harmen! He MAKES THE PIN!

ONE!

TWO!

THR–NO!! Jackson DIGS DEEP and FORCES THE SHOULDER UP!

The Anglo Luchador begins clapping his hands to rally the crowd behind the Northern Light, only for The D to snuff out any hope for a comeback with a running knee to Jackson’s temple. While Crash lies vulnerable on the canvas, The D circles him with a series of stomps and kicks to his chest and extremities.

Nick Stuart: The Pop Culture Phenoms are really taking it to Crash Jackson right now, wearing him down bit by bit with these high impact maneuvers!

Richard Parker: The man’s will has been absolutely broken after they lost Bash. All that’s left is to break his body!

The D tags Elise back into action, then peels Crash off the mat and holds him in place as she vaults over the ropes and and rolls him to the mat with a Spiked Hurricanrana! Jackson slumps over flat on his back, while TAL shakes his head in distress.

Nick Stuart: HURRICANRANA by Elise Ares spikes Crash Jackson’s head back into the mat! And she’s right back up… with a STANDING FOUR-FIFTY SENTON across the ribs! Hooks the legs!

ONE!

TWO!

BROKEN UP by THE ANGLO LUCHADOR!

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

Richard Parker: Disqualify him, Jimmy!

Nick Stuart: Ares did the same thing earlier in the match!

Richard Parker: That was only out of concern for The D’s safety!

TAL quickly goes back out to the apron. Ares glares after him for a moment before yanking Jackson back up by the arm and dumping him into the PCP corner. She promptly tags out to The D. The D steps through the ropes and crosses the ring while Elise goes to the floor and holds the legs of Crash to keep him trapped in the corner.

Nick Stuart: The D back in the ring, and Crash Jackson has nowhere to go… here comes THE D…

Richard Parker: OH YEAH, BABY, THE D IN YOUR FACE!!

Nick Stuart: Absolutely devastating stinger splash! Now The D makes the cover! I think this could be it!

ONE!

TWO!!

THR–NO!! Crash KICKS OUT!

The D groans loudly in frustration, taking a moment to look pointedly at the official before getting Crash up and leading him to the corner again.

Nick Stuart: Elise Ares back in! These frequent tags are really dictating the pace of this match, keeping Crash essentially having two fend off the attacks of two opponents instead of one!

Richard Parker: That’s how successful tag teams operate, Nick!

Nick Stuart: The D has Jackson held in place… here goes Elise over the ropes, and into a TORNADO DDT that DRILLS the Hot Dog Hero on the top of his head! That’s gotta be in… she makes the cover!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THRE–IDON’TBELIEVEIT-NOOO!! HE GOT THE SHOULDER UP!!

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Livid, Ares storms to her feet and stands on her tiptoes to get into Turnbull’s face and verbally savage him on his slow, incompetent counting ability. The D likewise shows his frustration by kicking the ropes and joining in on tearing down the official.

Nick Stuart: Emotions are beginning to boil over with the Pop Culture Phenoms, letting their frustrations be heard to the official, Turnbull!

Richard Parker: They have every right to be angry! This match should be done by now!

Turnbull stands his ground to both members to PCP, telling them to respect his authority or face disqualification. Crash Jackson slowly rolls over and begins the crawl to his corner.

Nick Stuart: This could be Crash’s window of opportunity!

Richard Parker: Not on the Leading Lady’s watch!

Ares shoves past the official and runs to the ropes. She springboards off the middle and top ropes just as Jackson comes to his feet, aiming for his head with a knockout Superman punch.

Nick Stuart: ARES WITH THE AMETHYSTATION–

DUCKED BY CRASH!!

Richard Parker: WHAT?!

Jackson somersaults forward, clearing the half the distance of the ring he needs to get within reach of his tag partner.

Crash’s hand hits TAL’s, and the arena explodes.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: HOT DOG–I mean HOT TAG to TAL!!

TAL charges into the ring.

Nick Stuart: LARIAT TO ARES!

The D hits the ring to put a stop to this.

Nick Stuart: HEADSCISSOR TAKEDOWN TO THE D!

Elise scrambles back to her feet.

Nick Stuart: HURRICANRANA ON ARES!

Elise flips through to her feet, but stumbles forward and bonks heads with The D as he’s getting to his feet. TAL leapfrogs her from behind and launches himself into a wheelbarrow bodyscissor. Elise bursts forward, but runs straight into TAL’s boots as he rises up for a…

Nick Stuart: CAZADORA BULLDOG ON THE D!

Richard Parker: He’s gone absolutely Lucha-Looney in there, Nick!

Nick Stuart: He’s cleaning house, is what he’s doing!

Elise staggers back, clutching the bridge of her nose and looking incensed. TAL picks The D up and dumps him over the ropes. Only when turns back to the legal woman, she’s not where he expects her to be.

Nick Stuart: AAAMEEETHYYYSTAAATTIIOOOONNN!!!

Richard Parker: KN-KN-KN-KNOCK-OUT!!

The Superman Punch hits its mark perfectly. The Last Son of Tenochtitlan spins in a wild pirouette before dropping prone to the mat.

But before his jaw even hits the canvas, Elise is already on her way to the corner.

Richard Parker: Time to put this one away!

Ares is on the top rope in a flash. TAL slowly pushes himself off the mat on rubbery arms. He’s barely up when Elise dives off the top, tucking her knees into her chest to fully load the impact of the double-stomp!

Nick Stuart: EXTREME MAKEOVER…

…MISSES!!

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

The luchador unexpectedly DOES A BARREL ROLL~! to the side, and Ares’ heels stomp down on nothing but canvas.

Nick Stuart: NOBODY HOME!

Elise fortunately lands on her feet. But TAL only needs a moment to push off the mat with everything he has left and torpedo his way into the back of her knee for a chop block. Ares drops to the mat. Moving like a cagey veteran with twenty years of muscle memory under his belt, the Anglo Luchador snags her by the arm, steps over the shoulder, and rolls through.

Nick Stuart: LA MAGISTRAL!! HE’S GOT THE SHOULDERS DOWN!!

ONE!!

The D recovers in time to see what’s happening, and slides into the ring…

TWO!!

…only to be brought down by Jackson’s cross-body OUTTANOWHERE as soon as he’s on his feet.

THREE!!

DING DING DING

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

“Holding Out For a Hero” comes in over the speakers as TAL and Crash burst to their feet and embrace in the center of the ring. Turnbull holds up their arms in triumph as the capacity crowd barrage them with love from every angle.

Vince Howard: The winners of the match, by pinfall… NOOOBOOOODYYYYYY’S HEEEEEEERRRROOOOOOOOEEEEESSSS!!!

Nick Stuart: What an emotional victory for Crash and the Mask! The Pop Culture Phenoms really brought it to them tonight, but even with the crushing weight of losing a member of injury weighing them down, Nobody’s Heroes had just enough passion and determination to pull off the victory!

Richard Parker: That match was a wash, Nick! The Phenoms had that thing won on multiple occasions! I demand they send Jimmy Turnbull back to officiating college!

Nick Stuart: Right… and maybe then, he would learn not to turn his back on snakes like Ares and The D, huh?

Richard Parker: Uhh… nevermind. Ah well, who cares? They got paid!

Nick Stuart: Don’t go anywhere, ladies and gentlemen, because ReVival has more matches to come! But real quick, let’s jump to the back to get an update on what’s going on behind the scenes!

TAL and Crash continue to celebrate in the ring while Ares and The D hang on either side of Klein as he leads them back up the ramp.

ReVival most elsewhere.

*knock knock knock*

Who iiiiissssssss it?

You know what that sounds like.

Kerry probably doesn’t sound like that.

But that’s how I’m imagining it.

…

Anyway.

The Emerald Apex finally reaches the door, opening it to reveal one Hayes Hanlon, standing broad in the door frame.

The same guy who had his ankles effing CRUSHED a couple months ago.

The same guy who just cashed in his receipt against said ankle-crusher.

Why are both his arms behind his back?

It’s cool don’t worry about it.

Kerry Kuroyama: Hanlon? They got you doing concierge work now? Dang… well, while you’re here, I’d like to put in an order for a bottle of Hibiki. And some ice. And a case of Four Lokos, for the Lady. Chop-chop.

Hayes, in a moment of calm, grins behind his ‘stache.

Hayes Hanlon: C’mon, man. You and I both know they don’t make Four Loko like they used to. And I don’t think they ever made a sushi flavor.

Hayes leers in, dark eyes looking over Kuroyama’s shoulder.

Hayes Hanlon: I’d kill for a Godzilla roll, though. Speaking of things made for white people, is your buddy Scott around?

Kuroyama perks up at the utterance of his Wingman’s name.

Kerry Kuroyama: Scott? No, he’s not here. Why would he be here? He said he was going for a walk. That was… a few weeks ago. So no, Scott’s not around. Why, have you seen him? Is he… is he doing alright? I mean, I’m only asking for the sake of keeping up on his progress with training. That’s the only reason. Because I expect a lot from him when he steps up to try and take this…

Kerry slaps his shoulder… realizes something is missing.

Kerry Kuroyama: Ah, shit, hang on…

He slips back into the room for a quick second, and returns with the Five Star Championship on his shoulder.

Kerry Kuroyama: Serious business, this championship. Of course, you would know. Or at least you used to…

Something about this feels off to Kuroyama.

Kerry Kuroyama: Hang on, why are you looking for Scott?

Hanlon, eyes now fixed on the Five Star Title, carefully shifts an object he’s holding behind his back, attempting to hide it.

It’s definitely not a jolf club.

Hayes Hanlon: No reason.

Kerry’s eyes skeptically narrow into slits.

Kerry Kuroyama: Gonna go out on a limb here and assume this has something with Scott laying your ass out in the Almasy?

He shrugs.

Kerry Kuroyama: Tough break. At least you went down to someone legit. My advice is that you let that shit go and move on with whatever business you Glue-Goobers get into. Grudges don’t look good on you. Plus, Scott’s got more serious things to worry about right now.

Hayes Hanlon: Funny. You might be the only one who thinks so.

Hayes ponders for a moment, scratching his chin.

Hayes Hanlon: I gotta be honest. I walked into my match with Scott expecting, well…literally nothing. You know, on account that he’s a literal cartoon character.

Hanlon’s eyes darken, looking Kerry up and down.

Hayes Hanlon: But he got me anyway. Decided to get serious all of a sudden. Can’t imagine why. So now I’m wondering…is it you I should be looking for instead?

Kuroyama bestows Hanlon with his characteristically stern and SURRIOUS glare.

Kerry Kuroyama: I’m the Five Star Champion, Hayes. Every motherfucker in PRIME is looking for me. But out of all of them, that one you call a “cartoon character” is the only one I’d deem worthy of touching this strap. Because Scott Fuckin’ Hunter believes in his worth, and every day he lives, he’s busting his ass to defy the expectations people like you put upon him.

