ReVival 78

Previously recorded

The scene opens on the familiar sight of the interview area; wall-mounted plasma screen, bearing the PRIME logo, hanging before a tall black curtain supported by steel struts. There’s no sign of Mills or Brooks or Tillier however. Instead we find two individuals tightly framed on screen. One centrally so, grinning at the camera without even smiling while his counterpart looms beside, barely fitting into the picture and dominating much of the space.

They stare defiantly down the lens, clutching the leather straps draped over their shoulders. The gleaming gold plates of the tag team championships twinkle and shine even under the moderate backstage lighting. If the broadcast were live they would be able to hear the overwhelming response of the Raleigh crowd currently booing and jeering at the PRIME*View, but at the time of recording the arena is empty and they are free to bask in the peace, the quiet, and their own self satisfaction. Though the giant glances at his title belt stoically, it’s clear that he’s smiling on the inside. He doesn’t avert his gaze as he breaks the silence.

Hessian: It is a fine sight. A fine sight indeed.

His partner adjusts his posture, proudly straightening up and sticking his chin out. The viewers could be forgiven for interpreting it as a goading gesture.

Tony Gamble: Looks good. Feels good. Feels right.

Hessian: If there’s one thing to be said about the Glueminati, it’s that they sure know how to make a title shine. I’m quite curious to see how long they’ll stay this pristine, so they won’t be seeing a drop of polish for as long as we hold them.

The Grin, in response, lifts his belt from his shoulder and peers into it like a mirror, admiring his visage reflected in gold.

Tony Gamble: Hard for them to lose their luster when they never see the light of day, but that’s what happens when someone focused on their own personal gain trips and falls into a win.

He looks up at the camera, his lips curling to match the curve of his scar.

Tony Gamble: If there’s one thing you should have learned about us by now, PRIME, it’s to never count your heroes out. When the deck is stacked and the odds aren’t in our favor, when we’re backed into a corner and the world is against us – Bandits always find a way. The Manhunt match at Culture Shock. The Pole match at UltraViolence…

A massive paw lands upon Tony’s shoulder as Hessian stoops forward.

Hessian: And the Dumpster match at Seventy-Seven. You called us goblins, but you neglected the horde. You labelled us cockroaches, but you dismissed our survival instincts. Let this be a lesson to everyone in the locker room; those who look down on us and those who think they hold the power – there’s more than one way to skin a cat. We are Bandits after all. Call us cutpurses, call us bastards…

The pair hold their tag titles aloft.

Tony Gamble: But, first and foremost, call us champions.

The Grin places his title back on his shoulder, while the Murder Show moves his off-camera and releases it.

Hessian:  PRIME tag team champions. It sounds good now…and it’ll sound even sweeter when the division inevitably goes extinct again.

His title doesn’t fall to the ground with a clatter however, and in that moment the camera pans out and reveals the true extent of Gamble’s use of the word “us”.

Standing by Gamble’s side, Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz. Freeman’s expression is uncertain and Schwartz, not wanting to get caught staring at the titles, doesn’t know which way to look. Next to them at the end of the line Bryan Dawkins glances off to the side, his eyes and his thoughts obscured behind his red and yellow tinted shades.

Hessian’s belt didn’t hit the ground because it now rests on the shoulder of Rose, standing by his side and glaring at the camera with her arms folded. Next to her stands Alexei Ruslan, moustache bristling and hands clasping the lapels of his trenchcoat. By his side, resplendent as ever in his loud-as-ever sickle and hammer print shirt, Speedy Riggs. And next to him, towering over all but one other, the unshakable mountain that is the Russian Bear, Ivan Stanislav. On the farthest area outside, next to Stanislav, Arina Timofeyevna clasps her hands together and nibbles her lower lip.

Tony Gamble: It’s a whole new world with us as champs, and we’ve already proven we can take out the trash if we need to.

Alexei’s expression shifts to one of bemusement and mock confusion. He lifts up on his toes and lowers back on heels.

Alexei Ruslan: Oh dear… I thought this was Red Army time for Red Open. Starshy Praporshchik, was there a mistake?

A smattering of the Red Army individuals mumble with confusion, before Ivan clears his throat.

Ivan Stanislav: Hmm, come to think of it, comrade Ruslan, perhaps there was some miscommunication. Why, Hessian and Tony Gamble are Bandits, of course, not Red Army. Though I do have to say, congratulations to both of you for winning titles and, if I do say so myself…

Ivan smirks and looks down at Rose and the belt on her shoulder.

Ivan Stanislav: This belt does look good on you, comrade Rose!

Rose shrugs.

Rose: I do look better in gold, don’t I?

Hessian looks left and right and flinches all of a sudden, as though the Red Army has materialized out of thin air and taken him by surprise.

Hessian: Oh! Where did you lot come from??

He turns to Tony and they exchange emphatically quizzical looks and shrugging gestures.

Tony Gamble: Huh, how strange. Must be a coincidence!

Hessian: Has to be. eGG Bandits and Red Army in the same place at the same time? Perish the thought.

Kenny and Randall can be seen muttering to each other, with the words “yolk on my face” being mouthed by The Entertainer.

Ivan nods his head and lets his voice boom.

Ivan Stanislav: It most certainly is coincidence. Under no circumstances would The Red Army be seen rubbing elbows with likes of Hessian and Tony Gamble! Do you know, there are those who actually believe we are… what is word, Speedy?

Speedy Riggs chimes in.

Speedy Riggs: “Cahoots,” Starshy Praporshchik. “Cahoots.”

Ivan pats Speedy on the shoulder.

Ivan Stanislav: Indeed. These… cahoots. Never would this happen.

Alexei eyes the gold belt on Rose’s shoulder, and slides his eyes up to Hessian.

Alexei Ruslan: Though, I must say Hessian and Gamble… though you both do have the gold… I do not know. You might also look good with some red.

Ivan laughs.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAAHAA!! But then again, everything looks better with red, Alyosha! DYAAHAAHAA!!

The Murder Show splays a hand across his chest, flutters his eyelids and waves off Ivan’s remark in a totally unsarcastic manner. Gamble definitely blushes and presses a hand to his cheek to hide the fact, rolling his eyes suggestively.

Hessian: You are too much.

Tony Gamble: What are they like!

Hessian suddenly notices the invisible watch on his wrist and takes note of the time.

Hessian: My goodness, Tony, we should be getting on our way. Woe betide us that we should encroach upon these fine-folks-whom-we-are-suredly-unaffiliatated-with any further. Please forgive us, we shall take our leave posthaste.

The tag team champions step out of the lineup to make their exit. Hessian regards his title, resting upon Rose’s shoulder, for a moment before shaking his head and snickering.

Hessian: I’ll get that back off you another time, shall I?

He doffs an invisible cap in her direction and offers a curt bow to the Russian Bear as he turns to leave, offering a final remark as he does.

Hessian: Speaking of everything looking better with red, as it pertains to the main event, I would be remiss not to wish you the best of luck tonight. Godspeed!

At that, Hessian glances at the camera. His pleasant expression hardens abruptly and he gives a sinister wink to the viewing audience before his face lights up once more and he totters offscreen after his partner. As the Red Army watches them depart, Randall gives a halfhearted wave that Kenny quickly swats down. Dawkins, meanwhile, slinks away in the opposite direction.

Ivan waves high, to an off-camera Hessian.

Ivan Stanislav: Why thank you Hessian, it is most appreciated!

Stanislav and the rest of The Red Army regard the audience for a moment, Ivan’s grin turning toothy.

Ivan Stanislav: Well? On with the show.

ReVival moves on.

SIGNS!

EMO CHRIS, WHERE ARE YOU??!!
I WANT THE SPORTS HEAD TO TELL ME SPORTS THINGS
WE NEED TO MOVE THE MAIN EVENT AWAY FROM METROPOLIS
PLAY SNEEZE BYRD!
DIAMONDZILLA VS STANISKONG: TOKYO DRIFT
LEMOO’S: THE PINNACLE OF ALL SPORKS
NO KINGS, ONLY KAIJU.
HOW TALL IS CLAY BYRD? / SIX-SEEEVVVEEENNNN!!!!
WHERE IS SEAN O’NEILL???
CAN I GET SOME OF THAT P.T.S.D.
HEY ROB, SHOW FEET
GLUEMINATI LOST THE TAG TITLES BECAUSE OF THE TUSH PUSH
SHE THICC BUT CRISPY!

Nick Stuart: Our opening match should offer up an interesting clash of styles, ladies and gentlemen! Charles de Lacy meets Danny Christie in a battle between Brits!

Richard Parker: Take a geology lesson or something, Nick! Everybody knows the Welsh aren’t Brits!

Nick Stuart: My partner, ladies and gentlemen… in any case, “Fair Game” Danny Christie will attempt to pick up his first win in PRIME, while “Dandy” Charles de Lacy will be looking to turn the tides after back to back losses. Something has to give in this match, so without wasting any more time, let’s go to the ring with Vince!

We got to the ring. With Vince.

The living legend that is Neil Diamond, with his iconic song “Sweet Caroline”, begins.

“WHERE IT BEGAN… I CAN’T BEGIN TO KNOW…
“BUT THEN I KNOW, IT’S GROWING STRONG….”

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.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by “Big” John Christie, he hails from Wrexham, Wales, United Kingdom, and weighs in at two-hundred and fifteen pounds… please welcome, “FAIR GAME” DANNY CHRISTIE!!

“SWEEEEET CAAAROOLIIIIINNNE!!
“(BAHM!-BAHM!-DWAAAAHH!)
“GOOD TIMES NEVER SEEM SO GOOD!!
“(SO GOOD! SO GOOD! SO GOOD!)”

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. 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.

Nick Stuart: Quite the infectious entrance, to say the least. We saw great things out of Christie in his debut against Blaze Claymore, but certainly, he’d like a win tonight to get his PRIME career on the right track.

Richard Parker: Good God, Nick, I think I can smell “Big” John’s breath from here…

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.

Vince Howard: And the opponent…

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: Accompanied to the ring by Mickey, he hails from York, England, United Kingdom, and weighs in at two-hundred and forty pounds… here is, “DANDY” CHARLES DE LACY!

“BOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Richard Parker: Now here comes a man of REAL class and character! And an ACTUAL Brit! Such poise! Such grace! These people should appreciate just being in his presence! Why aren’t they singing along to this?

Nick Stuart: It’s not really a singalong piece, partner. I mean for one, there… aren’t any lyrics.

Richard Parker: So what, they can still hit notes, can’t they? Listen to this…

Nick Stuart: No.

Richard Parker: 🎵BWA-BA-BAAAH BAAAAAAH! BWA-BA-BA-BAAAH BAAAAAAAHH — THFLWUMP!-THFLWUMP!🎵

Nick Stuart: Stop…

Richard Parker: 🎵BWA-BA-BAAAH BAAAAAAH! BWA-BA-BA-BAAAH BAAAAAAAHH — THFLWUMP!-THFLWUMP!🎵

Nick Stuart: Please stop…

Richard Parker: 🎵BWA-BA-BAAAH BAAAH BAAAH BUNNH-NUUH BUM-BUM-BUUUUHH, BWA-BA-BA-BAAAH!! 🎵

Nick Stuart: That’s… the theme to Universal Pictures, you goofball. In any case, an air of arrogance seems to follow Charles de Lacy wherever he goes, but while he may be a tenured ring veteran, he’s going to need a few wins under his belt if he expects anyone to buy it!

Richard Parker: I have a good feeling that tonight will be the night, Nick! I guarantee that de Lacy can wrestling absolute circles around that punch-drunk lout, Danny Christie!

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.

Nick Stuart: Christie looks fired up and ready to go! De Lacy is loosened up and ready to dance! Referee Ashley Barlow gives the cue to the timekeeper to get this underway!

DING DING

Receiving a final slap on the shoulder from the elder Christie on the apron, Danny comes out of his corner with his fists raised. De Lacy meets him in the center of the ring, eyeing him carefully. The Wrexham brawler comes out swinging with a right hook, only for Charles to deftly duck around and ensnare him into a rear waistlock.

Nick Stuart: Single-leg takedown by de Lacy, quickly switching over to front chancery! No doubt, he’d rather take this to the mat rather than take his chances with Danny Christie on his feet!

Richard Parker: Naturally. A brute like Christie may know how to throw punches, but Charles de Lacy is a man of skill and cunning! He could put a ham sandwich on this brute’s back and starve him to death!

Christie works his way up to his knees, only for de Lacy to sidestep and rolls him over his hip with a headlock takedown to put him on his back. Charles puts his weight into the headlock, attempting to force the shoulders down, but Danny catches him unaware by curling up and snagging his head with a surprise leg-scissor.

Nick Stuart: Leg-scissor reversal, and “Fair Game” Danny Christie breaks free! Charles de Lacy is quickly back up… but runs into a BIG RIGHT CROSS from Christie!

Richard Parker: Uncultured ruffian! Wrestling is a gentleman’s sport!