A layer of grit enters the voice of the Five Star Champion. The subject of his Wingman is clearly a sensitive issue to him. He nods to Hanlon.

Kerry Kuroyama: Can anyone say that of you, Hanlon? Or are you here knocking on my door now because you’ve grown tired living beneath the collective shadows of Joe, Julien, and Farthy, and now you need to earn your keep to the other Gluebermensch? Well, whatever the reason, you’re here, and if you’re not going to bring me my incredibly niche Japanese whisky, then the least you could do is prove to me you can surpass what I expect of the great former Five Star Champion, Hayes Hanlon.

Hayes pauses, and remains locked in the Emerald Apex for a moment. And then…

…he laughs.

A genuine chuckle from Home Run Hayes.

Hayes Hanlon: Buddy, what shadow are you even talking about? Because MY shadow is one Intense, one Five Star, and TWO Universal Championships long. Is your shadow bigger than that? Is Scott’s?

Hammerin’ Hanlon gives Kerry a moment to respond, until he doesn’t.

Hayes Hanlon: Don’t answer that. Ol’ Big Red is definitely looking for me and I don’t have a lot of time.

He takes a beat, and looks over his shoulder.

Hayes Hanlon: Anyway, bud, let’s not kid ourselves here; the collective shadows of Hunter and Kuroyama aren’t long enough to sniff my fuckin’ jock strap.

Hayes snorts, and looks Kerry up and down, before landing on the Five Star Title.

Hayes Hanlon: That’s MY belt, buddy. Didn’t anyone tell you? I’m the First Crowned of the ReVival, and THAT was the strap they set across MY chest. Not you, and DEFINITELY not Scott Hunter.

Another salty beat.

Hayes Hanlon: Maybe you, and every other schmuck around here, needs a reminder.

The Emerald Apex doesn’t react. He instead readjusts the belt on his shoulder, if anything to serve up his own reminder of where things stand in the present.

Kerry Kuroyama: Tell you what, Selleck…

He thumbs further down the hall.

Kerry Kuroyama: Why don’t you march on over to the Boss’s room, and let her know your preferred time and place. I promise I’ll be there… shadow out, and tape measure in hand. Now, piss off. I have a show to watch.

Hayes Hanlon: Spoiler alert, I’m free in two weeks. And you can tell her yourself. I doubt Wade can pull the Emerald Butt-Plug out of her ass all on his own.

Hayes offers the ol’ half-assed salute and turns away, as Kerry waves him off, stepping back into his locker room.

Elsewhere…

RECORDED EARLIER…

Video footage starts.

We’re at the Tampa Riverwalk.

We see, at a three-quarter angle, walking along the wooden decking next to the river, Scott Hunter pushing a small stroller. Inside the stroller is the adorable gray fluffy gentleman, Kerry Koalayama.

Kerry has a book in his hand, with the title “Pre-Vet: How to Study for a Degree That Doesn’t Actually Exist.” It seems that he’s reading the book, but it only seems that way. He’s actually trying to decide if it is food.

Next to little Kerry in the stroller is a small Bluetooth speaker playing music.

“Once in your life you find her…

Someone that turns your heart around…

And next thing you know you’re clo-sing… down the town…”

Scott pays no mind to the passers-by who see this scene, hear the music, and in some cases audibly wonder, ‘what the absolute fuck is happening right now?’

“Wake up and it’s still with you…

Even though you left her way ‘cross town…

Wondering to yourself…  hey… what’ve I found?”

The poor cameraman struggles to keep up.

Scott turns his head to look directly at the camera, and sniffs a lonely sniff of sadness, the sort of maudlin alliteration that tugs at the heartstrings of us all.

“When you get caught between the moon and New York City…

I know it’s crazy…

But it’s true…”

Little Kerry looks up expectantly, and Scott absent-mindedly reaches into the bag hanging from the stroller handle and pulls out some cotton candy, then places some in the koala’s furry little claw.

“When you get caught between the moon and New York Ci-ty…

The best that you can do…

The best that you can do…

Is fall in love.”

Scott sighs, looking around at the flashing lights and happy children frolicking around the riverfront, then tilts his head and presses forward. It’s here that things get more ridiculous, as specific spots in the song are dubbed in with the wrong lyrics.

“Scott he does as he pleases…

All of his life, his master’s toys…

Deep in his heart, he’s just… he’s just a boy…

Living his life one day at a time…

And thinking he finally found a friend…

Now that he’s been betrayed when… will his heart mend?”

Scott looks up at the sky, his very soul reaching for the heavens, a tear in his eye. Little Kerry looks up, concerned. Scott opens his mouth and lets out a mournful wail.

“WHEN YOU GET CAUGHT BETWEEN THE MOON AND NEW YORK CITY…

I KNOW IT’S CRAZY…

BUT IT’S TRUU-OOOO-OOOOHHH-UUUEEEE!

IF YOU GET CAUGHT BETWEEN THE MOON AND NEW YORK CIIIIIII-TY!!!

THE BEST THAT YOU CAN DO! (cameraman: “the best that you can do”)

THE BEST THAT YOU CAN DO!

IS FAAAALL IN LOOOOOOVE!!!”

As the music goes to the outro, the cameraman stops and lets Scott and the stroller continue forward toward a beautiful sunset.

At the bottom left, words appear as the music fades.

SCOTT HUNTER
“SCOTT’S THEME (BEST THAT YOU CAN DO)”
SCOTTY INTERPRETS THE HITS, VOLUME 1
VAE VICTIS RECORDS

FADE OUT…

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall

“The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir erupts as Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Rulsan emerge from the backstage area.

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

Stanislav and Ruslan raise their arms, side by side, roar at the crowd, and pointedly make their way towards the ring.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

The lights dim and the slow melodic 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.

Vince Howard: From parts unknown, he weighs in tonight at 250 pounds…

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.

Vince Howard: He is the IMMORTALLLLLL JELLYFISH!… STEEEEEEEVE HAAAAAAARRISOOOOOOOOON!!!

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

Richard Parker: Okay, Nick. Say the thing.

Nick Stuart: What thing?

Richard Parker: You know, the thing. The thing you say at the start of one match every show. About the bell? And getting started? Go on, say it.

Nick Stuart: No. No, I don’t think I will.

As is customary for most wrestling matches, we begin with the two competitors moving out of their respective corners and sizing each other up. Quite literally, in Ivan’s case. Despite Harrison being a physical specimen in his own right, the Russian Bear makes a show of pointing out that he is still larger.

For his part, the Miracle Man sneers, and begins circling low. He snaps off a quick dropkick, wasting no time in trying to target the roots of the Russian redwood, but Ivan barely stumbles and makes an even bigger show of laughing the move off.

Harrison immediately bounces up to his feet, but Stanislav has already adopted the stance of a dirty boxer, and the Merch God finds himself on the receiving end of some brawler punches. They force him back towards the corner, where a big headbutt breaks through his defenses and sends him down to one knee.

Nick Stuart: The Russian Bear putting his formidable size to use here in the early goings of this one.

Richard Parker: This is what happened the last time I saw a bear wrestle a jellyfish.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: Yeah. I stumbled across this video online. There were these two people, and one of them had like a fur outfit on, and the other had some tentac-

Nick Stuart: OKAY MOVING RIGHT ON.

While Harrison shakes away the stars circling his head, Ivan barks to the crowd in Russian, and then takes his opponent by the wrist. He draws him up right into a short-arm clothesline.

Harrison takes a moment to roll out of the ring to compose himself and reassess the situation.

The Miracle Man slides in under the bottom rope on the far side of the ring after getting his bearings, baiting Ivan into a charge. But when the big man moves in, Harrison dodge rolls to the side and fires off a salvo of kicks to Ivan’s left thigh. One of them catches him a bit lower, and the Russian Bear buckles but doesn’t fall.

Richard Parker: If you want I can dig up the link to send you.

Nick Stuart: I SAID MOVING RIGHT ON, RICHARD!

Harrison steps back to build up some momentum in the hopes that his next shot will take Stanislav to the ground, but he’s met with a grapple upon closing the distance as Ivan picks him up for a one-armed scoop slam.

Ivan puts one foot on Harrison’s chest and beckons for Ashley Barlow to count, but she barely has enough time to roll her eyes and slide to the mat before the Miracle Man kicks out before the one count.

This is Alexei’s cue. He climbs up onto the apron on the other side of the ring and begins making a very impassioned case.

Nick Stuart: Well, fans, we knew it was going to happen eventually. I just didn’t expect Alexei to inject himself in the match so soon.

Richard Parker: Soon? He has a legitimate case here, Nick.

Nick Stuart: I’m not going to ask you to explain yourself, because I know you’re going to do it anyway.

Richard Parker: Right you are! That was clearly a slow count. Anyone with two working eyes… or one working eye… Or a well-trained service animal could see that.

Nick Stuart: I’m not even going to try to unpack that.

Richard Parker: Well, in the case of the last one I guess it would be the dog that saw it, because-

Nick Stuart: Okay, anyway. Moving on before you start racking up fines on the Alexei Scale.

With referee Barlow forced to try and argue Alexei down from the apron, Ivan is free to use his current position to his advantage. He stomps down on Harrison, forcing him towards the ropes before standing on the bottom rope and using all of his body weight to try and guillotine his opponent underneath it.

Nick Stuart: Blatant cheating now from Ivan Stanislav.

Richard Parker: It’s only cheating if you get caught.

Nick Stuart: No, it actually isn’t.

Given his current predicament, and the fact that Alexei is a master at referee distraction, there’s few options open to Harrison at the moment.

OOOOOOOOOOOHHH!!

Pow. Right in the Kremlins.

Richard Parker: That’s cheating!

Nick Stuart: Oh, so it’s going to be one of those. Okay.

Referee Barlow is momentarily confused, as now instead of trying to divert her away from the match, Alexei is demanding she turn around to see the horrible injustice that has just transpired. And turn around she does. What she sees is Ivan Stanislav hunched over with both hands cupping his tender nethers. She glances back at Alexei, shrugs, and then motions to her eyes in a gesture meant to convey, “I didn’t see it happen.”

The Miracle Man is on his feet, using the opening to deliver a series of clubbing elbows to the back of Ivan’s neck. One of them, a particularly hard hammerblow, forces Stanislav to put a hand down on the canvas to brace himself from falling over.

Nick Stuart: Steve Harrison has found an opening to assert himself, and…

Richard Parker: OH NO HE DID NOT!

Nick Stuart: OH YES HE DID!

In what may be the most ironic move executed tonight, the Vendor King of PRIME trapped Ivan’s arm and snapped back with a move that brought the Russian Bear to the canvas.

Richard Parker: Don’t say it, Nick. Don’t you da-

Nick Stuart: Russian legsweep by Steve Harrison!