De Lacy reels off the shot, clutching at his jaw, leading Danny Christie to press the advantage with a combination of rights and lefts. The Englishman covers up and backs his way into a corner, prompting official Ashley Barlow to step in and break things up. Christie finally backs off after much cajoling from the ref.

Nick Stuart: Ashley Barlow calls for the break, and “Dandy” Charles de Lacy breathes a sigh of relief! Danny Christie was looking to light him up and send him down for the count!

Richard Parker: Because heaven forbid he try an actual WRESTLING maneuver!

Still favoring the jaw, Charles berates the ref for not stepping in sooner, drawing a shrug from Barlow. Christie beckons him back into the center of the ring. Looking rather reluctant, de Lacy comes out of the corner to meet him there.

Nick Stuart: Here comes de Lacy… and Christie is waiting for him with–NO!! Quick toe kick from Charles de Lacy leaves Danny doubled over!

Richard Parker: Ha! How do you think he likes the feel of the shoe on the other foot?

Nick Stuart: Tit for tat in the mind of “Dandy” Charles de Lacy as he tucks the head under his arm and takes Christie down with a SNAP DDT! Hooking the legs now to make the cover!

One!

Two!

Kickout!

Christie pushes his way back to his feet, but not before de Lacy snags a wrist and gives a rotation. Back on his feet, Danny’s body contorts in pain as the Yorkish blueblood continues torquing the wrist, going as far as to work over the knuckle joints.

Richard Parker: Let’s see him throw more of those punches after Charles breaks all the bones in his hand!

Nick Stuart: Charles de Lacy is putting the screws to the joints in the wrists and fingers of Christie! Danny is in too much pain to react right now!

Christie attempts to use the free hand to break the hold, only to gift Charles his other wrist. With wrists held tight in either hand, de Lacy twists himself around, forcing Christie to turn around with his arms criss-crossed and extended behind him. De Lacy promptly forces him to his knees while pushing the arms up, forcing a groan of agony from Danny.

Nick Stuart: Interesting maneuver being put on by “Dandy” de Lacy, working the back and shoulders of Danny Christie!

Richard Parker: I believe this one’s known as a Scarborough Surfboard! I hear that got some ripping waves up there in the North Sea.

Nick Stuart: Danny Christie shakes his head as Barlow asks if he’s giving in… and I think he’s trying to power his way out of this!

With his father at ringside intently watching along, Danny’s body quivers as he steadily forces himself back up to his full height. Then, in a swift and sudden motion, he twists himself around the way he came. Still holding onto the arms, De Lacy is uncontrollably corkscrewed through the air and drops onto his back.

Nick Stuart: Christie reverses momentum! Now he sprawls on de Lacy and begins the ground and pound!

Richard Parker: Back to his ol’ caveman tricks!

Nick Stuart: All de Lacy can do is cover up and weather the storm! Now Christie brings him back to a vertical base… ties him into a side waistlock while he’s still groggy… and a GUTWRENCH SUPLEX slams him on his back! Danny Christie with the cover!

One!

Two!

And Charles de Lacy kicks out!

De Lacy rolls onto his belly, still favoring his back. Standing over him, Christie sets his arms over his knees to put him into the camel clutch before bludgeoning his face some more with forearm strikes. Instinct then kicks in for the savvy catch veteran, as one of his arms comes loose and his hand coils around the Welschman’s ankle.

Richard Parker: Slipped out the back door!

Nick Stuart: Slick move by Charles de Lacy, and now he drags “Fair Game” Danny Christie to the mat with a surprise ankle lock applied!

Richard Parker: It’s like I’ve been saying! You can’t substitute brute strength for classic catch-as-catch-can skill!

As he twists the ankle, de Lacy gets in a few free kicks to Christie’s exposed leg and lower back. Danny grinds his teeth through the pain before managing to flip himself over and boot Charles off with the free leg.

Nick Stuart: Christie kicks de Lacy off of him! And now he comes springing off the mat with a SUPERMAN PUNCH–DUCKED in the nick of time by Charles de Lacy!

Richard Parker: HA HA, too slow!

Nick Stuart: De Lacy from behind with the abdominal stretch–no, HIPTOSS by Christie to counter!

Richard Parker: Wait, WAIT! He’s moving too fast for me to keep up!

Nick Stuart: Now Danny takes de Lacy from behind and puts him into the pumphandle… and lifts straight into a PILEDRIVER!

Richard Parker: Bollocks, I say!

Nick Stuart: Christie hooks the leg!

ONE!

TWO!

THR–NO!! De Lacy pops the shoulder!

Christie shakes his head in frustration, but smells blood in the water as he pulls de Lacy back to his feet and sends him into motion with a whip to the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Danny Christie sends de Lacy into the ropes! He waits for the return, looking for the LEFT HAND LARRY–

Except de Lacy JUKES HIM at the last second!

Nick Stuart: NO! De Lacy hooks the arms from behind… BACKSLIDE PIN! SHOULDERS DOWN!ONE!TWO!THRE–NO!! Three point nine! Danny Christie managed to fan out at the last possible second!

Richard Parker: “Big” John would have given him hell if he went down to that!

Both competitors scramble to their feet. The Englishman gets the first hit with a standing dropkick that catches Christie in the chest and knocks him back to the mat. Danny tries to get up once more, but de Lacy stays on him, twisting an arm behind his back to apply the hammerlock. Once Christie is back on his feet, Charles yanks him straight into a lariat!

Nick Stuart: De Lacy with the STAND AND DELIVER! Another cover!

ONE!

TWO!!

THR–KICKOUT!! Rung his bell, put didn’t put out his lights!

Richard Parker: Must be that exceptionally thick skull of his that I hear runs through the family.

Christie is slow to get up, leaving him open to a heavy discus forearm from de Lacy as soon as he rises up. Danny reels off the ropes and runs straight into another toe kick from the Englishman to double him over. Before he can recover, de Lacy sets him into a standing head-scissor.

Richard Parker: Oh Danny Boy, the pipes are calling! And they are calling for the NECKTIE SOCIAL!

Nick Stuart: NO!! Christie with a BACK BODY DROP to reverse! De Lacy trying to get up, but here goes Danny Christie into the ropes… THESZ PRESS puts him on his back! And the hits come raining down!

Mounted over de Lacy’s chest, Christie unloads a barrage of punches to a loud and supportive pop to the crowd!

Richard Parker: This referee is completely useless! This is a flagrant assault! Total violation of Admiral-Lord Mountevans rules!

Out of desperation, de Lacy’s hands shoot up into the air and claw at the eyes of Danny Christie. Christie falls aside, clutching his face in agony.

Nick Stuart: De Lacy rakes the eyes!

Richard Parker: What else was he supposed to do?! Barlow was over there catching Z’s or something!

Nick Stuart: “Big” John Christie is absolutely incensed right now!

From outside the ring, the elder Christie loudly berates the official’s work so that she can hear him. His Not-So-Very-PG choice in language nabs her attention, and Barlow snaps back at “Big” John, threatening to send him to the back. The crowd largely approves of the PRIME official standing her ground.

Nick Stuart: Hang on… what’s happening there across the ring?!

With the referee not looking, de Lacy catches the eyes of Mickey standing at ringside, and inconspicuously motions for his cornerman to give him something.

Looking skittishly side to side, Mickey reaches into his duster coat and not-so-subtly slides something into the ring.

Nick Stuart: What is that?!

Richard Parker: What is what?

Nick Stuart: THAT!

Richard Parker: WHAT??

Nick Stuart: Get with it, Rich… I think Charles de Lacy’s man Mickey just slid him a foreign object!

Before anyone can get a good look at it, de Lacy sprawls over the object and hides it under his body while he gets his hands around it. Danny Christie is blinking at the air in front of him, slowly waiting for things to come back into focus.

Then the first thing he sees when he turns around to face his opponent is Charles de Lacy coming at him, winding his arm back…

Nick Stuart: De Lacy coming to STRIKE–

BLOCKED!

Richard Parker: HUH?!

Deflecting the punch with his arm, Christie tags de Lacy with a quick body blow to knock the air out of him! From his hand falls a set of brass knuckles, which conveniently lands in Danny’s waiting palm.

Not looking the gift horse in the mouth, Christie swings away.

Nick Stuart: LEFT HAND LARRY! RIGHT ON THE MARK! DOWN GOES CHARLES DE LACY!

“Big” John Christie points at the turn of events from ringside as his son ditches the evidence and sprawls across de Lacy’s chest.

Nick Stuart: DANNY CHRISTIE WITH THE PIN!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!

DING DING DING

Christie pops to his feet, arms raised. Neil Diamond pops the crowd. “Big” John nods in approval while Mickey rolls in to assist his boss, de Lacy.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match, by pinfall… “FAAAIIIR GAAAAAMME” DAANNYYY CHRRRIIIISSTIIIIIEEEE!!

Richard Parker: “Fair Game” my foot! There was nothing fair about that match! He used brass knuckles in there, Nick! I saw it with my own eyes!

Nick Stuart: Oh, so NOW you can see it?

Richard Parker: (stammering) …uh–I mean–well, I–you see–

Nick Stuart: Normally, I wouldn’t advocate for such measures, but since it was de Lacy’s attempt at chicanery that got those brass knuckles into the ring in the first place, you’ll forgive me if I’m not quite as eager to give him any sympathy.

Richard Parker: You’re a cold-hearted son of a gun, Nick! You know that? Charles de Lacy was robbed of a hard fought victory tonight! Have none of these ingrates heard of Cornwall style?!

Nick Stuart: Ugh, in any case… Danny Christie picks up the win here tonight, folks! And while Charles de Lacy has shown that even at his age, he can still hold his own between the ropes, the slump continues for “Dandy”! We still got a ton more action on the way, ladies and gentlemen, but right now, let’s take a quick commercial break…

ReVival moves on.

…Previously On…

…THE NEWS…

Max Kael: Alright-alright, everybody calm down.

Standing at the end of the long boardroom table aboard THE SPIRIT OF ARKHAM is Max Kael. Seated at the table are a motley crew of Kael Family Members. There is a large metal container in the back where something can be heard stomping around.

Max Kael: With Colossus season fast approaching it’s important to take an inventory of who’s with us. As you all know it’s the most dangerous time of the year for loved ones and family members. So I’m gonna go down the list and you let me know if you’re alive. Okay… Sutler Reynold-Kael?

SRK: Unfortunately here.

Max Kael: Attitude! Chloe Sektor-Kael?

CSK: Here!

Max Kael: And adorable! Crow’s Cousin?

CC: … oh I’m actually here, wow.

Max Kael: I know, what a call back. Kirk the Sports Head?

Kirk the Sports Head: Here!

Max Kael: And aren’t you over right now? My the Herald… for now.

The Herald: …here…

Max Kael: Yeah you are, you lil’bitch. MAXKAEL Jr.?

MAXKAELJr.: Hai!

Max Kael: Did I tell you there’s a Japanese tag team in DEFIANCE that is radioactive? Elenore Sinclaire-Kael?

SRK: She texted me earlier that she’s not gonna be here which, I guess, means she’s still around.

Max Kael: Wouldn’t it be sad if she didn’t make it past Colossus. Mina Starr-Kael?

A cold wind blows through the room, the lights flickering.

Snark Darkly: That’s an affirmative.

Max Kael: Ooo spoopy! Can confirm Snark Darkly’s with us still, the Bolognese Bull is in the box, I’m right here so that just leaves…

Turning his head to the side, Max nods.

Max Kael: My long-time friend and well documented member of the Kael Family, Neville Paceville Casteville!

NPC: Here!

☠️☠️☠️☠️

Kirk the Sports Head bobs up and down as he floats in the air, dead eyes staring forward pleadingly.

Kirk the Sports Head: Hello good people of PRIME. For the last few weeks I have been denied an opportunity to SPORTS for you. I am told being denied SPORTSing can be dangerous for the body and given all I’ve got left is this rotting head, I need to be especially careful!

His jaw clatters open and close, teeth clattering as he mimics speaking. The voice emanates from the electrical spikes cracking out of the top of his head.

Kirk the Sports Head: I would now like to speak directly to Bryan Dawkins. I beg you to refrain from interrupting the SPORTS segment tonight. Please just let an old dead-head SPORTS, it’s one of the few pleasures I have left.

If this undead head could cry, he would.

Kirk the Sports Head: I know your beef with Max is probably justified but why take that out on me? I’ve only ever wanted to tell the newest, hottest, best SPORTS I could. So please, if there is any kindness in you left, just let me SPORTS! Thank you.

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…Snark Darkly Presents…

…THE WON ACTION NEWS TEAM…

…Starring…

…Sutler Reynolds-Kael, the Son of Scions…

…Kirk, the Sports Head!…

…And FEATURING Lead Anchor…

…the MAYOR of ARKHAM…

…THE BLACK HEART OF PRIME…

…MAXIMILLIAN WILHELM KAEL…

Saxophone heavy NEWS music is back in season as the lights come up on THE NEWS STAGE. As the shadows retreat we’re exposed to the three piece suit and #D60000Red bowtie. And there is also a Maximillian Wilhelm Kael inside the suit, thin mustache pulling tight above his practiced smile.

Max Kael: How does this look, Craig? Did we do it right? Sorry folks, we’re working on a new format.

Someone from behind the camera says something and Max flashes an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Max Kael: WORMS of PRIME, Max Kael here, best source for RELIABLE and TRUSTWORTHY news despite what the snakes and the sinners say. Trust me when I say I know what they say, I’m one of them! HA!

Canned laughter plays for the Mayor of Arkham as he laughs at his own joke, fist pounding on his NEWS DESK.

Max Kael: We’ve got a lot of ground to cover tonight so let’s dive right into my very special guest today. SUTLER! Is he ready?

The stage door opens up as Sutler swaggers out with his normal, sadboi expression. He waves off Max.

Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Yeah-yeah, he’s ready.

The SRK moves to his chair, a few feet behind Max, settling into it while digging his phone out of his pocket. He proceeds to zone out while Max rubs his hands together excitedly.

Max Kael: Please welcome the Thirteenth Wonder of the World… the Sauced-Up Savage… The Newest Member of the Kael Family… THE BOLOGNESE BULL!

“Meat” by Poppy begins to pump through the NEWS STAGE while the lights turn to a strobing red. Max begins to dance to the Industrial-Pop-Metal fusion music while Sutler taps his foot, remaining ever sadboi.

From the stage door lumbers a massive man-shaped monstrosity made of rippling muscle, rage and pain. This thing’s back is so wide that it hunches forward, it’s grotesquely thicc body pushing the limits of acceptable musculature. Existence must be pain for this giant which tracks for being associated with Max Kael.

A pair of long black trunks are stretched perilously light around BB’s legs while a singlet top does little to hide a swoll af chest. The Bull’s face is obscured by a black leather fashioned into a gruesome skull with black horns curling out like bulls horns. Around this creature’s neck a peculiar collar flashes with a green light.

It unleashes a terrible, throating roar, beating its chest with massive, clublike hands before charging toward Max and the NEWS DESK. Kael stops dancing, pulling a small remote from his pocket before smashing his finger down on the button. The collar around the Bolognese Bull sparks to life, shocking the monstrous beast. The shock pulls it out of the attack, dropping it to its knees while Max giggles to himself.

Max Kael: He’s not house trained yet but we’re working on that! Ha-HA!

As the shock collar finally disengages, BB turns his rage filled eyes at Max, snarling. When it looks like he’s gonna charge again, Max threatens to engage the collar again. The Bull eyes Max and the remote, rising to his feet but refraining from attacking.

Max Kael: Who’s my big, smart boy!? You are! It’s you! Now go stand over there.

The Mayor jabs his finger toward the corner of the stage. BB glares at Max and then the direction he points, snarling loudly. He takes an angry step toward Max only to get another jolt of electricity through his body, punctuated by his tormentor’s cruel giggle. Once the shocking ceases, the Bull gets back to his feet with a defiant roar though he does cease his attempt to attack Max. Reluctantly BB moves to where he was, roaring at Sutler who just flips him off.

Max Kael: Such a smart boy! Did you people see that? The Bolognese Bull is a question God itself was afraid to answer. He’s a rejection of the natural order, an abomination for which no empathy nor kindness exists! This THING is a manife-

The Bolognese Bull unleashes a loud, thunderous bellow before charging Max. Kael casually lifts the remote, engaging the collar without bothering to look back. This time Max keeps the button down as BB drops to his knees and then flat down onto the ground, twitching and gurgling with hatred.

Max Kael: … MANIFESTATION of my wrathful want and love. Heh-heh.. Heh-heh…

Winking, or perhaps just blinking out of order, Max finally disengages the collar before taking his seat behind the NEWS DESK. The Bolognese Bull’s body smokes slightly as he remains unmoving on the ground.

Max Kael: Is my beautiful boy still alive?

Sulter stands, creeping over to the hulking body while being careful to keep a safe distance.

Sutler Reynolds-Kael: Yeah, he’s breathing. I think you knocked him out.

Max Kael: Cool-cool.

The Son of Scions retreats back to his chair while Max turns to Camera 2.

Max Kael: Our next story hits close to home. In fact it hits right into my soul. Over the last year I’ve been working on a story named Bryan Dawkins. You see, back in 2024 Bryan Dawkins was having a little trouble. His big return had stalled out. He was losing in PRIME. He was losing his home. Losing his son. Losing at life.

He shakes his head with an intense look of disappointment.

Max Kael: He came to me for help. He came to me, not out of desperation, but because he knew I could get it done. Because everyone, everyone knows why people come to me. Because I can make their wish come true, despite whatever it might take. I gave him… I GAVE him exactly… exactly what he asked. Now look at him.

Max slowly turns his head toward Camera 1, his upper lip pulling into a sneer, his silver teeth glinting in the studio light.

Max Kael: He won his son. He’s won more matches. He’s found a new home with the Red Army. He’s burning with drive, aflame with purpose. I did that. That is how the magical touch of Maximillian Wilhelm Kael has served Bryan Dawkins. I delivered on my promise and so much more and how was I treated? How was my kindness repaid?

With a sigh, Max’s face releases into the sagging despair.

Max Kael: Sabotage. Betrayal. Unmatched cruelty. Now I don’t completely blame Dawkins, rebirth is a messy, confusing transition. We’ll get to him later though, what really hurts. What truly disappointed me about this entire story was the deep and vicious actions of one that I considered part of my family.

Shaking his head, Max snaps his fingers. Stumbling through the stage door comes the Herald. He looks pretty worse for wear, like he hasn’t slept or bathed in days. His baby blue tunic is torn, several of the bells missing. “Walking” in behind him with an uncanny grin is Snark Darkly. When the Herald stops moving Snark gives him a sharp shove until he’s standing next to the NEWS DESK.

Max Kael:  My the Herald. I thought we were going to be together forever. I thought you’d carry my banner until you turned to ash because clearly I was always going to outlive you. I got you out of that terrible house where your grandfather kept trying to kill you. Remember that? And how did you repay me?

The WON NEWS STAGE vanishes as we’re treated to security footage revealing that it was the  Herald who took the keys out of the NEWS VAN and dropped them near Bryan Dawkins. Another security camera, from somewhere in the Kael Estate, shows Bentley showing Kai where she could hack into the live feeds to THE NEWS. Several text messages from the Herald to Bryan Dawkins attempting to tell him where Kai is. Finally we return to the NEWS STAGE, the Herald staring at his feet. Behind him, seated behind his desk, sits Max, his face contorted by hate, his eyes burning into the back of Bentley’s head.

Max Kael: I said we’d get to Dawkins and now I will. Bryan Dawkins, I know you’re watching. Here is my counter proposal. First, you return my WON ACTION NEWS VAN on ReVival 79. Second… I’m a bit of a collector, you see, and I hate to break up a set. I’ll face you at Colossus but only if you agree to my following condition. If I lose, I’ll end my relationship with Kai and politely remove her from my house. From my family. If I win, however… heh-heh…

Standing, Max straightens his bowtie, that playful smile dancing back onto his face.

Max Kael: Then you must return your son to Kai so that the two can be reunited. I will take care of them like you should have but never could. Now I know how much you love that child of yours so I’ll sweeten the pot. I’ll agree to any match type you want. You fucked around, Dawkins. Now it’s time to find out.

Snaking his way around his desk, Max’s shadow falls over the Herald, that playful smile sharpening into something much more sadistic.

Max Kael: And now, my the Herald, it is time to receive your punishment. From this day forth you are NO LONGER my HERALD!

Kael blasts the words into the back of Bentley’s head causing the young man to wince and cower. Grabbing the back of the powder blue tunic, Max rips and tears at it, shredding a long piece off while the rest freys away at Bentley’s side.

Max Kael: You are demoted to the title of… THE PISSBOY, you sniveling traitor! Now, my the Pissboy, fetch my piss jug in case I must urinate.

The Mayor of Arkham gives Bentley a swift kick in the arse, the young man yelping in response before scampering to the stage door. Halfway to the exit Bentley bursts into tears, his weeping fading away once he’s through the stage door.

Max Kael: More on this story as we approach Colossus! And now… I’m sure Bryan Dawkins will respect the sanctity of Kirk the Sports Head and his SPORTS report.

This time for sure a wink followed by a wide, hateful smile before we cut to the SPORTS NOOK!

☠️☠️☠️☠️

Kirk the Sports Head stares forward with his dead eyes while his jaw waggles excitedly in the air. The spikes on his head crackle to life as his robotic voice chimes brightly.

Kirk the Sports Head: Oh boy! WHO WANTS TO KNOW ABOUT THE SPORTS?!

He pauses expectantly. No signal interference. No sudden static.

Kirk the Sports Head: Is… is it gonna happen?!

Another pregnant pause.

Kirk the Sports Head: Holy Sh- Oh oh! OKAY! Today’s TOP SPORTS, where is Cancer Ji-

The screen statics as the feed is suddenly hi-jacked!

Oh bruh. Not again.

Much to the chagrin of the faithful NEWS fans, Kirk the Sports Head disappears from view, replaced with more garish BREAKING NEWS graphics and hideous transition animations. Dawkins appears on screen.

But this isn’t the same Bryan Dawkins we’ve seen thus far in 2025. You can just barely see the tired, weary eyes that hide behind the crimson and gold lenses. Every ReVival, it appears that our dear former Flyin’ Hawaiian has aged ten years.

Bryan Dawkins:   Max, Max, Max…

The camera pans out to reveal Dawkins is standing in front of the WON Action NEWS van, which has clearly seen better days. Max’ fiberglass face appears to have suffered even more damage, further magnified by the wisps of smoke that float from the van’s front end.

Bryan Dawkins: You want this piece of shit back?

He gestures to the smoldering van behind him.

Bryan Dawkins: That’s fine. I don’t think journalism is for me anyway.

He shrugs.

Bryan Dawkins: That’s a mighty fine…offer?…you’ve put out there, Max. You’ve already taken Nico’s mother – why not take my kid too? It only makes sense! You’ve done a great job of ruining our lives over the past ten months – why not make it a lifetime?

A deep sigh escapes his lips.

Bryan Dawkins: I’m…I’m just not sure I can risk that. How could I do that to Nico? I mean, you’ve said yourself that Kai is happier as a part of the Kael family. But Nico…we’ve grown so close this year, bonding through thanks to the horrors you’ve put our family through. How could I just abandon him now and dangle him like bait? That’s exactly what you want, isn’t it, Max? Using this match to further drive a stake between me and my family.

Dawkins removes the sunglasses, revealing tired, bloodshot eyes. The bags under his eyes make him look like a man that was on the wrong end of one too many fights. Bryan Dawkins just looks tired.

Bryan Dawkins: I’m gonna have to think about it, Max. I can’t just give you an answer now.

He frowns.

Bryan Dawkins: Give me two weeks. I’ll return the NEWS van to you at ReVival 79

The last image we see of Dawkins is him returning the sunglasses to his face and jumping in the driver’s seat of the decrepit van.

Bryan Dawkins: And will have an answer for you.

With that Dawkins slams his foot on the gas, both him and the NEWS VAN racing off into the night as we cut away to our next segment.

As the WON Action News cuts away, it does so not to a weather report about a dense fog hiding monsters in its depths or even to hear about what cute cryptid recently was adopted from the Arkham Inhumane Society.

Instead, we find Blaze Claymore holding a half-filled bottle of vodka that has been plugged with a dirty rag standing in what appears to be the backstage of the WON studios.

Blaze Claymore: If I can’t steal the book, maybe I can burn it.

Blaze takes a deep breath.

Blaze Claymore: Okay… here it goes. One. Two. Th-

Elise Ares: Hey BBY! Ooh vodka!

Blaze spins around to find himself face to face with both members of PCP. Elise stares at the label and visibly sighs.

Elise Ares: …but it’s the cheap stuff. Gross. Might as well be hand sanitizer.

Blaze Claymore: Shh! Quiet!

Blaze turns back around only to be met with a near-empty storage closet.

Blaze Claymore: No! It was right here! I had him! You ruined everything!

The D crosses his arms and steps forward.

The D: Uh. Rude. Besides, you are the one ruining things! Ruiner!

Elise Ares: Ohhh. That’s a good title! Make a mental note of that D. You know what they say, when in Rome… or a storage closet… or whatever…

Elise reaches out and grabs the bottle of vodka out of Blaze’s hands, tosses the cloth aside, and takes a swig and then hands it to the D as the Main Event looks on in shock and horror.

The D: Rome… Ruiner… R-R-R… man R words are hard. That’s why I stick with D.

Blaze grits his teeth.

The D (taking a drink): Red! That’s right, we have a match against the commies! We need to be completely focused for our match, bro, but here you are tempting us with these Mozeltov cocktails.

Elise Ares: That’s TOTES rude.