Richard Parker: That is cultural appropriation and he did it on the very culture he was appropriating! I am filing a petition with the IOC!

Nick Stuart: …the hell do the Olympics have to do with this?

Richard Parker: Is that what that means?

Nick Stuart: (long exasperated sigh)

Harrison rolls through the move right back to his feet, and shifts his offense back to Stanislav’s legs. He delivers a series of hard stomps to the knee, and on the last one starts to grind his heel into the joint.

Ever defiant, Ivan tries to shove him away and get back to his feet, but he’s unsteady on his footing and Harrison’s next attack – a running clothesline – sends Stanislav stumbling and staggering. The big man’s leg gives out, and he tumbles back towards the ropes, finding his arms tied up between the top and middle.

Nick Stuart: Harrison unloading, and there’s not a damn thing Ivan Stanislav can do about it!

Unable to properly defend himself, nowhere on the Russian Bear is safe. Harrison continues to focus fire on Ivan’s leg, peppering in a few jabs and forearms between the kicks. Ashley Barlow is beside herself, alternating between trying to free Ivan from the ropes and get Steve Harrison to back off.

Meanwhile, Alexei is calmly allowing all of this to happen, because he has the utmost confidence in PRIME officials to do the right thing at all times.

Just kidding, he’s losing his absolute shit and shouting at Barlow that she’s not moving fast enough.

Nick Stuart: Fans, I’m getting word that we’ve got a bit of a commotion happening backstage. Something about a chair at the Argyle position.

Richard Parker: How is that relevant to anything right now?

The referee is able to position herself between Stanislav and Harrison, and Alexei takes this opportunity to use his baton like a lever to help untwist the ropes. Now free, Ivan charges forward, and it’s all Ashley Barlow can do to get out of the way before Steve Harrison is hit with a massive clothesline. Ivan’s leg gives out on the impact, and he drops to one knee as a result of the punishment it’s taken thus far during the match.

Harrison rolls away and gets back to his feet, and Ivan pounds on his knee for a moment to get the blood flowing before returning to a vertical base.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav reasserting himself here.

He reaches down and wraps a massive paw around Harrison’s face, using it to drag the Miracle Man up to his feet.

OOOOOOOOOOOH!!

Nick Stuart: Stalin’s Sickle into the turnbuckle! And now he’s got Harrison trapped in a bear hug!

Richard Parker: It’s the most literal move name ever!

Nick Stuart: Stanislav with… umm…

Richard Parker: What the hell is that?

“That” would be a man pushing an office chair through the entryway and getting a running start before hopping onto the seat and coasting down the entrance ramp.

Richard Parker: What the hell?

RAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!

Nick Stuart: Jared Sykes is here at ringside!

Richard Parker: And he almost ran Alexei over with a chair!

Only he didn’t. He put the brakes on before he got to the bottom of the ramp. That didn’t stop Alexei from shouting things at him in Russian.

The Immortal Jellyfish rakes the eyes of the Russian Bear, causing him to break the hold. Ivan staggers back, and yet another low dropkick connects. This time his leg gives out and he falls to the canvas. The Bear pushes himself back up, but no sooner is he back on his feet does a chopblock take his knee out again.

Harrison is relentless. He traps the leg he’s been targeting and reaches forward to lock in the STF.

Nick Stuart: Stanislav is trapped! Harrison has that STF locked in tight!

Richard Parker: What is this I hate this make it stop!

Nick Stuart: That move puts tremendous pressure on both the knee and the neck, both areas that Harrison has targeted tonight!

Outside the ring, Alexei is screaming horrible things at Jared Sykes. For his part, Jared pays him no mind, instead he’s continuously shifting to look past Alexei to what’s happening in the ring.

Stanislav tries to drag himself towards the ropes, using his free leg to give himself an extra push. Just as the Russian Bear is about to grab the bottom rope, Harrison releases the hold and fights to drag him back to the center of the ring where the STF is immediately reapplied. Ivan reaches back in an attempt to try and break the hold that way, but Harrison captures that arm and incorporates it into the hold.

Nick Stuart: The Miracle Man is all over Stanislav, not giving him an inch right now!

The Merch God wrenches back hard, and the crowd rises to their feet in the collective hope that they might actually get to witness Ivan Stanislav submit. He tries to pull himself towards the side of the ring, reaching out with his hand floating inches above the canvas.

Nick Stuart: Are we going to see it?! Is Steve Harrison going to submit Ivan Stanislav here tonight?!

Ivan’s hand grabs the bottom rope, forcing a break.

BOOOOOOOOO!!!

Both men rise to their feet, with Ivan using the ropes to help him up. Before Harrison can capitalize on the damage he’s done, Ivan lunges forward. He slips, trips, and stumbles as a result of Harrison’s focused offense, and what everyone is sure would have been a picture perfect HurricanRussia ends up looking like a flying crotch-attack to Harrison’s thigh.

Stanislav and Harrison are both on the canvas, the latter more confused than hurt by the move. He is the first one to his feet, measuring Ivan Stanislav.

Nick Stuart: Harrison up!

Richard Parker: Ivan, too!

The crowd holds their collective breath as Steve Harrison moves in and grabs Ivan before powering him up and to the side with a belly-to-belly suplex that shakes the ring. It’s not pretty, and it likely took a fair bit of Harrison’s energy, but the impact of the move leaves Alexei speechless.

Nick Stuart: BELLY TO BELLY!! STEVE HARRISON HAS JUST SUPLEXED IVAN STANISLAV!!

Richard Parker: And Alexei has been stunned into silence!

Nick Stuart: Well they don’t call Harrison the Miracle Man for nothing.

Richard Parker: I hate you right now.

The Soviet Giant starts to sit up, but Harrison is already in position, measuring his opponent for what comes next.

Nick Stuart: ENLIGHTENMENT CONNECTS!

Richard Parker: STOP SHOUTING ALL THE MOVES!

Nick Stuart: Huge knee from Harrison! He’s going for the cover!

ONE

Nick Stuart: Could this be all?

TWO

Nick Stuart: Will Steve Harrison defeat Ivan Stanislav?!

THR-

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Ashley Barlow suddenly finds herself sliding across the canvas.

Nick Stuart: Alexei Ruslan just pulled the referee out of position!

Richard Parker: It’s, uhhh… It’s only cheating if you see it?

Nick Stuart: I don’t think Ashley Barlow saw it, but she definitely felt it.

Richard Parker: Yeah, I got nothin’ for that.

Harrison is irate. He immediately moves towards the side of the ring and lobs a kick towards where Alexei is standing. The kick only hits the ropes, but it’s enough that Ruslan staggers back away from the ring.

Nick Stuart: Things are breaking down here, folks…

As Harrison argues with the referee over what just happened, Alexei slinks up close to the ring again, this time grabbing Harrison’s ankle. He kicks free, but the pair of distractions has given Ivan Stanislav enough time to get back to his feet.

Nick Stuart: Ivan is up! RED SCARE! RED SCARE!

Stanislav quickly moves in for the cover, hooking Harrison’s far leg.

ONE

Nick Stuart: Cover! Is the Red Army going to steal one?

TWO

THREE

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: The winner of this match… Ivan STAN-islaaaaav!!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Nick Stuart: That goddamn Alexei.

Richard Parker: I don’t know why you’re surprised, Nick. The Red Army did what they needed to in order to secure a win here tonight.

Nick Stuart: Well Steve Harrison came damn close. And if it wasn’t for Alexei Ruslan, this might have very well gone the other way!

Outside the ring, Jared Sykes retrieves an object from the chair he’s been sitting on. He tosses it to the floor at the base of the entrance ramp before pulling the chair back up towards Argyle.

Richard Parker: Did he just throw a doormat on the floor?

There is a brief moment of confusion inside the ring before the Red Army goes back to their post-match celebration, but not before Steve Harrison offers a gesture to the two men that stand triumphant. The Miracle Man holds his thumb and index finger only millimeters apart, the intent of the gesture immediately clear: It was this close.

We fade.

RELIVE IT ON THE ACE NETWORK

The feed from the previous commercial abruptly cuts away to the fuzzy white noise of static.

Moments later, the static dissolves and reveals a shot of the parking garage of Amalie Arena. The garage is desolate – most in the building are focused on the happenings inside the squared circle tonight, most recently the matchup between a Russian grizzly and an octopus.

The silence is broken as the image of the garage quickly turns into one of the ceiling of the garage as the camera falls backwards.

“…fuck!”

The camera is picked from the ground to again focus on the garage, this time with the WON Action News van taking up half of the shot. In the background, the sound of the van’s sliding door comes front he other side of the vehicle.

Moments later, a pre-taped montage takes over the feed.

…Snark Darkly Presents…

…A WON ACTION NEWS SPECIAL REPORT…

Again, our viewers’ ears are treated to the hard-hitting NEWS music as their eyes are assaulted with outrageous graphics and the kind of editing that makes you believe Max Kael is having unpaid interns put these things together. You’d think the Mayor of a fine town like Arkham would have a little higher budget for video production!

But I digress…

Once the barrage of visuals ends, we’re left again with the image of Amalie’s garage and the side of the NEWS van.

But there’s no sign of The Herald.

No Kai.

Kirk the Sportshead is missing (or out of frame…I mean, he is but just a head).

More importantly, no Max Kael.

Instead, out from behind the van saunters Bryan Dawkins.

The Red Army’s Hawaiian representative holds a NEWS microphone in hand and stares directly into the camera before feigning surprise.

Bryan Dawkins: Oh! Hello there! Comrade Bryan Dawkins reporting from…well, that’s not important.

He looks over his shoulder at a sign clearly indicating his location before shrugging.

Bryan Dawkins: I’m here tonight with a WON ACTION NEWS SPECIAL REPORT!

Again, the garish NEWS music and graphics assault our eyes and ears before returning to Bruh.

Bryan Dawkins: God damn is that annoying. Anyway!

He clears his throat as he reaches behind the van to pull out an aluminum baseball bat.

Bryan Dawkins: Tonight I’m here to report a declaration of war.

Dawkins walks off screen before realizing he can no longer be seen.

Bryan Dawkins: ah fuck…

Moments later, the camera rotates to see more coverage of the van, including the giant fiberglass recreation of Max’s face that covers the front of the van. Dawkins appears again in scene before posting up near the front of the van.

Bryan Dawkins: Anyway – as I was saying!

SLAM

Max’s right eyeball explodes into hundreds of pieces thanks to a swing that would make Cal Raleigh proud. Shards of glass litter the ground.

Bryan Dawkins: Wow…making the eyeballs out of glass was a choice, Max!

SLAM

Another swing of the bat, this time to the left eye.

Bryan Dawkins: I’m sure Max is slinking around somewhere back here, but I do find it strange that he’d leave such a fine vehicle such as this unattended! Don’t you know there are people around here who would relish the idea of stealing this thing, Max?