Blaze Claymore: Molotov. It’s a molotov cocktail and it was meant for Max Kael and Snark Darkly. Give it back. NOW.

The D hands the bottle to Elise.

Elise Ares: BBY, I think you’re confused. I don’t take orders, I give them, who do you think you are, my daddy?

Blaze Claymore: I… wait… what?

Elise takes a drink.

Elise Ares: See D, I told you, all you have to do is say daddy and they just fold. It’s sooooo sad.

Blaze lets out a frustrated grunt and reaches over for the bottle, but Elise hands it to The D and out of the Main Event’s reach. The D swirls the bottle around and takes a swig.

The D: Blaze, kid, listen. You can’t just offer us booze and then try to take it back. Now that’s not how you treat your friends. We are friends, aren’t we, Blaze?

Claymore’s eyes narrow as Elise runs her hand up between Blaze’s shoulderblades and up his neck with a smirk.

Elise Ares: We’ll get out of your way, daddy, but we’re keeping the crappy vodka. Good luck with… whatever you have going on here. See you around. BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

The Queen of Sports Entertainment Style waves goodbye to Blaze and wraps her arm around the D, grabbing the vodka with her free hand and taking a long pull. With their backs to Blaze, the Pop Culture Phenoms exit to prepare for their match. Or get trashed. Or both.

Blaze, meanwhile, puts his hands to his head – looking to tear his hair out.

Voice: I don’t know, Mister Doctor Zeke. I really don’t think that’s his name.

The two figures moving towards the camera from down the hall stick out like a sore thumb.

For the first, it’s because he’s the only middle class dad bod on a roster full of demigods. For the other, it’s because his outfit is very “blind man raided a Goodwill” coded. How Steve Lemieux ended up with Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq. as his manager slash lawyer slash doctor (?) is something we may never know, but the one thing we can say with absolute certainty is that their conversation is missing all of its hinges.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Hello, yes. Shush. I am very familiar with swords and all things sword-adjacent. Even the ones on fire. Especially the ones on fire. Arson swords! Did you know that I am an expert in sword law?

Steve Lemieux: N-no?

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: It’s true! You can look it up. But not right now. Now we have to look for that dastardly Flamberge.

Steve Lemieux: I swear that’s not his name.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: His name is a sword?

Steve Lemieux: Yes.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: And the sword is on fire?

Steve Lemieux: Well, I guess technically a blaze is a-

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Flamberge!

And then Dr. Zeke catches sight of his quarry. The joy on his face is palpable despite the presence of a knitted ski mask.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: FLAMBERGE!

You can see Blaze’s mind about to snap like a twig in real time as the boisterous manager power walks ahead of a nervous looking Steve Lemieux, which is to say … just Steve Lemieux.

Blaze Claymore: I don’t have time to deal with this! I need to find Kael!

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Yes, yes. A reptile must eat his many lettuces and sit on his hot rock. But that is not why we are here. No, no. Nay, nay. Or Non, non, as your people would say. Ha! I made a rhyme.

Zeke pauses.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Hrm. You look a lot paler than I remember you.

Steve Lemieux: (quietly) You’re thinking of a different guy.

Blaze steps forward, getting up in Dr. Zeke’s personal space. As he does, Zeke waves his hand in front of his face.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Yes, hi. It smells like you have been drinking the hand sanitizers. Please do not drink the hand sanitizer, Flamberge. It is for sanitizing hands, not for drinking. Now, the reason we are here… I do believe you owe dear, sweet, innocent Stefon here some apology words, yes? You know, for knocking him down during his very public bathroom accident? The one where he soiled himself all over the hallway for the entire world to see? When his insides emptied and flooded the corridor with just an ocean of, well, you get the idea.

Steve Lemieux: (sad quiet sandwich noises) My Old Navy men’s Pique Polo and New Balance 740 sneakers.

Blaze snaps and grabs a hold of Zeke’s wrist mid-wave and begins to squeeze.

Blaze Claymore: You’re really starting to piss me off.

Steve Lemieux: (sadder quiet sandwich noises) Ooooooh, please don’t use the toilet words.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Ta voiture est un marmouset à carreaux puant!

Zeke winces and tries to break free from the Main Event’s grasp when Steve Lemieux steps forward and holds his hands together, pleading with Blaze.

Steve Lemieux: Mister Sword, sir, please don’t be mean to Mister Doctor Zeke. He is very confused and keeps asking people where his blood pressure medication is, and I don’t think he means any harm, honest. He’s just trying to stick up for me. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just upset because everyone was laughing at me.

Blaze blinks, letting go of Dr. Zeke’s wrist, and the good doctor takes a moment to aggressively wiggle his cane in Claymore’s general direction.

Steve Lemieux: It’s been dreadful, Mister Sword. The local Sketti Bucket has been running ads about how people shouldn’t order the lemonade at LeMoo’s Fine Sandwiches in beautiful Peoria, Illinois, and we only serve that as a summer special. It’s not even on the menu now. But I know what they mean, because I had a terrible accident, and sometimes I have to hide in my office because I don’t want customers to make fun of me. Also please don’t use toilet words. They are almost as bad as swear words but not quite.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: J’aime les cornichons à la crème et l’essence aromatisée à l’érable!

Blaze lowers his head and looks back up at Steve, smirking.

Blaze Claymore: You know something? I know exactly what you mean.

Steve Lemieux (confused): You do?

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Tu fais?

Blaze Claymore (nodding): And I know what I need to do.

Blaze flashes a smile and lets out a dry laugh, flicking the lighter he had been holding and holding shoves the device back into his pants pocket before he begins walking away waving a hand back toward Steve as Dr. Zeke lowers his defensive posture and pauses briefly before letting out a frustrated grunt and yelling down the hallway.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Hello, hey! Those were not apology words, Flamberge! Your car will never come back to life if you continue to behave this way! It will live in wet car hell forever! Also I would advise you to not commit any fire or fire-related crimes!

Professional wrestling’s original lawyer-doctor (new branding alert!) turns to his charge.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Come along, Stefon. I can’t risk being an accessory to another arson.

ReVival moves on.

A trap remix of the Soviet Anthem begins to play, signaling the arrival of the Masters of the Moscowverse to a bunch of booing from the crowd…about as much for the simple fact they’re aligned with Ivan Stanislav as anything else, but it doesn’t help that Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz come to the ring holding giant Soviet Union flags, waving them around to raise the ire of the crowd even further.

Vince Howard: Representing the Red Army, at a combined weight of 336 pounds…

Vince stops as a stagehand at ringside hands him a notecard, forcing the announcer to give him a cold stare before reading the card with a sigh while the Masters make their way toward the ring with Alexei walking close behind, rooting them on.

Vince Howard: …and at a combined height of 11 feet and 7 inches, they are the team of Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz…the MASTERS OF THE MOSCOWVERSE!

The crowd boo the fact that someone had the audacity to bring this old gag back up, as Kenny and Randall wave their flags one more time before handing them off to Alexei. The duo step into the ring, taunting the crowd some more as Alexei safely carries the Soviet flags to the back.

Nick Stuart: The Red Army has seen a major development, partner, with the apparent edition of Tony Gamble and Hessian, the new PRIME Tag Team Champions.

Richard Parker: I have to wonder how the Masters of the Moscowverse must feel about another tag team being added to their ranks – and like you said, not just any team, but the champs! Wonder about the tension there, you know?

Nick Stuart: If we know anything about the Red Army, I’m sure the Masters might say that the tag team championships are now “theirs”.

Richard Parker: Hm.

“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 their 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: Here’s a team with a pretty major history of success in professional wrestling, and right off the bat, they seem to have found conflict in the form of Blaze Claymore.

Richard Parker: Hard to imagine that PRIME has enough room in it for three Hollywood-sized egos, and we just saw what Blaze had to say…and I think we may only be scratching the surface with this issue.

Klein gives some final words of motivation to his friends, who play a game of rock paper scissors; The D’s paper covers Elise’s rock, which means he gets the fun job to wrestle first. Kenny and Randall don’t have a discussion at all – Freeman’s starting this one. Referee JImmy Turnbull checks both corners, nods, and signals for the bell!

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Both of these teams are looking to build momentum on the road to Colossus! Let’s get it on!

The D and Kenny Freeman circle the edge of the ring, facing each other with arms raised. In a flash, they launch at each other and struggle with a classic collar-and-elbow. The D transitions to a side headlock and looks to press the rare opportunity he gets in matches: a 50 pound size advantage over his opponent.

The D throws a few closed fists into Freeman’s head before completing a headlock takeover. He sprints towards the ropes, rebounds, and goes for a swinging kick to Freeman! Freeman ducks and rolls out of the way!

Freeman scrambles to his feet and measures The D as he comes charging back in – and K-Free connects with a textbook dropkick! Immediately after The D hits canvas, Freeman charges into the ropes himself – he pauses, and stops, to do the Floss – before stomping to The D! He leaps, looking for the big leg drop!

The D rolls out of the way! He pounces on Freeman and starts raining down bombs!

Richard Parker: These are some hellacious big swings from these two – like they’re trying to win this one early!

Nick Stuart: Indeed, partner – The D went for something like his signature “Beat It” –

Richard Parker: Pardon?

Nick Stuart: – and Kenny attempting the “Freeman Special.”

Richard Parker: Listen, partner – ReVival’s not that kind of show!

After a big series of punches connects, The D positions himself behind his opponent, lifts, and PLANTS him back down with a big Reverse Legsweep Faceplant! He rolls him over!

Nick Stuart: The D fulfills his “Contractural Obligation!” He’s got a leg hooked!ONE!TWO!NO! Freeman gets the shoulder up!

K Free scrambles away from the middle of the ring and finds his corner. As much as Schwartz might otherwise prefer not to get into the thick of the action, he knows that his partner’s problems are Our Problems, and he reaches far across the ropes for the tag. Jimmy Turnbull slaps his hands, acknowledging the new legal man.

Schwartz doesn’t go through the ropes right away – in fact, if he could just stay where he is right now, on the apron, unable to be legally pinned, that would be super. The D isn’t having it, and he marches towards his opponent to force him in. D swipes at Schwartz – who ducks! He pops up, and pokes The D in the eyes! The D covers his face in obvious pain!

Richard Parker: Careful with the moneymaker, pal! An actor needs his eyes!

Nick Stuart: Freeman’s getting a good breather here, and here comes Schwartz! A right punch! Another right punch! Ohhhhh, and a left punch this time!

Richard Parker: Say what you will about the simplicity – if it works, it works!

Schwartz throws a mid-level kick that connects with The D’s lower back, sending him stumbling into his corner! Elise Ares tags herself in, and the PNC Arena erupts!

Nick Stuart: The Pop Culture Phenoms have added a major jolt of energy to the PRIME tag division, and listen to these people’s response to Elise Ares!

Richard Parker: She just has “it!”

Hearing the roar of the PRIMEates and seeing the most fired-up firecracker in Raleigh spring into the ring, Schwartz wants none of this particular smoke, thank you. He goes towards his corner, looking for a way out – he reaches to tag in Freeman-

Klein pulls Freeman down off the apron! Freeman’s chin crashes on his way down! The hulking Beast In A Box peels Freeman off the floor and LAUNCHES him a good ten feet with an enormous German Suplex! Klein flexes and roars to the crowd as referee Turnbull leans out of the ropes, admonishing Klein for getting involved.

Meanwhile, Schwartz is doing everything he can to keep his hands around the ropes and his body away from the middle of the ring. Ares, rather than trying to outmuscle him, runs up the ropes one at a time! She spins and grabs the headlock!

TORNADO DDT!

Klein and Turnbull are still arguing – which gets interrupted by Freeman getting to his feet and bull-rushing the larger Klein. Freeman starts throwing punches and elbows as hard as he can towards Klein’s midsection – he absorbs a few and looks up at Turnbull, whose attention is split between the ringside brawl and the in-ring action. Klein decides it’s time to chuck this Commie bastard into the barricade!

THUNK

Nick Stuart: Crash landing for K-Free!

Richard Parker: Turnbull’s lost control of this thing!

Inside the ring, Ares has planted her boot into the chest of the fallen Schwartz. She gyrates for the benefit of those with flash photography.

Elise Ares: ¿QUE TAL ESO?

QUE TAL ESOOOOOOOOOO

Turnbull, attention divided, tries to determine if this is a proper pinfall attempt; before he can swing around for the count, Ares has returned to her corner and tagged in The D. Turnbull slaps his hands together.

Now that Freeman is in a heap, it may be most accurate to say “the situation has resolved itself” between Klein and Turnbull; The Man In A Box makes his way back to the PCP corner. Freeman is slow moving.

The D climbs to the top rope, measures, and flies!

Nick Stuart: B MOVIE! Right out of the High Flyer playbook!

The D shoots the half!ONE!TWO!THNOOO! Schwartz kicks out! The D quickly tags Ares back in. Ares charges in, throws a dropkick – Scwhartz somehow scouts it and dodges! He manages a front facelock and looks to go for a vertical suplex – Ares slips out! She locks her legs around! She flips!

RODEO DESTROYER! She stacks Schwartz up!ONE!TWO!THREENOOOO! Schwartz rolls through!

He’s caught her by surprise with a flash roll-up!

Nick Stuart: IT’S THE SCHWARTZ SPECIAL!

Richard Parker: THE MOST DANGEROUS MOVE IN PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING!ONE!TWO! Schwartz pulls the tights!…THREEAHHHHHH! ARES KICKS OUT!

Nick Stuart: The Masters of the Moscowverse were a millisecond away from stealing this one out of nowhere!

Richard Parker: Uh oh – Ares looks pissed!

Indeed, Ares is enraged at Schwartz’s cheating roll-up. She first waffles him in the face with a backhand slap, and then another. Schwartz shoves her away at this, touching his palm to his jaw and trying to adjust its alignment. Out of nowhere, she launches herself and latches onto his back! Schwartz tries swiping her off to no avail!

Freeman is finally just about back to his corner – he sees his partner in trouble and desperately reaches out, trying to re-enter the match!

Ares locks the arms! It’s an Octopus Stretch! The crowd erupts as Turnbull locks in, checking for the verbal submission!

Nick Stuart: Randall Schwartz in real trouble!

Richard Parker: I don’t think he’s getting out of this on his own!

Indeed, he’s struggling to get his legs to do what he wants; as much as he tries to get to the ropes, the strain of the hold is sapping him of his strength! Turnbull checks on Schwartz, but he dramatically shakes his head “NO!”

Freeman reaches and reaches, unable to tag in – and he realizes the dire straits his partner is in! He steps through the ropes and clocks Ares in the face! It loosens the hold! Freeman clocks her again, and Schwartz and Ares collapse in a heap!

The D is pissed at this, and so he starts to step through – Freeman catches him with a knee to the guts! The D is stuck in his corner, and Freeman stomps away! Ares goes over to the PCP corner to try to break this up – Freeman connects with a superkick! Ares goes down!

The D grabs Freeman by the back of the head and launches him over the top rope – Klein is there to catch Freeman! He tosses Freeman again with an overhead release belly-to-belly suplex, practically halfway up the entrance ramp!ONE!

Wait a minute, Schwartz has an arm across Ares’s chest?!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: HOLD ON A MINUTE!

…

…

NOOOOOOOO! THE D BREAKS IT UP!

Richard Parker: TWO POINT NINE!

The D drags Ares by the arm towards the PCP corner. He steps outside of the ropes, reaches down, and tags himself in.

He stomps over to the kneeling Schwartz and throws some absolutely STIFF kicks straight into his chest! Three, four, five! On the ring apron, Ares has shaken out the cobwebs. On the outside, Klein is actively blocking the path between Kenny Freeman and the ring itself – a brick wall wearing a cardboard box.

The D and Ares point towards each other, and then towards the fallen Schwartz; they tag, making Elise Ares the legal competitor. They position themselves on opposite sides of Randall, who’s completely rocked and unsteady as he tries to get his feet under him. He stumbles to his feet, reaching towards the Communist Corner; not only is he a good ten feet away from his team’s home base, his tag partner is at least three times further away.

Schwartz slaps hands with a ghost.

Ares charges and throws an absolute haymaker of a Superman Punch. At the same time, The D steps forward and throws a Crescent Kick.

They both connect!

Nick Stuart: DRIVE BY AT THE ROXY!

Richard Parker: GOOD NIGHT!

Ares hooks both legs!ONE!TWO!…THREE!!

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: Big win tonight for the Pop Culture Phenoms!

Richard Parker: I’ll tell you what, and I know I’ll have more to say about this down the line – if you’re Blaze Claymore, you’ve gotta be a little worried.

Nick Stuart: Indeed, they were once DEFIANCE’s greatest tag team, and tonight, they fired on all cylinders! We’ll be back with more in-ring action, but first, we’ve got some bills to pay. Stay tuned!

REWATCH ON THE ACE NETWORK

ReVival returns from commercial, and we get just the briefest of panning shots of the Raleigh fans before…

Duh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh… duh nuh nuh….

The opening piano chords of Beethoven’s “Fur Elise” echo throughout the arena. The house lights turn purple. The piano keys give way to a guitar chord. It’s the music of The Good Doctor. The Sage on the Stage. The Philosopher King. The Mad Gadfly.

Stepping through the curtain, to a respectable cascade of jeers, is one Ned Reform.

Nick Stuart: We’d heard through the grapevine we might be hearing from The Good Doctor tonight.

Richard Parker: And for a very specific reason. And it should be noted he is flying solo.

Reform, dressed in his scholarly best, pauses at the top of the ramp. With arms behind his back, he scans the arena with a look that is half superiority, half disappointment. He begins a slow saunter to the ring, his raised eyebrows indicating he doesn’t become any more impressed with the PRIME fans the more he sees of them.

Nick Stuart: Ned’s recent run here in PRIME had been as a manager – standing in the corner of the Green Vale Gang. But he’s a regular active competitor in another promotion…

Richard Parker: …and I think that’s why he’s here.

Reform slowly enters the ring, procuring a mic and calmly waiting for the music to fade away. He doesn’t speak, though. Like a disappointed teacher waiting for a talkative class to be silent, he simply waits on the respect he feels he deserves. He shakes his head ruefully as he appears to be attempting to look every fan directly in the eye.

Finally, seemingly satisfied that the message has been received, the mic comes up.

Ned Reform: Greetings, children.

Boo? Yeah, boo.

Ned Reform: I come here tonight not as the stalwart guide to Mr. Vale and Mr. Green. No, tonight I stand before you… a changed man.

Pause for effect.

Ned Reform: That’s right! For those of you who do not venture over to the distinguished competition, allow me to bring you up to speed and summarize the most recent developments. I, DOCTOR Ned Reform, have had a change of heart. A realization. Dare I say, an ontological awakening! It was a day like no other… a time I never thought I’d see… when I stood in the center of a wrestling ring and looked out into the fans to tell them…

A pause. Even though he’s literally already said this, it’s still difficult to get out.

Ned Reform: …I was growing fond of them. I know! I know! Preposterous, no? They say familiarity breeds contempt, but that’s foolish: familiarity leads to reluctant bonds. And I have no choice, Raleigh, but to look you in the eye and confess that I, a man of integrity, a man of scholarship, and a man of culture… have come to appreciate professional wrestling fans.

Letting this sink in, Ned unbuttons his tweed jacket. He lets it fall to the canvas… and reveals a black and red DEFIANCE shirt underneath.

Ned Reform: …of course, I don’t mean YOU.

That one doesn’t go over very well.

Ned Reform: No, no, no… while the DEFIANCE Faithful have unexpectedly crept their way into my heart, I hold no such disillusions for fans of this pedestrian and provincial promotion called PRIME. I am proud to remain steadfast in my UTTER CONTEMPT of each and every one of you. I…

Reform is cut off as he realizes that a chant has begun. It started faint, but has grown too loud to ignore…

SHUT THE FUCK UP! (clap, clap, clap clap clap)

SHUT THE FUCK UP! (clap, clap, clap clap clap)

SHUT THE FUCK UP! (clap, clap, clap clap clap)A sarcastic golf clap from The Sage on the Stage.

Ned Reform: Thank you, my parochial pack of philistines, for proving the point. Your barbaric barbs do not shake me, children. I will use them as motivation. They will fuel me. For you see, I am not simply here to, as the nomenclature goes, “run my mouth.” There will be actions behind the words of Doctor Ned Reform. And what better way to demonstrate my definitive domination over you dim-witted dimwits than you step into the ring and embarrass your heroes?

Reform pauses, but that doesn’t seem to get the reaction he was expecting.

Ned Reform: Perhaps I am being unclear. Let me be frank: I am challenging a member of the PRIME roster to a match at the DEFIANCE vs. PRIME supercard! Yes! I, Dr. Ned Reform, will proudly wave the Defiant banner of decisive dominance as I pummel PRIME into the canvas.

The mic comes down and Ned leans on the top rope, looking out and soaking in the negative reaction.

Nick Stuart: It appears the rumors were true – although not even remotely endearing himself to the fans in attendance, Reform has requested a match on the DEFIANCE and PRIME joint show!

Richard Parker: And I sincerely hope someone takes him up on this and sends his DEFIANCE loving-behind back to New Orleans.

Oddly, Reform rolls under the bottom rope to the floor. He walks the length of the ringside area, grinning and encouraging fans to get even more riled up. He avoids the swing of a purse from a red-faced grandma! Finally, he zones in on a younger fan: a girl of maybe twelve or thirteen. He approaches as she scowls at him. Her father goes to shield her, but Reform professes his innocence.

Ned Reform: No need for alarm, High School Diploma. I seek not to hurt the girl. From the mouth of babes often comes the truth, so tell me my young friend: you appear to possess roughly where your average PRIME fan falls on the bell curve of intelligence. Who would you like to see clash against Dr. Ned Reform? Who should step up and defend what is left of this company’s dwindling pride?

Reform holds the mic up to the girl. Little Melinda Keane takes her shot.

Melinda Keane: I wanna see Chandler Tsonda kick your ass!!

RAAAAAAAAAAA!!

Reform pulls the mic back, completely bewildered.

Ned Reform: I will disregard the foul language and refrain from commenting on the standard of your upbringing. Instead, I will focus on the substance. Unfortunately, I cannot – in good conscience – ever wrestle anyone named “Chandler.” Rejected.

He moves on. He fans a rather large fellow in a Vae Vicitis t-shirt.

Ned Reform: Ah, you look like a man who knows his wrestling! You smell like a man who knows his wrestling, too! Tell me, my dirtsheet reading dullard: who, in your five star heart of hearts, would you like to see DOCTOR Ned Reform wrestle?

He passes the mic to the fan: Chuckie Von Brunwald.

Chuckie Von Brunwald: Colton vs. Reform!! Book it!!

The fans also seem to like that suggestion. Reform pulls the mic back.

Ned Reform: Not bad. Not bad. Your gusto is matched only by your odor, friend. I’ll take your suggestion under advisement.

Ned turns to look directly into the camera. Mouths “No I won’t.”

Finally, he lands in the last target: a tiny, shrunken, squinting elderly woman with thick red glasses.

Ned Reform: Aha! A rare find, children: here we have someone who was present for the very first wrestling bout. Always look to your elders: remember that. So tell me, Nana, who would YOU like to see face DOCTOR Ned Reform? Please note that President Lincoln retired from the squared circle four score and a hundred years ago.

The mic goes up. Granny looks confused… until she doesn’t. She scowls.

Granny: RIA.

Reform pulls the mic back. He shakes his head as if that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

Ned Reform: If you’re not going to take this seriously, Sally Jessie Raphael, then neither shall I.

Ned rolls back into the ring. Gets back into position to speak directly into the hard cam.

Ned Reform: The ball is in your court, PRIME. Send Chandler, send Colton, send… the other one. Send anyone. Send Troy herself for all I care! Because when a man fights for something larger than himself, a man cannot be stopped. A man who fights for an idea will be forever righteous! And this January… DOCTOR Ned Reform fights for DEFIANCE!

BOOOOOO!

Reform acts like he’s going to leave, but then comes back as if he’s forgotten something.

Ned Reform: Oh yes! I neglected the most vital part! Should my little speech tonight have put a little bee in any PRIMEates bonnet, and should said person possess the fortitude to act upon said bee in said bonnet, I am happy to announce that next Wednesday you can find me in Kansas City. Feel free to stop by and say hello.

One last smirk, then the mic gets dropped and he exits stage left.

Nick Stuart: I think… I think Ned Reform just invited us to show up to DEFtv!

Richard Stuart: And I say we take him up on it! I fight the guy with the glasses who can’t admit he’s a bad guy! You fight the other guy!

Nick Stuart: I have nothing but respect for Mr. Keebler… but I will be curious to see if anyone decides to call Ned’s bluff!

We cut backstage, as the Masters of the Moscowverse step back into the Red Army locker room after one hell of a battle with the Pop Culture Phenoms. Kenny turns his attention to Randall with a furrowed brow as he starts unlacing his boots.

Kenny Freeman: Right, that’s quite enough of all that. I need to have me a lil chat with…

Before he can finish his sentence, a bright flash of light comes and goes, bathing our field of vision with blinding force for a split second before quickly fading as the overdramatic, cackling laughter of an EVIL~!-sounding woman can be heard in the distance. Kenny and Randall begin to look up from their defensive positions, and see a large arrow sticking into the locker room wall, with what appears to be a wad of paper wrapped around the shaft.

Kenny Freeman: What in the world is–

Randall Schwartz: Gimme that note!

Schwartz grabs the shaft from his comrade (as one is want to do), pulling off the paper. He clears his throat before beginning to read the content on said paper.

Randall Schwartz: Greetings–wait, lemme try that again.