SLAM

SLAM

SLAM

The next swing swings mangle Max’s pointed schnoz, immediately causing a stream of red liquid to gush onto the pavement. Is it blood or is it transmission fluid? Who knows.

Bryan Dawkins: Or maybe I should use a term you understand. Someone might abduct your dear van.

SLAM

The final swing leaves fiberglass Max looking like an eight year old who just left his two front teeth under his pillow for the tooth fairy. Dawkins turns back to the camera and tosses the bat off screen before grabbing the camera from its stationary position. The shot bounces across the garage as Bryan makes his way to the driver’s seat of the van. After propping the camera onto the dash, he continues.

Bryan Dawkins: I’ve tiptoed around this for far too long. I’ve heard the jokes, seen the questions. Why isn’t Bryan Dawkins trying to find Kai?

He begins to fiddle under the steering wheel.

Bryan Dawkins: And you know what? They’re probably right. I’ve probably spent too much time trying to do this the right way. Trying to do this without confronting the actual problem.

After a few moments, the engine of the mangled NEWS van begins to purr…well, as much as a 50 year old van can purr.

Bryan Dawkins: So, Max…consider this an official declaration of war. I’m done fucking around. This is now about you and I…no Red Army, none of your associates or servants or whatever you have these days in your “position of power”. This is mano y mano, bruh.

Across the garage, pounding and muffled yelling can be heard coming from the steel door that leads into the arena. That door has been blocked by a dumpster that used to reside near the door. It’s doing its job effectively. Bryan flips the camera back around to himself and revs the engine a few times.

Bryan Dawkins: I will not stop. Will not rest. I will put everything…everything…on the line to avenge what you’ve done to me and my family. When you’re ready to stop playing games, just let me know…

He shifts the van into drive.

Bryan Dawkins: …until then, that’s the NEWS!

Dawkins slams the accelerator, causing the van to peel out before the feed abruptly cuts out, leaving us with the sound of static as we move elsewhere…

We flip to the back.

Two strangers are striding down the hallway, side by side, dressed for battle, strapped with gold, and staring straight ahead with conviction and fire.

They earn a few side glances from backstage crew, partly because they aren’t familiar faces, but mostly because they exude a certain air of volatile FAFO energy. They march on, unheeded, in the direction of the ring.

That is until a certain junior reporter suddenly steps in their path.

Simon Tillier: Hang on just one second, fellas… you’re Zack Daymon and Leo Burnett of the Rain City Ronin, am I right?

The Rain City Ronin come to a halt. They answer only with matching cold stares.

Simon Tillier: ‘Course I’m right. Who else would be walking around with a pair of title belts that read “DEFIANCE Tag Team Champions”? Unless I’m mistaken and DEFIANCE has other tag belts I’m not aware of. I know how goofy you guys get over there…

Tillier quickly rethinks this stance.

Simon Tillier: Ah, but who am I to talk? More people watch this show for the bathroom fight than the actual matches these days. Well anyhow, allow me to introduce you dudes properly here to PRIME. Name’s “Rhymin’” Simon Tillier, so-called “junior” reporter and future punk rock legend, and guys, let me first just say I approve of the fashion sense…

He’s referring to their t-shirts. Daymon’s reads “ABOLISH ICE”. Burnett’s is DEFIANCE’S FIST logo in LGBT in rainbow colors.

Simon Tillier: Anyway, I’m glad I was able to catch up with the two of you before you went out to the ring. Care to give the world a few final remarks before going in there?

The junior reporter extends the microphone to the tandem. Neither Daymon nor Burnett say anything in response.

Simon Tillier: Really? Nothing? I mean, given your opponents, there is the possibility that they could be your final words. You’re about to walk into a match against the PRIME CEO and the Queen of the Ring, Lindsay Troy, in her hometown, tagging with her Bestie, the man who holds the big FIST title over in your neck of the woods, “The Kraken” Henry Keyes. So many people in PRIME are saying that you won’t live through the night. And yet, strangely, you two seem unphased. Like it’s just another day in the office. So… I don’t know, I guess I’m saying that you might want to make use of the opportunity, know what I mean?

Daymon and Burnett briefly exchange a look, but remain silent.

Simon Tillier: Oh wait a sec, I think I heard about this. Your whole thing is not talking right? No promos, no interviews, no speeches… nothing. Just simple, straightforward, no-nonsense wrasslin’. Am I right?

The Ronin say nothing.

Simon Tillier: Yeah… I guess that answers the question. Well guys, while I admire the boldness and tenacity of such a life choice, I have to admit that it makes my job here a bit difficult. See, I’m trying to find answers, but of course, you aren’t going to give them. And, maddeningly enough, that just introduces so many more questions I can’t get the answers to. Like, what’s the purpose? How do you give people an idea of what kind of wrestlers you are? How do you express your message to the world without words?

Again, they say nothing.

Simon Tillier: I mean, now that I think about it, as successful as the two of you have been as of late, I suppose having a “message” isn’t really all that essential. What would you say? You just go into the ring, fight, and win. And that about does it. Guess it gives credence to that saying about actions speaking louder than words, if anything. Which, if I’m being honest, is just fine by me. So much of today’s wrestling gets caught up in the endless trash-talking, and grand-standing, and dick-measuring. Makes you wonder aloud sometimes, “Hey, isn’t the point of this just supposed to be two sides kicking each other’s asses?” Like, if I wanted to experience people talking shit to each other, I’d just hop on social media for a few seconds. At least I would, if my account hadn’t been zucc’d for calling Kash Patel a DEI hire.

Still nothing.

Simon Tillier: But then, you know, you also have to consider other people pushing their own narratives. If the Besties told the fans that the Rain City Ronin stink like eggy farts, what are you going to do to stop people from believing that if you keep your lips sealed? I mean, clearly, you don’t smell like eggy farts, unless my olfactory senses are suddenly failing on me. You guys smell more like… (sniffs) Douglas firs, and… fish markets, and… cupcakes? Anyway, if Lindsay Troy and Henry Keyes start saying you guys smell like eggy farts, how do you change the narrative? Because you can beat them, but does it necessarily prove them wrong?

As expected, they retain their silence.

But Tillier is already on a roll.

Simon Tillier: Or could it just be that you simply don’t care? After all, as we established: go out there, fight, win… it’s not a complicated formula, this wrestling thing. And how you smell doesn’t really weigh into that by much. I mean, I know people said that I smell like eggy farts, I wouldn’t care. I would just say to those people, “If I smell like eggy farts, it’s probably because I’m out there being the most goddamn punk rock journalist the world of wrestling has ever seen, and doing that gets me to work up a SWEAT!” That’s EXACTLY what I would say!

He looks to Zack Daymon and Leo Burnett who, unsurprisingly, say nothing.

Simon Tillier: Or you know what, on second thought, I’d probably take a page from your book! Why even acknowledge it? Why give it any of my time and attention? I don’t need to tell the haters they’re wrong when I damn know well I can prove them wrong. Let them talk themselves into their own graves, cause I’ll just be waiting with a shovel in hand to bury them with straight FACTS! And I’ll do it with dignity and class! Because I’m not in this to stroke my ego by winning pissing contests! I’m here, grinding every day, for one thing, and one thing only: my pure and unbendable love for wrestling… journalism! Just like…

The lightbulb goes off over the junior reporter’s head.

Simon Tillier: Just like… you guys.

He thoughtfully scratches at the five o’clock peachfuzz clinging to his jawline, slowly processing this revelation he talked himself into.

Simon Tillier: Hm… I think I get it now.

Daymon and Burnett look to one another, and nod in approval.

Simon Tillier: Um… good talk, guys. Sorry to keep you from doing what you came here to do.

The Ronin respectfully exchange fist-bumps with Tillier before continuing on past him and step into Argyle. Meanwhile, Simon pulls out his notepad and begins jotting down words while speaking aloud.

Simon Tillier: “Idea for new song… no lyrics… just angrily stare at the crowd… potential new movement in punk rock? Will workshop…”

ReVival moves elsewhere.

Nick Stuart: Well, here we go.

Richard Parker: What? Another match?

Nick Stuart: Yes, another match.

Richard Parker: I don’t even know who any of these people are!

Nick Stuart: Okay, first of all… that’s not true. One of the individuals literally writes you a check every other week. Second, while her teammate will be making his PRIME in-ring debut, he’s no stranger and nor are their opponents. Granted, three of the top champions from DEFIANCE are in this contest, the FIST of DEFIANCE, which is their World or Universal Champion, Henry Keyes and then the UNIFIED Tag Team Champions, Rain City Ronin.

Richard Parker: [Long pause] I get a check every other week?

Nick Stuart: That- that’s what you took out of this? Can we just go to ringside already!?

The scene does switch to Vince Howard in the middle of the ring, smirk on his face.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a MEAN GIRLS SPECIAL ATTRACTION TAG TEAM MATCH… set… for… ONLY ONE FALL!

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH, what a treat, it’s one fall!

Anyway, the crowd is ready to boo because it ain’t gonna be the hometown girl up first.

C A G E D C A 

C A G E D C A 

C A G E D C A A A A A A

An arpeggiated guitar lick heralds the beginning to DJ Shadow’s “Nobody Speak”. The moment the beat drops, the Rain City Ronin step through the curtain without delay.

No colorful lights. No fancy pyro.

You think Troy is going to spend money on these guys?

“PICTURE THIS,
“I’M A BAG OF DICKS, PUT ME TO YOUR LIPS
“I AM SICK
“I WILL PUNCH A BABY BEAR IN HIS SHIT
“GIVE ME LIP
“I’MA SEND YOU TO THE YARD, GET A STICK
“MAKE A SWITCH
“I CAN END A CONVERSATION REAL QUICK”

The tandem of Zack Daymon and Leo Burnett stride out onto the stage, as rigid and methodical as a pair of futuristic cyborgs programmed for nothing but wrestling. They wear matching long tights, black bases with blue, white, and green patterns running down the sides.

The DEFIANCE Tag Team Championships are proudly displayed around their waists. Both are wearing cut shirts: Daymon’s simply reads “ABOLISH ICE”. Burnett’s is the DEFIANCE FIST logo in rainbow colors.

Richard Parker: I will say, I fully support the messaging.

Nick Stuart: No argument from me.

Richard Parker: However, the belts around their waists… I guess we’re going to see how good they really are momentarily.

“I AM CRACK
“I AIN’T LYIN’, KICK A LION IN HIS CRACK
“I’M THE SHIT
“I WILL FALL OF IN YOUR CRIB, TAKE A SHIT
“PINCH YOUR MOMMA ON THE BOOTY
“KICK YOU DOG, FUCK YOUR BITCH
“FAT BOY DRESSED UP LIKE HE’S SANTA AND TOOK PICTURES WITH YOUR KIDS”

Lockstep, Daymon and Burnett descend the rampway side by side. They march with an unmistakably confident swagger, immune to the jeers and heckling from the fans across the barricade.

“WE THE BEST
“WE WILL CUT A FROWNY FACE IN YOUR CHEST
“LITTLE WENCH
“I’M UNMENTIONABLY FRESH, I’M A MENSCH
“GET CORRECT
“I WILL WALK INTO A COURT WHILE ERECT
“SCREAMIN’ ‘YES! I AM GUILTY, MOTHERFUCKERS!
“‘I AM DEATH!’”

The pair continue powerwalking toward the ring, undeterred by a hot Tampa crowd that is doing everything in its power to let them know the two young stars are unwelcome outsiders.

Their eyes never leave the ring.

“HEY… YOU WANNA HEAR A GOOD JOKE?”

On cue, the Rain City Ronin pause midway down the ramp.

“NOBODY SPEAK… NOBODY GET CHOKED!”

Daymon and Burnett continue on their trip to the ring, hitting the ringside area with the intensity of Allied soldiers storming the beaches of Normandy.

Vince Howard: Introducing first… representing Dojo Cascadia of Seattle, Washington… they weigh in at a combined four-hundred and fifty-five pounds… they are the REIGNING UNIFIED TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS of DEFIANCE WRESTLING… the WINNERS of the MILO FLYNN CUP TWENTY-TWENTY-FIVE… please welcome to PRIME, the team of ZACK DAYMON and LEO BURNETT…

Ritualistically, they lap the ring, giving the PRIME faithful a clear and close look of the very best DEFIANCE Wrestling has to offer.

Vince Howard: The RAAAIIINNN CIIIIIITYYYYYY ROOOOOOOOONNNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNN!!!

They ascend the steps and walk across the apron, where they turn and face the hard camera while unstrapping their championship belts.

“GET RUNNING
“START PUMPING YOUR BUNIONS, I’M COMING
“I’M THE DUMBEST
“TO FLAMETHROW YOUR FUNCTION TO FUNYUNS
“FLAME YOUR CREW QUICKER THAN TRUMP FUCKS HIS YOUNGEST
“NOW FACE THE FLAME, FUCKERS
“YOUR FAME AND FATE’S DONE WITH”

The DEFIANCE tag champs pump their belts into the air.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

“I ROB CHARLIE BROWN
“PEPPERMINT PATTY, LINUS, AND LUCY
“PUT COKE IN THE DOOBIE
“ROLL WOOLIES TO SMOKE WITH SNOOPY
“I STILL REMAIN THAT DICK-GRABBIN’ SLACKER THAT SPIT A LOOGIE
“CUZ THE TOLDA OF THE TOOLIE’LL MURDER YOUR FRIGGIN’ MOOLIES”

The Rain City Ronin step through the ropes and formally encroach upon the blue and white canvas.

“NOBODY SPEAK, NOBODY GET CHOKED!!”

With demeanors that can only be described as confident, cocksure, and DEFIANT, they stride over to the other side of the arena and raise their belts again.

“NOBODY SPEAK, NOBODY GET CHOKED!!”

As the music dies down, they converge upon their corner and wait for their opponents.

It doesn’t take long for the Amalie Arena to grow in major anticipation. This is more than a Lightning game.

It’s a homecoming.

♫ “Stranger Fruit” by Zeal & Ardor ♫

STRANGER FRUIT, HOW IT GROWS AND GROWS
WE ALL SAW THE SHOOT, BUT WE TEND TO THE ROSE

Besite Pink and PRIME Blue, although some would swear it’s Helen Blue but that’s a story for another time.

The FIST of DEFIANCE and his best friend, the leader of PRIME Wrestling and pinnacle of the sport personified. In DEFIANCE, they’d definitely be booed for their presence. Nevertheless, this is a very different landscape.

Richard Parker: Yes! The person who writes my checks! I get it now!

Nick Stuart: I swear to you- if you are going to pander this entire match…

The stage lights up as Troy and Keyes make their descent towards the ring. Dressed in similar blues, golds and pinks, the two of them don’t have to pump up the crowd too much in order to get it going.

Vince Howard: And their opponents! Representing Vae Victis… one ailing from San Francisco, California and his teammate ailing from right here in TAMPA, FLORIDA…

Yes, it’s a cheap pop but a DEFening one.

Vince Howard: Weighing at a combined 444 pounds… they are the Besties… LINDSAY TROY and the FIST of DEFIANCE, HENRY KEYES!!

Troy and Keyes are at the apron, before Zach Daymon walks over to the edge of the ring and seemingly gestures he’s willing to hold the ropes open for them. We cut to the VVIP booth, where none other than Kerry Kuroyama and Ami Troy stand, clapping their duo on.

…Except it looks like Kerry is taking the time to clap in VV’s direction and then also in RCR’s! Maybe it’s a mistake, or something…

Troy and Keyes make it to their side of the ring, while RCR manage their own adjacent direction.

Nick Stuart: Referee Jimmy Turnbull will have his hands full on this one.

The ref walks to the center of the ring and calls both legal parties towards him.

Richard Parker: Looks like we’re starting with Henry Keyes and Leo Burnett.

Nick Stuart: Burnett is the bigger man, albeit slightly. Keyes is obviously a physical specimen.

Richard Parker: Thanks for the color commentary. I’ll be sure to do your job soon enough, too.

Nick Stuart: I can only wish.

DING DING

The bell is called, so Keyes and Burnett circle each other. It takes a moment, but with the crowd completely behind them, the FIST and ½ UNIFIED TAG lock into a grapple. It’s a solid stalemate at the start, both men around the same size, both men trying to push into the grapple as hard as they can. Finally, and perhaps to the surprise of many, Leo works Henry into a headlock.

But Keyes powers out quickly and pushes Burnett into the ropes.

BELL CLAP CRACK-

NO!

Leo bails and falls on his back at the very last second, missing the move by sheer inches or less!

Keyes snaps his neck to the side and immediately looks for an elbow drop on Burnett, but Leo slips out of the way, hits the ropes and lands a picture perfect missile dropkick right into Henry’s neck. Burnett pulls Keyes off the mat… and connects with a snap suplex.

Richard Parker: That’s one way to start. Henry was looking for an early out, that Bell Clap!

Nick Stuart: If he hit it… if they WON the match with that… what a statement it would’ve been!

Richard Parker: I doubt the Bell Clap would’ve won the match with a fresh Zach Daymon looking on. Still, it would’ve been a MESSAGE.

Burnett drags Keyes to his feet and props him into a free corner. There’s driving elbows delivered to the side of Henry’s head, there’s a hardout headbutt, there’s even a few shoulder chargers in there, too. Leo latches his arms around Henry Keyes waist and shows off pure power by lifting the thick slapper in the air and walking backwards along with him.

Standing gutwrench powerbomb!

Nick Stuart: Leo with the cover!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: Now that’s confidence! I didn’t even see Lindsay flinch from her corner. Those Besties really are besties!

Burnett applies a headlock on Keyes and then takes the FIST of DEFIANCE along with him to the RCR corner and makes a tag.

Zach Daymon comes in. Daymon bounces off the ropes and lands a swinging neckbreaker on Keyes. It doesn’t take the tag champion long to stand and start kicking Keyes in the back of the head!

It’s clear this is hurting Keyes, while also giving The Kraken a second wind. A second, angry wind as the FIST hammers his arms together, seething through the pain while rising. Daymon moves a couple of steps back, then looks for a running knee strike when Keyes catches him, hoists Zach in the air and SLAMS the tag champion down with a wicked, ring-shaking powerslam!

Richard Parker: That hurt me!

Keyes knocks himself in the side of the head. He bounces off the ropes and clobbers Daymon with a running knee strike of his own. Instead of knocking Daymon down, this puts Zach straight up and on rollerskates.

Propeller-edge chops follow. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Keyes grits his teeth as he sends each one into Zach Daymon’s chest, leaving tiny little welts as he does. The scene quickly shifts to the VVIP lounge, where Ami and Kerry love what they see! Keyes sends a sixth chop into Daymon’s chest, hits the ropes and looks for a discus lariat-

NO! Daymon ducks his way through the lariat, holding onto Keyes’ head as he does and lands a perfectly timed diving DDT!

Ami stops cheering. Kerry, however, points over to Zach with a little “let’s go” nod…

Until Kuroyama realizes Ami is looking at him so he very smooooooooooothly changes the nod into a shake of the head no and then a complete head swirl, as if to say he has a kink in his neck and he desperately needs to get it out.

Keyes positions himself on all fours as Daymon matches over and tags Leo Burnett. The crowd is becoming restless because Lindsay Troy remains idle on her side of the ring.

Burnett and Daymon lift Keyes and crash him to the mat with a double spinebuster! Zach leaves the ring, and Leo starts working on the back of Henry Keyes.

Nick Stuart: Nice strategy and teamwork here by Rain City. The Besties have obviously worked together on all fronts but my understanding is, outside of a recent DEFIANCE tag team match last week, this would only be their second time teaming in a while. Meanwhile, we do have CURRENT Tag Team Champions working on the other side of the ring.

Richard Parker: We do, and that’s fair. It’s also the early stages of the match. One look at Henry Keyes and it tells me he’s an absolute FORCE to deal with.

Burnett has a side headlock on to slow The Kraken’s blood flow. And while it’s clear Keyes is slowly fighting out of it, now onto a knee, Burnett’s sharp. Leo drops the hold once Keyes is on both feet and sprints into the ropes. Burnett sidesteps a rising knee, meant to crush him in the stomach. Leo latches onto Henry and tosses him to the mat in a side-to-belly suplex.

One problem.

Henry Keyes is on his feet.

Henry Keyes is fuming.

A HARD AS SHIT European uppercut follows. Leo’s spit flies through the air as he fumbles around, swinging at air. Keyes with ONE… TWO… THREE forearm blows against Leo’s chest, before lifting Burnett and pressing him up and down.

THUMP.

The gorilla press slam is completed.

Keyes hits the ropes, destroying Burnett’s face with a running leg and then making his way over to Lindsay Troy.

The arena ERUPTS!

Kicks, elbows, punches and other blows are worked in there, Troy is managing at a super quick pace. She hits the ropes, leaps in the air and lands a running backflip DDT!

There are WELCOME HOME chants. YOU STILL GOT IT cries. TROY-TROY-TROY rallies. Honestly, it’s a bit of a shitshow at the moment, the crowd can’t seem to harmonize just one chant but it doesn’t matter, a spinning fisherman’s suplex follows. And while Troy can’t hold for any cover, she’s already on her feet and lands a roaring elbow.

…Knocking Leo Burnett out of the ring!

LT! LT! LT!

Henry Keyes takes his place in the center of the squared circle with Lindsay Troy as the two receive a grand applause in response. We go back to Ami and Kerry, who also love what they witness!