He clears his throat again, his voice booming as if amplified by the power of the note itself:

“GREETINGS, PUNY MORTALS!!!

Consider this your invitation to a one-of-a-kind Halloween party, a few days after Halloween, but with no spoiled spooky spirit in sight! Come to the T-Mobile Center in Kansas City, MO, on November 5, at DEFIANCE Wrestling’s DEFtv 227, where we shall gallivant in the Halloween spirit and begin a dialogue between our respective universes!

…nevermind the interactions that have already taken course. But regardless, come to this superbly spooky soiree… IF YOU DARE!  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Sincerely,

Dr. Ayumi Sato

P.S.; please let me know of any dietary restrictions ASAP. I myself am vegetarian so you will have to provide your own meat dishes.”

Randall stares at the note for a moment, but before Kenny can chime in he is cut off by Randall repeating the final main line of the note.

Randall Schwartz: IF YOU DARE!  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Kenny Freeman: Alright, we get it. If we dare, hahaha and all that. Alright then, I guess we have…a date? A rendezvous? Either way, we’ve got a trip lined up to Kansas City!

With that, the Masters continue to get themselves out of “in-ring mode” as ReVival moves on.

From the multiverse to the multiple award-winning talents of Angelica Brooks, ReVival rolls on. The OG of PRIME interviewers stands at the ready.

Angelica Brooks: Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with the number one contender, and the winner of the 2025 Almasy Invitational, Chandler Tsonda.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The sound you are now experiencing is because she’s telling the truth, and in this fractured media landscape where our leaders wring out their golden handkerchiefs full of garbage water above our heads and then tell us raining well godDAMMIT Angelica Brooks still stands for the idea that truth means something.

Also, they really like this fellow standing to her right.

Angelica Brooks: Chandler, thanks for joining me.

Chandler Tsonda: A pleasure, Brooksy.

Tsonda is in a black turtleneck that looks like it can only be the work of whoever is chief among all the Angora sheep.

Angelica Brooks: I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you NOT enter from offscreen with some kind of pithy quip to rapt applause. Should I take this as a sign that we’re seeing a more serious, more focused Chandler Tsonda given the task at hand in just over a month’s time?

Chandler Tsonda: Nah, I figured I still owe you one from that batshit interview with Dick, Ivan, and FLAMBERGE last month, so I showed up on time.

For those who recall, the interview at 74 with all Almasy semi-finalists was indeed the shit of a bat.

Angelica Brooks: So Chandler, we’re on the doorstep of something truly epic, with just one show and change left before the biggest moment of the wrestling year. Take us inside your headspace about what’s to come at Colossus.

Chandler Tsonda: Politely, and with nothing but love, I’m good.

That sound? It’s thousands of people in Raleigh and millions more at home going: huh?

Angelica Brooks: You’re good?

Chandler Tsonda: (nods) Yep, I’m good. Next question.

The Model Citizen stands there as if this is normal. The senior interviewer treats it as anything but.

Angelica Brooks: You have nothing to say about Colossus?

Chandler Tsonda: Correct.

Angelica Brooks: You, of all people on the planet of Earth, are being given an open invite to speak publicly and you decline?

Chandler Tsonda: I decline.

Talk about dead air. Several blinks pass by the long-time PRIME interviewer’s eyes. Her tone changes as the conversation continues.

Angelica Brooks: (incredulous) You love talking. We’re on live TV, in your interview time. And you don’t want to talk?

Chandler Tsonda: Not about Colossus.

Angelica Brooks: (exasperated) I’ll bite. Why?

Chandler Tsonda: I do a lot of talking, Brooksy. I know a couple people in Raleigh who turn into a bunch of high vibration maniacs the second they see ol’ Chan step in front of a mic.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Chandler Tsonda: But it’s a real piss-straight-into-high-wind exercise for me to talk to you (points to the camera) or them about Colossus. Because the only person left to talk to about what’s happening on December 6th is the guy with the big belt around his waist. And I plan to talk to him face-to-face in two weeks in Morgantown.

Angelica Brooks: An interesting gambit for you, Chandler. No proclamations, no poke of the hornets nest, no thoughts on Cecilworth retaining YET again at ReV 77?

Chandler Tsonda: Happy as a clam to answer any other questions ya got, Brooksy. But if it’s about the silver spoon submission pervert upcoming opponent of mine who shall not be named? I plead the fifth.

Brooks pivots gracefully, despite being nearly at a loss for words.

Angelica Brooks: If not Colossus, what were your thoughts on the main event of ReVival 77? Your friend Nate Colton came within a hair’s breadth of becoming Universal Champion, and you watched at ringside. Even if you’re not willing to discuss Cecilworth Farthington, what was your perspective on the match?

Chandler Tsonda: (grins, not taking the bait) Nate Colton is a big dog, a stone cold motherfucker. He’s in that very rare air, at the top of the “best to do it, but never win the Universal Title” conversation. He’s right up there with a fellow we both know…fellow by the name of Rayne.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Even after all these years, a PRIME crowd knows their history, and pays homage to the Hall of Famer.

Even after all these years, Angelica Brooks has a sparkle in her eyes when that name is brought up. But she’s a pro. If you didn’t see the momentary flash, you’d miss it.

Chandler Tsonda: Nate’s going to get himself out of that conversation pretty soon, and right into the “that’s one deserving ass Universal Champion” conversation. Believe that.

Brooks realizes that the elephant in this room will remain unaddressed until ReV 79. She’s not going to try and draw blood from a stone.

Angelica Brooks: What should we talk about then? The floor is yours.

Chandler Tsonda: Oh, uh…I thought Task was pretty sick. You seen it?

Angelica Brooks: Nope.

Chandler Tsonda: It’s tight.

Conveying a palpable are-you-effing-kidding-me-dude energy, Angelica Brooks takes one more look at Tsonda, before turning to the camera.

Angelica Brooks: Chandler, thanks for…whatever this was. Back to you, Nick and Richard.

ReVival moves on.

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall and is for the Alias Championship! This will be a MMA rules match, three rounds, five minutes per round. This match can go the distance and end with a decision from our judges.

Nick Stuart: Back to the action here and we’ve got a title defense happening, the first for Luc Labelle!

Richard Parker: And his rules will ensure he walks out of here successfully.

Nick Stuart: We shall see about that.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the challenger! Standing at 6 feet and 1 inches tall, he hails from Montevideo, Minnesota! BLAZE! CLAYMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!

The arena goes quiet, at least partially, as a hum of anticipation spreads through the crowd. The house lights remain through the silence until an unexpected, yet familiar, riff explodes out of the speakers.

Dummm dummmmm dummmm dummmmmm

Dadada dadada…

D-d-do DO YOU HAVE IT!?

A very particular portion of the crowd instinctively roars “GUTS” as the lights begin to strobe in red and white rapidly as the rapid synth beats of “Change Your Heart or Die” by The Midnight begin to play.

Took a lot of money to look the part

Took a lot of pain to tame a heart

Took a lot of years to lose my fear of flying

A figure steps out from the back, shrouded in silhouette, as the song continues.

Took a long time to finally start then it

Took a good day to fall apart

Took a lot of tears to lose my fear of crying

Of crying…

The strobes stop on a dime as two words flash on every screen in the arena:

BLAZE. CLAYMORE.

Change your heart or die…

A spotlight lands on Blaze Claymore, standing in a simple white t-shirt and red tights as he lowers a set of red sunglasses from his eyes, looking out toward the rest of the area.

Fire! Ticking like a time bomb!

Fire! Burning like napalm!

Fire! Waiting at the crossroads!

The strobes return, erupting in time with the song as Blaze no-look tosses his sunglasses out into the crowd and makes his way down the ramp way and toward the ring.

How will you survive?

Change your heart or dieeeeeeeeeee!

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

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.

When he finally rolls into the ring, as intense as ever, the young man can’t help but to shit-talk either directly to his opponent’s face or right into the camera. 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: He is the Alias Champion… LUC! LABEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLE!

Nixon gives his final set of instructions before signaling for the match to begin.

DING DING

At the sound of the bell — signaling the start of round 1 — Labelle comes out aggressively. He circles Blaze Claymore before throwing a leg kick that Blaze checks with his shin. Blaze moves laterally, not commiting to any offense yet. Luc throws another leg kick, this one landing cleaner on Blaze’s thigh. Blaze circles back, maintaining space, clearly not in his element while Labelle is clearly in his. Labelle charges forward, but Blaze connects with a spinning back elbow that connects cleanly with Labelle’s jaw.

Richard Parker: Well, that’s not the start that Labelle was hoping for.

Nick Stuart: You can see both competitors are trying to find their space in this match. Labelle is looking to be aggressive, but it’s going to take some effort from Labelle to get Blaze on his back foot.

Richard Parker: If Labelle was smart, he’d throw these rules out.

Nick Stuart: I think it’s a little late for that.

Labelle gently touches his jaw, before motioning for Claymore to come in closer. As Blaze does so, Labelle fires off another leg kick, connecting with Blaze’s thigh. Luc fires off three more leg kicks, with the third one landing flush with Blaze’s calf. Claymore stumbles away, shaking out his leg as Labelle quickly closes the gap and connects with a sharp jab-cross combination. Blaze stumbles into the ropes, and Labelle tries to fire off a right jab, only for Blaze to slip away, free of the follow-up attack. Blaze creates space once again between the two competitors as Nixon closely follows the action.

Nick Stuart: Labelle managing to find some success, but Blaze doesn’t seem to fazed by the shots thus far.

Richard Parker: Blaze is trying to keep his distance, knowing that Labelle could outclass him easily. He’ll need to pick his spots if he wants a chance here.

Nick Stuart: Labelle definitely stacked the odds in his favor, but he’s still gotta get the victory when it’s all said and done.

Claymore inches towards Labelle only for Luc to fire off a roundhouse kick. The kick, aimed for the midsection, hits Blaze’s shoulder instead as Claymore tries to move out of the way. Labelle bounces off the ropes and goes for a flying knee, but Claymore sees it coming and pivots away. Luc follows that up with a Savate Kick that Claymore is unable to evade, landing flush with Blaze’s chest. Blaze clutches his chest, but immediately fires a leg kick of his own, with Labelle checking it. Blaze immediately connects with an elbow to the neck of Labelle, stunning the Alias Champion. Claymore then goes for a dropkick, but Labelle side steps it. Blaze crashes into the mat, and as he gets to his knees, Labelle connects with a Dragon Stomp, driving his skull into the canvas.

Richard Parker: And there Labelle is getting his offense in and Blaze couldn’t do anything about it!

Nick Stuart: Labelle found an opening there and capitalized on it. Blaze is going to need to avoid getting too behind with Labelle, considering this is being judged remotely.

Richard Parker: Yeah, what’s the deal with that? Do you think these judges are legit? I’ve seen other fights and sometimes it seems rigged.

Nick Stuart: I doubt that’s going to happen here and that can only happen if it goes the distance.

Claymore fights his way to his feet and Labelle throws a follow-up strike. Blaze blocks it and immediately goes into the cinch, both men tied up with one another. Labelle lands a sharp knee to Blaze’s exposed body and follows up with more, landing three successive knees that drive the wind out of Claymore. Blaze shifts towards Labelle’s hip, looking to create space, but Luc fires off an eblow. Claymore manages to block it though with his forearm. The two continue in the cinch until they’re in the ropes, with both firing off jabs and shots at one another before Labelle connects with another knee to Claymore’s midsection. Blaze, tired of this, responds with a knee of his own that lands on Luc’s thigh.

Nick Stuart: Labelle did not like that strike on his thigh! Luc is now trying to switch positions and goes for an elbow, but Blaze moves at the last second.

Richard Parker: That elbow shot just grazed Blaze’s face — Labelle with another elbow strike! This one lands flush on Claymore’s jaw!

Nick Stuart: The Alias Champion is controlling the action in this opening round.

Richard Parker: Well, if the judges score it that way. You never know with them! Blaze has broken the cinch and is looking for space again.

Both men find themselves back in the center of the ring. Luc stalks forward with purpose. Blaze tries to create enough space, but Labelle throws another leg kick, which Blaze checks. Labelle then goes for a roundhouse kick to Blaze’s head, but Claymore slips around it by moving his head back. Labelle then fires off a follow-up jab, which lands flush with Blaze’s jaw. Blaze moves around, trying to stay out of Luc’s reach. Luc overextends himself though and Blaze times a counter as Luc throws a hard kick. Claymore sidesteps the shot and then follows through with a sudden spear, driving Labelle into the canvas.

Richard Parker: Claymore has taken Labelle down and has now mounted him, he is going for the ground and pound. and it is working well for Blaze! We could have a new Alias Champion!

Nick Stuart: Luc isn’t going to take this lying down though, his feet are on Blaze’s hips and he’s trying to break free, but he is eating a few shots from Blaze, who is putting everything he has into the shots!

Richard Parker: Labelle manages to get free, but not before taking some serious punishment there. Even as Labelle gets to his feet, Blaze is right there and connects with a few elbow strikes before suplexing Claymore to the mat with a Northern Lights Suplex!