Zach Daymon meets Leo Burnett on the outside of the ring. After a quick recovery, they both enter the ring and make a play for the Besties. RCR duck clotheslines from Troy and Keyes, hit off the next set of ropes and are met with a powerslam by Keyes and a front flip leg drop by Troy!

RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

The UNIFIED Champions roll outside the ring once again and we get another massive cheer!

Richard Parker: Looks like it’s RAINING on RAIN City! Ha!

Nick Stuart: Seriously?

Richard Parker: Ya. I remember who pays my checks now.

Nick Stuart: That wasn’t what I meant when I said ‘seriously.’

Burnett and Daymon enter the ring once again, while the referee has told Henry Keyes he has to go back to his corner. There’s a potential slight opening there for both of RCR to attack Lindsay Troy, but they don’t take it… as Zach Daymon goes back to his corner too.

Leo Burnett ducks a leg strike from Lindsay. He finds a good position behind her and hits a backstabber!

Richard Parker: Doesn’t seem like that was a move in Leo’s typical arsenal. You can tell by the sloppy way he hit it.

And yet, it’s got Troy on the mat. Commence the STOMPS to a reign, or RAIN, of boos!

Burnett peels Troy towards the RCR corner and tags Zac Daymon. Daymon hops over the ropes, directing his knee right into the crown of Lindsay Troy’s head as he lands.

She goes limp.

Dead limp.

TKO limp.

DOA limp.

For the first time in the match, there’s concern hushing over the crowd. Daymon notices what Burnett notices but Daymon was already there. He drags Troy to a vertical base… yet it doesn’t look like Lindsay can stand for long.

WHAP!

A lifting, double underhook facebuster. Also called the Brain Rocker.

Nick Stuart: We have a pin!! The match could be over!

Leo Burnett SHOOTS into the ring as well, while Henry Keyes tries coming in, too!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Back in the VVIP plex, Ami is relieved while Kuroyama is all “OH MY GOD, SO CLOSE!” with his hands on his head and mouth wide open. However, once he notices Ami is noticing him, Kerry uses this as an opportunity to yawn and stretch, then put a finger to his chin as if to ponder what LT and Henry’s next moves should be.

The ref is directing both Burnett and Keyes back to their respective corners while Zach Daymon focuses on Lindsay Troy, applying a stepover toehold sleeper, aka the Cascadia Clutch.

Nick Stuart: This… is NOT good!

Richard Parker: You’re telling me! We can’t let some freaks from another company come in here and win!

Nick Stuart: The facebuster and now the STS, LT is in trouble!

The crowd is rallying their feet! Troy did show signs of life by kicking out of the facebuster and not needing anyone else’s help to do it. However, this move is locked in TEXTBOOK and Troy is fighting for a way out.

She hasn’t moved an inch.

And then, upon writing this… she moves.

Only an inch!

Daymon keeps the hold locked and loaded. He’s hoping to not only work Troy to sleep, but the crowd as well.

RRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

It isn’t working.

The rumbling in the building… it’s at an all-time high. Lindsay is trying her hardest to get to the ropes and move the both of them along as she does.

Another inch closer to the ropes! Zach cocks his head.

Ami and Kerry are at the very edge of the VVIP booth, it’s no wonder either of them have fallen out of the sky yet.

Another inch closer! Now The Queen of the Ring is starting to gain momentum!

With her Bestie cheering her on, Keyes can’t wait to pop some heads once he gets back in there!

ANOTHER INCH CLOSER! We are talking maybe – – – – away from the ropes now!

RRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

Richard Parker: It’s clear LT is feeding off her hometown energy!

Because she’s only – – – away!

Daymon tries to look back, almost as if asking Burnett for some assistance but Jimmy is on it. He points to both Keyes and Burnett and tells them they aren’t gonna do shit (please note: he says this way more professionally than it’s written here).

And now we are – – away from the ropes!

Tampa is unglued! Not even a goal against the Boston Bruins could create such a ruckus!

Finally! Almost there! The Queen’s eyes are BLOODSHOT WIDE OPEN and she is one – away!

ZACH DAYMON DROPS THE HOLD, DRAGS LT BACK INTO THE MIDDLE OF THE RING AND LANDS A PHOBOS BOMB!

Nick Stuart: That modified piledriver! You could see LT’s neck snap in half!

Back to the stepover toehold sleeper hold! Zach Daymon is not going to let go!

RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH~!!!!

Nick Stuart: NO! NO SLEEPER! TROY HAS AN INSIDE CRADLE ON DAYMON!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

…EXCEPT THERE WAS A KICKOUT BEFORE THREE!

The crowd, however, shows NO SIGNS of slowing down because Lindsay Troy bursts out of the cradle upon Zach’s kickout and DIVES towards her bestie.

Making.

The.

Tag.

Henry Keyes ENTERS.

Biel throw to Daymon!

Biel throw to Burnett!

Running knee strike to Daymon.

Running knee strike to Burnett.

BELL CLAP MOTHER FUCKING CRACK TO DAYMON.

BELL CLAP MOTHER FUCKING WHAM! TO BURNETT.

Wham?

WHAM!?

Yep. Wham. Because Keyes didn’t hit the Bell Clap on Burnett. Instead…

Nick Stuart: LEO BURNETT WITH A T-BONE SUPLEX TO KEYES!

Momentum: paused! It took everything for Leo to dig down deep and avoid a BELL CLAP CRACK of his own, pulling out his signature move, the Sub-Zero suplex.

Richard Parker: All four wrestlers are down!

And while the momentum from the crowd was crushed during the last maneuver, the Tampa Bay Faithful are now giving a round of applause for everything they’ve just witnessed!

Lindsay Troy is on her apron. She may have even smacked herself in the side of the head, trying to get her vision straight. Meanwhile the legal men, Zach Daymon and Henry Keyes are starting to come to… and Leo Burnett rolls out of the ring after the t-bone suplex because he was as gassed as a motherfucker.

VVIP plex we go. Ami isn’t even noticing Kerry’s clear “double cheering” now, because she’s so invested in the outcome.

With use of the ropes, Zach Daymon finds a vertical base.

…Well, funny thing is Henry found his vertical base mere seconds earlier.

Daymon runs towards Keyes but falls into a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker.

Not known for his speed, Henry Keyes can already be found on the top rope. He leaps off with a measured diving knee drop.

Lands PERFECTLY.

Zach Daymon is DED.

Nick Stuart: WE’VE GOT A PIN.

ONE!

TWO!

LEO BURNETT WITH THE SAVE!

The crowd boos but Lindsay Troy sprints into the ring and destroys Burnett with Queen’s Gambit! Keyes is already on his feet and working Daymon to a bloody pulp, minus the blood, for now. It’s uppercuts and forearms and Jesus Christ you can tell this dude hits you into next week because Daymon is no pushover himself and he is getting manhandled around the ring!

Troy retreats to her corner and Keyes tags the hometown hero, but not before hoisting Daymon onto his shoulders so Troy can getting a running start-

Nick Stuart: Not now!

Matt Ward.

The crowd is booing all over this as Ward marches down the ring, pointing directly at Lindsay Troy. The ref is having absolutely none of it as he screams from the ropes and tries screaming Tchu back to where he came from.

Fat chance.

Richard Parker: What do you think he wants?

Ward is already at ringside and honestly, Troy is such a gamer, she’s already brought her attention back to the reeling Zach Daymon.

Since he’s not being paid attention to, Tchu gets onto the apron. He grabs Jimmy Turnbull by the referee’s shirt. The Kraken himself has seen enough, marching over to the apron and knocking Matt Ward back a solid couple of steps to the OOOOOOOO’s of the crowd, seeing both hard hitting shitheads stand next to each other.

Tchu doesn’t give AF. He starts entering the ring, which clearly creates more chaos and the loudest audible of boos yet. While the ref tries to restore order, Rain City Ronin are going about it the noble way. Daymon has the wherewithal to know his tag team partner is back in their corner so he stumbles over and makes the tag.

Despite the ref not seeing the tag, the two of them make sure their hands smack LOUDLY.

Lindsay Troy, of course, hears this, too.

Nick Stuart: Lindsay better spin around!

…It’s just too late.

Leo Burnett angles perfectly from behind, snatching LT in a double chickenwing and then slamming Troy to the ground with the facebuster!

The Hawk.

Richard Parker: I can hear the ground shake!

Furthermore, Zach Daymon throws himself towards the apron and Henry Keyes, landing a weaker than normal jumping corkscrew roundhouse kick (giving the shit kicking he just received from The Kraken moments ago), but nevertheless it knocks Keyes into Ward, and BOTH men off the apron.

The ref spins around just in time to see the pin. An arena of SCREAMING, bloodthirsty fans do NOT count along.

Richard Parker: Oh boy. This isn’t going to go over well.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

Henry Keyes stomps into the ring… just a moment too late.

DING DING DING

The arena is swarmed in BOOS as Matt Ward rolls onto a knee. Meanwhile, up in VVIP, Ami and Kerry are stunned. There’s no act this time from Kerry, it looks like a part of him is proud but the majority of him is also furious this match was interrupted. They leave the booth.

Vince Howard: The winners of this match…

Howard speaks their names but Tampa is irate, all while Tchu is marching up the rampway, staring at the fallen Lindsay Troy. Her bestie attends to her, as Leo Burnett helps Zach Daymon out of the ring. They collect their DEFIANCE UNIFIED Tag Team Titles, while accidentally knocking Keyes’ FIST down in the process.

Nick Stuart: We had a really good battle brewing, partner. Unfortunately, others got involved.

Richard Parker: I can think of only one man specifically.

Nick Stuart: That’s what I implied.

Richard Parker: You said ‘others’. Matt Ward is one man.

Nick Stuart: I- look- whatever.

ReVival goes elsewhere.

Backstage.

If he was being honest, Jared Sykes would tell you that it wasn’t the smartest idea to defiantly walk to the ring two weeks ago in Miami. Given his track record, starting fights with the Red Army always end in catastrophe.

He would tell you that he knew what he was doing when he took an office chair from the Argyle position, surfed it to the ringside area, and then left a doormat at the bottom of the entrance ramp.

He might also grin, thinking himself incredibly clever.

But.

He would also tell you that he knows what the inevitable result of this will be. He’s played this game, he’s seen this movie, he’s read this book before. There is only one outcome. There will be retribution, and it will be violent.

Now he wanders the halls of the Amalie Arena, navigating his way through the corridors as ReVival winds down. Given the events of the last two weeks, it is not the best idea.

“There you are, you son of bitch!!!”

The voice booms in Russian. Deep enough to rattle the various doorframes of the hallway. When Jared turns, the sight is no surprise: Ivan Stanislav, freshly showered from his match with Steve Harrison, trudging toward him like a glacier in boots, beard dripping and eyes burning.

More unsettling than The Russian Bear’s roar is the silence that follows it (other than the heavy footfalls and angry snarling of a certain seven foot Eurasian). Jared doesn’t need to turn his head to know how this story went.

One giant in front meant another shadow at his back. He’s seen this before.

Still, instinct makes him hazard a glance.

And of course, there he is. Alexei Ruslan, wiry and coiled, baton in hand, eyes glinting with malice. Ruslan tips his hat, once. He’s still far away enough that Jared isn’t in immediate danger, so to speak.

But there’s a lot of potential danger. Stanislav roars as he closes the distance.

Ivan Stanislav: Now it is my turn to stick nose in your business, svoloch!

Jared stops walking. His response, all things considered, is muted. Where some people would tense, would bring their fists up in a defensive posture, he simply slips his hands into his pockets.

Jared Sykes: I have no idea what that word means. Is it swears? It’s probably swears, yeah?

From behind, Alexei calls after him.

Alexei Ruslan: It means bastard. Or scum. Or any variation of the sort, Jared. You cover all those proverbial bases. Honestly, in Russian dictionary, you have picture next to word!

Ivan bears down on Sykes, pointing a finger as he marches closer.

Ivan Stanislav: I do not make it habit of abusing retiree’s, but I will make exception for you if you wish to keep flying around me, gnat. Do not forget where our last match landed you. Or do you need reminder?

By now, Ivan is within arms reach of Sykes and he stops, staring down at the far smaller superstar.

Ivan Stanislav: And what was door mat for?

Jared Sykes: Seriously?

His eyes bounce between two Russians.

Jared Sykes: Seriously?

Despite the looming shadow of an angry Russian towering over him, nothing about Jared’s posture suggests he’s anything other than calm. Or at least, that’s what he’s trying to project.

Jared Sykes: What I said two weeks ago? About making sure you wipe your feet so you don’t track BS all over the place? Oh, c’mon, man. It was supposed to be a callback. Damn, I guess that wasn’t as clever as I thought it’d be.

Ivan wrinkles his nose and looks down the hall at Alexei, who shrugs, and then looks back at Jared.

Ivan Stanislav: I hate to break news to you, Sykes, but you are hardly memorable.

Ivan tilts his head to the side and huffs loudly, flaring his nostrils.

Ivan Stanislav: Now… I know you are sore about thrashing I gave you last year… but your attempts to somehow save face is useless. So unless you want to get hurt…

Alexei walks slowly towards the duo now, slapping his baton in his hand.

Ivan Stanislav: …grow a brain and pester someone else. Da?

Jared Sykes: Hrm.

Jared’s hands slide free from their pocket prisons. He crosses one arm over his torso and strokes his chin with the opposite hand, his head tilted back as if giving the suggestion some genuine credence.

Jared Sykes: No.

Ivan lifts a bushy eyebrow and narrows his eyes at Jared. Ruslan speaks in Russian.

Alexei Ruslan: Он, блядь, псих, Ваня! Надо его просто убить. [He’s fucking crazy, Vanya. We just need to kill him.]

Ivan growls back at Alexei.

Ivan Stanislav: Я не собираюсь убивать психически больного человека, Алеша. [I am not going to kill a mentally ill person, Alyosha.]

Ivan huffs loudly and returns his gaze back to Sykes, narrowing his right eye.

Ivan Stanislav: Why did you say you were sorry to Arina?

This is not a question that Sykes was expecting, as evidenced by the subtle-yet-immediate change in his expression. For the briefest of moments his grin fades and his brow furrows. The facade of the petulant jester now well and truly cracked.

Jared Sykes: Alright then.

Any semblance of mirth has evaporated from his voice.

Jared Sykes: Because I knew what I was about to do. It’s really that simple. Only, it’s not.

He takes a single step back, though not out of fear. He brings up his left hand, holding it out before him and moving it as he speaks as though he were delivering a sermon.

Jared Sykes: See here’s the thing… You asked if I’d forgotten what happened last year? Well, here’s your answer. I don’t forget. Ever. I’m cursed with the fact that I remember everything that’s happened in my life. All of it… And I remember a day where Arina found herself wandering alone in a hallway kinda like this, and who does she run into?

He taps himself on the chest.

Jared Sykes: Do you know what she thought was going to happen that night, bud? Because I do. She thought that she was in danger. Or that I was going to put her in danger, as if that’s the kind of person I am or the kind of thing I’d do. You have surrounded yourself with just the biggest collection of dipshits this side of the Bonafides, but somehow… Somehow… You managed to find an actual, honest-to-god decent person. Someone who, by all rights, shouldn’t have anything to do with this bullshit. And I think you know that, even if you’d probably never admit it. So why did I apologize to her?

Jared Sykes: Because that ring was about to explode, Ivan. I lit a match, and put it to the fuse. I apologized to Arina…

He pauses, sucking in a breath between gritted teeth.

Jared Sykes: Because I thought I was about to prove her right. So there you go. Satisfied?

Ivan wrinkles his nose and looks over Jared at Alexei, who makes a big deal of rolling his eyes. He scratches his back with his baton. Stanislav flares his nostrils and points his finger in Sykes’ face.

Ivan Stanislav: You see… that is where you are wrong, Jared Sykes. She has every right to be here. She is a comrade. She is member of my Red Army. And she knows you are unstable gloryhound. You proved it at Seventy-Five. You prove it now.

Ivan leans in close, his voice a low growl.

Ivan Stanislav: I know what you want. You want me, do you not? But you cannot just come traipsing into PRIME thinking you warrant any kind of match with The Russian Bear. You failed. Sykes. You failed at Tropical Turmoil. You failed at ReVival 50. That is what you do. So now, I do you favor and not give you opportunity to fail again.

Ivan straightens his back and glowers down at the former Universal Champion. He smirks.

Ivan Stanislav: For a moment, I thought about thrashing you in this hallway. Now, I realize it would just be waste of my time.

Alexei looks crestfallen, while Ivan pushes past Jared to walk to his comrade.

Jared Sykes: Man, you really weren’t paying attention, were you?

He speaks over his shoulder, slowly turning his head to speak at Ivan’s back.

Jared Sykes: I said I was here to make you admit the truth, Ivan. You want to call me a gloryhound? Cool. Pretty sure you’re the first person on record to do it. Grats.

He offers a small nod.

Jared Sykes: But I’m not the one talking about MY army. I’m not the one who needs to hide his failures behind a wall of people, or fire up the spin machine anytime he eats shit for the world to see. Tell yourself whatever the hell you want, all the lies and lullabies you need to help you sleep at night. Pretend you’re not a coward building a fortress to hide all that insecurity. Doesn’t matter if you’re seven feet tall or have seven bodies between you and the world…

When he speaks again there is genuine pity in his voice.

Jared Sykes: My god, how SMALL you actually are.

Few things stop The Russian Bear once he’s in motion. But that does. Midway past Jared and halfway to Alexei, his boots stop with a squeak in the empty hallway. He clenches his plate-sized hands into fists and turns just enough so that Jared can see the corner of his left eye over his shoulder. The growl rumbles down the hallway.

Ivan Stanislav: You even come within earshot of me again, Jared Sykes, and you will not have a match. You will have a massacre.

He exhales through his nostrils, the sound like steam leaving a fractured pipe, and brushes past Alexei with purpose. Alexei watches Ivan pass him, then levels his eyes on Sykes and snarls.

Alexei Ruslan: You say hello to Justine, eh? Is that flower still blooming?

Jared’s expression hardens as his eyes dart to Alexei, then move to look beyond him as Ivan thunders down the hall.

Jared Sykes: Interesting how you didn’t deny it.

Ruslan snorts.

Alexei Ruslan: Fuck your mother, Jared Sykes.

He turns on his heel and jogs after Ivan, who shrinks away as he talks down the hallway, and turns a corner.

The camera lingers on Sykes for a moment, only fading when he finally turns and begins to move in the other direction.

The arena darkens and the Sencit remix of Wiz Khalifa’s “No Limit” hits the PA system.

Laser lights flash epileptically on the main stage as words appear on the PRIMEview.

THE INHUMAN BEING

TCHU

MATT WARD

A spotlight shines down from the heavens, piercing the darkness, and revealing the former three-time Universal Champion. Dressed in his ring gear and carrying his Anti-PRIME Championship Belt over his shoulder, Matt Ward starts marching down to the ring with the spotlight following him every step of the way.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, this non-title match, scheduled for one fall, is your main event for the evening! Introducing first, from Columbus, Ohio… he weighs in tonight at two hundred and twenty-seven pounds! A member of the PRIME Hall of Fame! A former three-time PRIME Universal Champion! THE INHUMAN BEING! MAAAAATTTTTTT!!! WAAAAAARRRRRRDDDDD!!!

Fans boo as he arrives.

Nick Stuart: Clearly, despite his credentials, Matt Ward has not endeared himself to this crowd with his words as of late. But he’s got an opportunity to put some action to those words.

Richard Parker: He’s up against Cecilworth, though. That’s a tall order for most men!

Ward pays the reaction of the fans no mind as he steps into the ring and holds up his Anti-PRIME championship for everyone to see. He is showered by boos in response.

As “No Limit” settles into quiet, there’s a murmuring in the crowd before a counterpoint is raised.

It comes in the form of “Choke” by I DON’T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME.

The arena darkens, and once the riff of “Choke” reaches its peak, the lights come up and out from the back strolls Cecilworth Farthington. PRIME Universal Championship around his waist. The Financier.

The camera zooms into the self-assured, cocky smile that adorns the face of the Universal champion as he swaggers down the aisle, both arms inserted into the pockets of his plain black hoodie. His shoulders jauntily sway to the tune of “Choke” as he walks.

Vince Howard: And his opponent! Hailing from Buckinghamshire in England, weighing in tonight at one hundred and ninety-seven pounds! HE IS THE PRIME! UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! HE IS! CECILWOOOOOOORRRRRTHHHHH FAAAAAAARTHINGTOOOOOOOONNNNN!!!

He rolls under the bottom rope and leaps into the ring with his hands still in his pockets. He only takes his left hand out of one of the pockets to cheekily wave at the crowd. When he removes his hoodie, his Universal championship gleams with so, so much polish. As though he’d been in a fierce belt-polishing competition with Joe Fontaine and FLAMBERGE before he walked out to the ring this evening.

Nick Stuart: Cecilworth is as focused as usual, but you know he’s got a lot of sharks on his mind after this match with Matt Ward. Nate Colton is awaiting him in South Carolina in two weeks, and Chandler Tsonda – the winner of the Almasy – is waiting for him if he makes it past Colton.

Richard Parker: I hope he’s not looking past Matt Ward here tonight. I know his knees aren’t what they used to be, but that’s still a dangerous man out there.

Farthington takes his place in the ring corner, awaiting the ringing of the bell.

Elvis Nixon obliges, and calls for the bell.