Nick Stuart: Nixon goes for the count — but the first round is over! Labelle was saved by the bell there!

DING DING!

Nixon separates the two men, giving them time to cool down. Labelle storms to his corner, not happy with how the first round ended, while Claymore feels like he has momentum as he makes his way to his corner.

A few moments pass before Nixon orders both men back to the center of the ring and signals for the start of the second round.

DING DING!

Immediately, Labelle comes out aggresively, throwing leg kicks at Claymore, who has no choice but to check them. Labelle throws a roundhouse kick, but Claymore manages to side step it. Labelle keeps the pressure up though as he closes the gap with Claymore in a hurry and connects with a spinning back elobw that lands flush against Claymore’s jaw. Blaze stumbles away, but Labelle drives a jab into the back of Blaze’s skull, sending him into the nearby corner.

Nick Stuart: That was a dirty shot there from Labelle.

Richard Parker: And yet, still within the rules! Labelle is now laying into Claymore, hitting him with a series of strikes with Blaze pinned in the corner.

Nick Stuart: And Labelle with a hip toss out of the corner and follows that up with a Dragon Stomp to a rising Claymore! Labelle has come out of the gates in this second round and is dominating Claymore.

Richard Parker: Claymore simply has awoken a beast in Labelle!

As Claymore stumbles back to his feet, Claymore is on top of him and wraps his arms around before connecting with an Exploder Suplex! Claymore crashes hard into the canvas, trying to fight through the pain, but as he does, Labelle is on him, wrapping his arms around his midsection and connecting with a snap German Suplex! Blaze collapses on the back of his neck and skull before collapsing onto the canvas. Labelle is like a tiger uncaged as he stalks Blaze, stomping the back of his skull and neck repeatedly, wearing down the challenger.

Nick Stuart: Claymore has no response for the assault Labelle is laying on him.

Richard Parker: Claymore was always out of his depth. The fact that he managed to last as long as he has is a miracle.

Nick Stuart: Claymore can more than hold his own.

Richard Parker: We are learning that’s not the case right now.

Labelle drags Claymore up to his feet and connects with a knee to the face of his challenger. Blaze stumbles backwards into the ropes and uses that momentum to propel himself forward and spear the champion into the canvas. Labelle immediately tries to fight Claymore off of him, who has landed on top, but Claymore shakes the cobwebs free and establishes his position as he locks Luc down. Blaze fires off a series of short, controlled punches that land flush against Luc’s face. Claymore transitions to forearm strikes that rain down on Luc’s face and temple. Labelle tries to get his hands up to defend while trying to free himself to create space, but he is finding that difficult in the moment.

Richard Parker: Well, this isn’t looking good for Labelle in the moment.

Nick Stuart: No, it is not! Labelle is trying to turn his hips in an attempt to break Claymore’s momentum! Blaze though is adjusting with Labelle and landing more shots with this ground-and-pound strategy.

Richard Parker: Labelle is keeping his hands up, trying to block whatever he can — what a knee from Blaze on Labelle!

Nick Stuart: A brutal shot there from Claymore and Blaze goes for another one, but Luc manages to shift and it lands on his hip. Blaze trying to re-establish his position, but Luc pushes off and gets the space he needs to slip free from Claymore!

Blaze fires off a forearm and it lands, but Luc has more space to work with as he shifts his hips and gets behind Claymore. He immediately grabs the leg of Claymore and locks in an Ankle Lock submission! Blaze feels the pressure and immediately tries to escape, rolling away from Labelle in the process. Luc though maintains the grip and cranks harder, forcing Claymore to scream into the canvas. Nixon checks on Claymore, who shakes his head, refusing to submit. Blaze drags Labelle towards the ropes and spins, breaking the hold as it sends Labelle into the ropes and onto the ring apron.

Nick Stuart: Claymore should be thankful he managed to free himself there as that could’ve been the end of his challenge.

Richard Parker: Even still, Claymore is compromised and you have to imagine Labelle is going to make that a focal point going forward. He wants to take Claymore out and he’s going to do whatever he can to make it happen.

Labelle steps through the ropes and charges at the rising Claymore, looking for a takedown, but Blaze manages to sprawl out and uses his weight to prevent the takedown. Claymore wraps his arm around Luc’s head. Labelle shoots up, trying to break free from the hold that Claymore has on him, using the angles to his advantage to slip free. Behind Claymore now, Labelle connects with a reverse Russian Legsweep, sending Claymore crashing face first into the canvas. Labelle then rolls Claymore over and goes for the cover, with Nixon beginning his count.

ONE!

TWO!

DING DING

Richard Parker: Labelle has won!

Nick Stuart: Nope, that’s the end of the second round!

Richard Parker: Son of a bitch!

Nick Stuart: Once again, a save by the bell to end the round!

Labelle is beside himself that the round ended before Nixon could finish the count. Claymore is dazed as he rolls away from Labelle, thankful for having the chance to go forward into the third round. Nixon orders Labelle to his corner, not in the mood for Luc yelling at him.

Nick Stuart: Both competitors taking a much needed breather before the start of the third and final round.

Richard Parker: I hope this one doesn’t go to a decision. It’s been too close to ensure Labelle gets the victory. He needs to put Claymore down in this third round.

Nick Stuart: I’m sure Claymore is thinking the same thing.

Nixon orders both men back to the center of the ring before signaling for the start of the third and final round.

DING DING

Labelle charges out aggressively, but as he does, Claymore lands a superkick flush with Labelle’s jaw, stunning the Alias Champion right where he stands. Blaze then grabs Claymore by the wrist and whips him into the corner before connecting with a running Yakuza kick in the corner! Labelle slumps into a seated position in the corner as Claymore rises to his feet.

Richard Parker: Claymore has come out firing to start this third round. That’s not good.

Nick Stuart: No it isn’t as Claymore is moving to the opposite corner! He had Labelle all figured out and this could be the end for Claymore!

Claymore rushes forward before connecting with the Bronco Buster in the corner on Labelle!

Nick Stuart: The Blockbuster! Claymore has got Labelle up against the ropes here and Labelle is out of it!

Richard Parker: I think I heard Labelle call a time out. Give it to him Nixon!

Nick Stuart: There are no time outs!

Richard Parker: Damnit!

Labelle gets to his feet, dazed. Blaze takes several steps backwards before executing a running step-up axe kick that connects, sending Luc crashing to the mat.

Nick Stuart: The HollyWOOOOOO! Could this be it?! Are we about to crown a new Alias Champion?!

Richard Parker: Don’t do this, Nixon, don’t do it!

Claymore rolls Labelle onto his back and hooks the leg for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: He has done it! Claymore has won the Alias Championship!

Richard Parker: Noooooooooooooooooooo!

Claymore gets to his feet, in shock and surprise, as Elvis Nixon grabs his wrist and hoists him arm into the air!

Vince Howard: Your winner… and NEW ALIAS CHAMPION! BLAZE! CLAYMOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!

Nick Stuart: And Blaze can’t believe it! He’s dropped onto his knees and is in shock!

Richard Parker: We all are, Blaze had no business winning this match!

Nick Stuart: I think you’re wrong and the fact that Blaze has the title is proof of that!

Nixon brings over the title and awards it to Claymore, who takes it and can’t believe this. He holds the title and rolls out of the ring, going into the crowd, celebrating with them on this historic win for him.

Nick Stuart: His first championship!

Richard Parker: Winning it is easy, defending it is hard.

Nick Stuart: Luc Labelle can attest to that!

ReVival moves on as we see Claymore celebrating his victory!

Backstage at the PNC Arena, we cut to the Anglo Luchador in the hallway, dressed in tights and mask in anticipation for his match against Steve Harrison later but with a tee-shirt that reads “Still waiting for Fish Fund to air” and sneakers. He’s doing some light stretching until he spots something on the ground.

A crisp twenty-dollar bill.

TAL: Oooh, could it be? Colossus has come early?

The Luchador inches over to the bill but stops in his tracks.

TAL: Wait a second. Kinda convenient the wager for my match against Kenneth “Kenny” Freeman at Colossus is right there, on the floor, in front of me while I’m stretching at the PNC Arena here in Raleigh, North Carolina.

The crowd roars offscreen at the cheap pop.

Voice: Yes, but think of it as doubling your winnings! It’s a bonus twenty!

TAL: That’s right, Inner Monologue! I can have FORTY dollars and…

The Luchador stops dead in his tracks again.

TAL: Hey WAIT A SECOND! My Inner Monologue sounds like me, not like a Turkish National.

The Luchador turns around to find a thickly-mustachioed man behind him.

TAL: Goddammit, Suleimon, how long were you standing behind me?

Captain Suleimon: I’ll never tell. I do work here, you know.

TAL: Okay, what’s your job then?Suleimon pulls his collar and then bolts off in the opposite direction.

TAL: Why do I attract all the weirdos?

He shakes his head and looks back upon the twenty-dollar bill on the floor in front of him.

TAL: But he does make a good point. I could have DOUBLE the money if I pick this crisp bill up off the floor, so I think I’ll do exactly that!

The Luchador rubs his hands together, bends over, and leans in to pick up the Andrew Jackson before…

FWOOP

TAL: What in the feathers of Quetzalcoatl?!?!?!

The bill scoots away from The Luchador down the hall.

TAL: Why I oughtta…

He gives chase, but each time, the bill flicks away from him further and further down the hall. Enemigos stare at him like they’d just seen the ghost of their comrade Enemigo II. Stagehands facepalm as he passes them by. Fritz Freling, Chuck Jones, and Mel Blanc all roll over in their graves simultaneously at the Luchador falling for the oldest trick in their animation book. Finally, the bill FWOOPS into a locker room, right up off the floor, and suspended in the air off a fishing line that had blended into the floor of the PNC Arena. The fishing pole is held by none other than…

TAL: Oh Jesus Christ, you two?

…Randall Schwartz, who stands right next to Kenny Freeman.

Randall Schwartz: It’s the perfect plan. NO ONE WILL EVER KN—uh…

The Entertainer turns his attention to Kenny with a concerned look on his face.

Randall Schwartz: He can see us, can’t he?

Kenny Freeman: Yep.

Randall drops the fishing rod, pointing to Kenny in a panic.

Randall Schwartz: He told me to do it!

Kenny just rolls his eyes at this.

TAL: Honestly, looking back on everything, it doesn’t matter who told whom to do what because you kinda succeeded.

The Masters of the Moscowverse look at each other baffled as to what the Luchador might mean.

TAL: I mean, one, you have demonstrated that you do have the twenty dollars and that when I win at Colossus, you’ll be able to hand it right over to me. And two, well, now that I think about it, I was chasing a twenty-dollar bill attached to a fishing line down a hallway. I have egg on my face pretty bad.

Kenny Freeman: Ya hear that, Randall? Guess we finally found the man with yolk on his face.

Randall nods with a sly smirk, but is quickly cut off by the Luchador.

TAL: Well, that’s all well and good, but I feel like I should probably do something in retaliation. What do you guys think?

The pair take a moment to ponder this, before Randall responds.

Randall Schwartz: I think you should, uh…

His voice trails off as The Entertainer thinks some more, before pointing down the hallway.

Randall Schwartz: Look, over there! A dancing catfish!

The Luchador keeps a stone-faced expression while crossing his arms.

TAL: Just because I fell for that in Acapulco in 2011 doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for it again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Randall Schwartz: Masters, away!

And just like that, the Luchador turns back around to find that the Masters are, in fact, away.

TAL: Why me.

We move elsewhere.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a handicap match! Introducing first, already in the ring and accompanied by Fred Dick… MIGUEL! TODDRICK! Theeeeee LAAAAAAAAAAASAGNA BOYYYYYYYYYSSSSSSssssss!!

Toddrick immediately begins posturing. Meanwhile, his partner Miguel appears a bit more reserved.

Vince Howard: And their opp…

Vince is quickly cut off.

Snark Darkly walks out onto the stage moving in a strange, slightly offputting way. Hard to say what it is about his movement that seems so disturbing it’s something. The crowd here in Raleigh, North Carolina begins to reign down boos. Lifting a microphone to his lips, Snark smiles broadly, the corners of his mouth stretching just beyond where human lips limits should be.

Snark Darkly: Introducing my client… Accompanied to the ring by the Son of Scions, Sutler Reynolds-Kael and the Bolognese Bull!

Out of the shadows next to Snark stalks the long haired SRK. This youthful wrestler stands in stark contrast to his adopted father maintaining a smaller, leaner frame and black gear highlighted by bright pinks and purples. He’s also pretty emo so he looks sad and stuff. He is followed by the lumbering giant, the Bolognese Bull, who bellows on the stage, beating his chest.

Snark Darkly: Standing at Six-Foot-Four-Inches and weighing in at Two-Hundred-Sixty-Five pounds… the reigning Mayor of Arkham… MAAAAAXIMILLIAN. WILHELM. KAAAAAAAAEL!