DING DING

The three-time Universal Champion of the ReVolution and the current Universal Champion of the ReVival. The past and the present. The Inhuman Being and the Financier. Two titans in the fabric of PRIME.

The two circle the ring for a moment, and when they go for the collar-and-elbow tieup, two things happen.

The first is that Matt Ward wants nothing to do with it. He fakes like he’s going for it, and then walks away with an arrogant, nonplussed movement. The second is that Cecilworth Farthington… did the same thing.

Richard Parker: So much mutual respect right now.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think that’s what’s going on here, Rich.

Both men turn to see what the other’s done. Both men seem bemused by this development. Both men look like they’re about to circle each other again, and…

Nick Stuart: Oh! A right hand from Tchu!

Cecilworth staggers backwards, but then he winds up and answers with a European uppercut. This elicits a “YAY!” from the crowd, and Tchu’s right-handed response gets a “BOO!” They go back and forth like this for a little while, until Cecilworth catches one of Tchu’s right hands and tries to muscle him down with an armbar takedown. Tchu rolls through, and manages to turn things around with a fireman’s carry takeover. Unfortunately for him, he’s dealing with Cecilworth Farthington.

Farthington hits the canvas, and Matt Ward attempts to turn this into an armbar. Unfortunately, this is not Ward’s wheelhouse. This house has no wheels. Farthington is like water and instantly turns the armbar attempt into a hammerlock. Tchu tries to stand, but this is when Farthington switches off of the hammerlock into a double leg takedown from behind, dropping the former three-time Universal champion face-first on the canvas.

And then Farthington takes things a step further.

Literally.

He walks over the back of Matt Ward until he reaches the turnbuckles.

OOOOOHHHHHHHH!!!

Ward is pissed, to say the least.

He pops up to his feet and moves explosively towards Farthington. Farthington ducks out of the way and Ward hits the turnbuckles. Farthington hits him with another European uppercut, and then goes for the Irish whip into the opposite turnbuckles. Ward gets sent into the corner and then comes out ferociously with a hard clothesline that sends the Universal champion to the canvas.

Farthington takes this one in a full twist, landing on his stomach.

Nick Stuart: The Inhuman Being explodes, and Cecilworth Farthington is down!

Richard Parker: Oh no!

Ward reaches the corner with a smirk, clearly satisfied at what he’s done. The Inhuman Being’s smirk fades immediately as he turns to take advantage. He cannot stop. He will not stop. His relentlessness is why he’s a three-time Universal champion who would love nothing more than to some day take a fourth. He bodily pulls Farthington up to his feet and pushes him into the corner. Then, with his arms wrapped around Farthington’s body, he launches him across the ring with a belly-to-belly suplex.

You would believe that Cecilworth Farthington could fly.

You would believe that he could touch the sky.

But most would believe that they wouldn’t want to land like that on a belly-to-belly suplex.

Nick Stuart: Matt Ward hits him with the suplex, and he’s going right for the cover!

It only gets two, though, as Farthington rolls his shoulder up. The Inhuman Being is nonplussed as he pulls Cecilworth to his feet, and does it again.

Nick Stuart: Another suplex!

Richard Parker: Stop using Cecilworth as shotput!

Now, all good things come in threes. And Cecilworth Farthington, who’d already felt the wrath of being flung merciless across the ring by Daytona Diamonds, is finding himself in a spot of trouble here as Ward moves for the third overhead belly-to-belly suplex. However, Farthington displays the squirreliness that makes him such a dangerous Universal champion, hooking his leg around Ward’s own and then hitting him with a headbutt.

So, less of a squirrel and more like a rabid one that took four years of headbutt training in a secluded mountain surrounded only by stone walls with very obvious headbutt-related dents. Needless to say, Ward is staggered by this display of headbutt prowess. Cecilworth rolls through, taking Ward with him for a kneebar. He grabs the ankle as well, and Matt Ward’s suddenly suffering.

Nick Stuart: A kneebar from Farthington! Ward’s got a history of knee troubles, this could be dangerous for him!

Richard Parker: Yeah, you never want to go to the knee bar. A rabbi, a priest, and a glueboi all walked in there, and then they got trapped in a neverending nightmare of pain and misery.

Nick Stuart: Because of the kneebar?

Richard Parker: Because it’s a priest and rabbi joke.

Matt Ward is in tremendous amounts of pain, because Cecilworth Farthington is a submission mathematician and the numbers don’t lie. He tries to boot Cecilworth in the face with his other leg, but he doesn’t have the leverage and Cecilworth eventually maneuvers himself so that Ward can’t hit him in the face, only his shoulder.

Ward has gritted out plenty of terrible situations like this in the past, but perhaps because he knows that Cecilworth could make this so much worse, he opts for a quicker solution to his problem.

He lunges for the ropes, and manages to grab hold of them. Senior referee Elvis Nixon starts a five count, and Cecilworth is alarmed enough by numbers being aggressively thrown at him that he breaks the hold and hisses like a cat at Nixon.

Nick Stuart: Ward makes it to the ropes, and now he’s slid out of the ring.

Richard Parker: Inside the ring or outside, there’s no escape when you’re in there against Cecilworth!

The Universal champion rolls out of the ring with all of the haste of a man walking his dog on a partly cloudy morning. He stalks after Tchu and goes to grab his leg. However, Ward pulls Cecilworth towards him and into the ring post, with the champion hitting with a solid…

THUNK.

Nick Stuart: Cecilworth goes into the ringpost!

Richard Parker: Oh no!

The current Universal champion is down, and his three-time former counterpart staggers over to the timekeeper’s table. Vince Howard has no idea why the Inhuman Being is coming face-to-face with him, and attempts to get out of his way.

Ward has no time for how slow he’s going, though, and bodily shoves him out of the way.

Nick Stuart: Hey!

Richard Parker: Oh, man, you really can’t just push Vince Howard out of the way like that. Then people’ll get the bright idea that they could push me down like that, and I don’t want to have more damage done to my skeleton than I already do in my day-to-day life!

Nick Stuart: Thanks for not considering me.

Richard Parker: Someone’s got to be my shield when I flee for my life.

After removing Howard from his sight, Matt Ward picks up his Anti-PRIME championship belt, and he starts to line up Cecilworth with it.

There’s just one problem with his strategy.

You see, there is a man who stands in the ring, keeps both wrestlers in his line of sight, and starts a ten count if they take too long getting back inside the ring. He is known as a referee. In this case, senior referee Elvis Nixon sees what Matt Ward is up to, and he is having none of it. When Ward goes to take the shot, Elvis Nixon puts himself between Cecilworth and Ward. Ward relents, sets the title belt down on the ring apron, and argues with Nixon to get out of his way.

As he does, Cecilworth Farthington suddenly springs up to his feet and throws himself into Ward with the…

Nick Stuart: GUILLOTINE CHOKE! THE MARIE ANTOINETTE!

It’s the neck-claiming submission hold of FLAMBERGE he used to defeat the leader of the Poor Whoresmen just a month ago, and Ward is in deep trouble.

Or he would be…

Richard Parker: He’s outside the ring, though! You can’t submit someone out there!

…were it not for that, yes. Thank you, Richard.

After a few moments of his ability to intake oxygen not actually being in his control, Ward charges and collides with the ring post, with Cecilworth’s back taking the brunt of the impact. The hold gets released and Farthington’s in a lot of pain.

Nick Stuart: No! Matt Ward breaks the hold with the ringpost!

Ward takes a moment to breathe. Then he tosses Cecilworth back into the ring and slides in after him. He bodily lifts Cecilworth up and throws him backwards with a released German suplex, sitting up with a smirk. He gets up and grabs Cecilworth and does it again.

Nick Stuart: Matt Ward with repeated German suplexes! He’s in control!

He goes to lift Cecilworth up in the fireman’s carry, getting ready to drop him down with the Weight of the World. However, Cecilworth slips out from behind and grabs…

Nick Stuart: THE TARP!

Cecilworth has absolute command over three absurdly devastating submission holds, and this is the second he’s inflicted on Ward. Ward’s eyes bulge. He finds himself with Cecilworth’s legs wrapping around his waist, and it’s only because he’s bending forward that Cecilworth doesn’t rip him to the ground right now. Referee Elvis Nixon is right there to check to see if Ward wants to submit.

Matt Ward refuses. Or maybe he’s not in a state where he can submit. Hard to tell with all of the strangulation going on.

His hand tries to grasp Nixon in order to steady himself.

And whether by accident or design, his hand hits Nixon in just the right spot to poke him in the eye.

Nick Stuart: Elvis Nixon just got poked in the eyes, and…

OOOOOHHHH!!!

And perhaps knowing this, Ward suddenly bends back upright. Cecilworth loses his grip on the Tarp, enough that his legs are back under him… just so Ward could mule kick him right in the groin.

Richard Parker: NO!

Even someone as tough and as relentless as Cecilworth Farthington when he smells blood couldn’t hang on to the Tarp after that. He’s doubled over in pain.

Ward looks down at his feet, right where he left the Anti-PRIME title. Without a shred of hesitation, the face of the ReVolution era picks it up and blasts Cecilworth in the face with it.

Nick Stuart: Oh, come on!

BOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Cecilworth is down, and Ward throws the belt out of the ring before Elvis Nixon can finish recovering from the eye poke. Ward pulls Cecilworth up one more time. He applies his own sleeperhold, but this is a man who isn’t about submitting you. This is a man who’s about sending you to your…

Nick Stuart: DOWNFALL!

Richard Parker: NO!

Ward remains on top of the Universal champion, and Elvis Nixon is right there for the pin.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE!

DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

It’s the first time in almost exactly a year since Cecilworth Farthington had been pinned in the middle of the ring, and all it took was a low blow and a fake championship belt to the face to get it done.

Ward rolls out of the ring, and raises his arms in the air in triumph as he stalks around the ring, absorbing the boos of the crowd.

Nick Stuart: Highway robbery here in Tampa, as Matt Ward has taken this one from Cecilworth Farthington!

Richard Parker: ARRRRGH!!!

Ward smirks at Richard Parker’s dismay as he walks around the ring until he can pick up his Anti-PRIME championship belt. Inside the ring, Cecilworth Farthington is frothing with anger over the whole situation.

Vince Howard, who just got shoved to the ground by Ward moments ago, is not especially enthusiastic about his announcement.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… the winner of this match… Matt Ward.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Outside of the ring, Ward is stomping up the ramp, his championship – unofficial as it is – proudly worn over his shoulder. He had made his opinion of the current Universal champion, Cecilworth Farthington, abundantly clear.

And now, to the annoyance of Farthington himself, Ward has one over him.

With the Universal champion defeated tonight, what will happen in two weeks time in South Carolina when the Financier goes one-on-one against Nate Colton for the championship?

FADE.

TO.

THE REVOLUTION.