The lights in the arena cut out, an ominous, low sound drowning out the Colonial Life Arena’s booing.

“You should see me in a CROWN!”

As Elephant Gun Riot’s metal cover of “You Should See Me In A Crown” roars out at the PNC Arena the lights on the stage flicker back on. Standing in the center of the stage with his iron crown upon his head is Mayor Maximillian Wilhelm Kael. Wearing an atrocious smile that bisects his long face, Max lifts his arms above his head.

“I’m gonna run this nothing town,

Watch me make’em bow

One by One by… ONE

One by one by…”

Max glissades his way to the ring in rhythm with the song paying little to no attention to the crowd’s hostility. Lost in his own mad vision of the world around him, Kael moves to the angry music shadowed by Sutler who has chosen not to join Max in dancing. Unless scowling is considered a dance move, then Sutler is cutting a rug. The Bolognese Bull stomps down, hateful eyes staring toward the ring.

Reaching the edge of the ring, Max moves to the steps before climbing them slowly. He wipes his boots off before ascending the turnbuckle, raising both of his hands upward. The SRK sighs and takes a seat on the steps hoping to wait out the rest of the intro. BB stalks around the ring, snarling and roaring at the people at ringside.

“You should see me in a CROWN!

Your silence is my favorite sound

Watch me make’em bow

One by one by ONE

One by one by oooone!”

Slithering down the turnbuckle and into the ring, Max slinks to the center where he removes his crown, holding it high above his head, a wretched laugh spilling from his gaping smile. The music slowly fades while the arena lights return to their original radiance. Max tosses his crown out to Sutler who catches it. Max immediately slithers back out of the ring, avoiding Jimmy Turnbull.

Nick Stuart: Jimmy Turnbull trying to get the attention of one Max Kael so this match can officially get underway.

Only Max doesn’t seem to be paying the referee any mind. In fact, it would appear as though he is deliberately ignoring everything that the referee has to say.

This blatant disrespect is enough to rustle up ol Toddrick’s jimmies. Rustle ‘em up real good. This is why our resident stiff-legged lasagna lad is shouting a whole mess of obscenities out to the arena floor.

Nick Stuart: Fans, I feel like now is a good time to bring up that this match came about through a bit of an online feud between Max Kael and Toddrick here.

Richard Parker: Toddrick who jumped off a building.

Nick Stuart: Uh, right.

Richard Parker: Bastion of good ideas, that guy.

Miguel tries to get his partner to back off, because he’s not really keen on dying today, and in doing so he catches a glimpse of the fourth figure in the ring. One that, until just a few minutes ago, he didn’t know existed.

Lasagna Boys, meet the Bolognese Bull. Bolognese Bull, these are the Lasagna Boys. Now everyone play nice together and OH GOD NO WHY!

The Bolognese Bull, a lumbering mountain of man and meat sauce, storms across the ring towards the Boys. Miguel, being the only one of the two with all of his limbs fully functional, manages to dive out of the way. Toddrick isn’t so lucky. He’s body blocked hard, sent airborne, and lands with a thud against the nearby turnbuckles.

Nick Stuart: Max Kael risking a disqualification right here in the opening minutes of this match.

Richard Parker: Disqualification? Seriously?

Nick Stuart: This… I guess his name is the Bolognese Bull? He just attacked Toddrick!

Richard Parker: Sure, but I didn’t hear no bell, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Well, still. There’s no honor in this, Richard.

Richard Parker: Wait, were you expecting Max Kael – our beloved mayor of Arkham – to fight honorably?

Nick Stuart: …alright, good point.

Jimmy Turnbull moves to try and get the Bull out of the ring, but he stops just short of the monster and brings up a hand to cover his mouth. There appears to be a scent emanating from the behemoth, and given Turnbull’s reaction it’s one not much different from the “garlic flavored corpse” stink of the dumpster behind your local Sketti Bucket.

Toddrick stumbles out of the corner only to have a massive hand clamped around his throat. The Bolognese Bull brings the Boy bodily up beyond the bounds of the boards. Toddrick tries to kick the titan away, but the limited mobility in his legs means they just kinda twitch in the air. Before Miguel can intervene, Toddrick is driven into the canvas with a massive chokeslam.

For his part, Max looks very pleased with the way things are progressing. He also doesn’t look to be in any hurry to get into the ring himself. In contrast, Fred Dick is apoplectic, which is a word that he probably does not know how to spell.

Nick Stuart: Here comes Miguel to save his partner!

Richard Parker: Miguel should spend his time trying to save himself.

The Bull grabs Miguel by the throat with one hand and the waistband with the other, and lifts him up high into the air, then brings him down right on top of Toddrick. Because it doesn’t matter if you’re alive or the reanimated corpse of a meat sauce man, when you get the chance to beat a motherfucker with another motherfucker you do NOT pass that up.

The Bull doesn’t break his grip, and for good measure he picks Miguel up one more time, and then uses him like a weapon once more to smash him down on top of Toddrick.

Finally, after enjoying the spectacle, Max waves the Bull away. He unceremoniously drops Miguel (who lands right on top of Toddrick one more time) before lumbering out of the ring. Jimmy Turnbull follows, admonishing him the entire way, so that he’ll be able to look himself in the mirror later and at least pretend he tried.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: What? We’re actually having a match after all that?!

Richard Parker: Hey, everyone here is a consenting adult. They all signed the contract. And the waiver.

Nick Stuart: What waiver?!

Richard Parker: Oh, sorry. I’m thinking of The Bad Place.

Max immediately rolls Miguel away and covers Toddrick, looking for the easy victory.

ONE!

Nick Stuart: Well, this might go down as the shortest match in PRIME history.

TWO!

Richard Parker: Does the time the Intruders stole the ring bell count?

Nick Stuart: No.

THR-

Miguel, more out of instinct than anything else, makes the save. He runs across the ring and throws himself like a torpedo at Kael in an attempt to shove him off of his fellow Lasagna Boy. It’s a move that, given Miguel’s recent begging for Max to not kill them, catches the Mayor of Arkham by surprise.

Richard Parker: Why would he willingly try to prolong this?!

It looks like Miguel is wondering the same thing, but he doesn’t get to wonder long as Max quickly gets to his feet and tosses Miguel between the ropes to the outside.

Nick Stuart: I guess that makes Toddrick the legal man.

Richard Parker: You mean the fact that the referee just counted a pin on him didn’t give it away?

Having temporarily removed one Lasagna Boy from the equation, Max turns his attention back to Toddrick. He picks his online nemesis up off the mat, and backs him into the ropes. Then he does the cruellest thing he can imagine at that moment.

He sends Toddrick across the ring with an Irish whip.

Toddrick, who has braces on both legs that prevent his knees from bending.

Unable to control himself, Toddrick is forced to do the loopy-leg goofy run across the ring. Have you ever seen clips of those lizards who run all bowlegged on top of water so they don’t break the surface tension and fall in? It’s kind of like that. Toddrick hits the opposite ropes, rebounds, and his momentum forces him to run the other way.

Max Kael simply steps aside and watches the show.

After watching Toddrick make a few trips back and forth across the whole ring, cursing up a cloud of profanity the entire time, Max dives out in front of him. Toddrick tries to jump, but the result of more of a Pete Rose slide across the ring. He’s met by his manager, trainer, and brainwasher for a little moral support.

Nick Stuart: I think Fred Dick just handed something to Toddrick!

A little moral support, and also the hammer that goes with the ring bell.

Meanwhile, Miguel has made it up onto the ring apron, and keeps having to scoot away from the Bolognese Bull who stalks ever closer. This prompts Jimmy Turnbull to try and do his job, giving team ‘Sagna an opening. When Max reaches down to pick up Toddrick, he’s met by a pair of very unpleasant surprises.

WHACK

Nick Stuart: Toddrick just hit Max in the forehead with that bell hammer!

WHUMP

OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH

Nick Stuart: And that one caught him… uhh…

Richard Parker: Right in the Farthington Jizz Pods!

Max staggers back and then falls to the mat. Toddrick quickly slides the hammer back towards Fred, and then tries to get to his feet. The braces on his legs make that incredibly difficult, so he’s forced to log roll over to the ropes towards Miguel.

Jimmy Turnbull: Tag!

Despite still being very concerned about dying, the current situation presents an opportunity that Miguel simply cannot pass up. He lands a few very exaggerated elbow drops on Max, and then winds up his slappin’ hands.

Nick Stuart: The Lasagna Boys are getting their first real offense of this match!

Instead of continuing to press the advantage, Miguel prepares. He stands by the opposite ropes with one hand raised in the air, as if he’s measuring Max for something. When Kael gets to his feet, Miguel hurls himself at the ropes to build up some momentum, and then comes charging across the ring.

Miguel: BLOODMOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHSHIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTT

But Max is ready. He sidesteps the charging Miguel, takes hold of him, and uses that momentum to run him back to his own corner and throw him over the top rope.

Jimmy Turnbull: Tag!

Nick Stuart: What?!

Richard Parker: You heard the man, Nick.

Unfortunately for Toddrick, Miguel’s hand was outstretched due to his attempt at hitting one of his manager/trainer/brainwasher’s signature moves. Which means that it connected with Toddrick just before Miguel was thrown over the ropes and to the floor.

Nick Stuart: I can’t believe the referee counted that as a legal tag.

Richard Parker: Nick, you and I once watched a referee count Wyatt Connors accidentally forearming BloodAngel in the dick as a legal tag. This is nothing by comparison.

Nick Stuart: But still though.

Max does wait for Toddrick to enter the ring on his own accord, instead pulling him over the ropes and to the mat. Toddrick tries to scramble to his feet, an act that is very tricky for, well… You know why.

Richard Parker: I think playtime is over, Nick.

CRACK

Nick Stuart: Reality Bending Elbow!

Richard Parker: Welp. Toddrick is down on the canvas again.

Nick Stuart: Max Kael moving into position… There’s the Madame Guillotine! Toddrick has nowhere to go!

Fred Dick is torn between trying to shout motivation to Toddrick, rouse Miguel to help his partner, or even enter the ring himself. Unfortunately, any help would come too late.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: There wasn’t a lot Toddrick could do there, Richard. With his mobility compromised he had no choice but to tap out.

Richard Parker: Look, I’m going to be honest here. The Lasagna Boys were up against it right off the bat thanks to the Bolognese Bull. Also it doesn’t help that one member of their team was terrified of their opponent, and the other was Lieutenant Dan.

Nick Stuart: Lieutenant…?

Richard Parker: He got magic legs.

Outside the ring, Fred Dick consoles his brainwashed thralls as best he can, leaving Max and his entourage to celebrate.

ReVival moves elsewhere.

As ReVival returns to air, we open on junior interviewer SIMON TILLIER standing in the middle of the ring.

Simon Tillier: Ahoy, mateys! As ye landlubbers can see, I’m a PIRATE!

He presumably greets both the live audience and the viewers at home in this fashion because of the lime-green uTorrent logo on our dear Simon’s t-shirt.

Right away, he looks agitated.

Simon Tillier: Happy Halloween to PRIME, and whatnot. Hope everyone’s having a nice, friendly annual cosplay holiday, thinly veiled as yet another branch of an authoritarian system that distracts the public with sugary snacks and escapism. Masking our identities and prowling the night out of shame for who we really are. Grinding through this corrupt society to beg for treats, when we know the only reward is just more tricks. The oppressors stomp us beneath their boots, then dare tell us to smell their feet.

He shakes his head.

Simon Tillier: Well, I say, “NO!” I don’t smell feet any more than I lick boots! So you can either give me something good to eat, or you pigs can take your oligarchal regime and STUFF IT! How about it!? Am I RIGHT?! YEAH?!?

The junior interviewer’s call for action is mostly met with blank stares and murmurs of confusion.

Simon Tillier: Ah, for crying out–do you people even READ anymore?! Whatever, let’s just get through this… hey-hey kids, “Rhymin’” Simon here, and I’ve got something to say. In the ring, of all places. “You can’t just do it backstage?” Ms. Troy’s exact words when I pitched this idea to her. “To prove a point,” I said back. ‘Cause for what it’s worth, I don’t disagree. In fact, I feel in-ring segments are why mainstream wrestling has become more akin to Greek tragedy than to actual sport. So on that note, let’s have a chat between two pure, no-nonsense wrestlers competing over a pure, no-nonsense title. I’m sure there will be no drama whatsoever…

Hard eye-roll, as he motions to the entryway.

Simon Tillier: Ladies and gentlemen, joining me at this time… the man who will challenge for the coveted Five Star Championship at Colossus… SCOTT HUNTER!!

A switch flips as the name is announced, and the PNC comes alive with a thunderous roar!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

Survivor’s “Burning Heart” pumps through the PA. The Raleigh wrestling faithful STOMP in time to the rhythm. Pulsating blue and yellow lights fill up the stage as a mulleted figure appears through a wall of spoOOOoky fog.

SCOTT HUNTER emerges to a massive pop, dressed in the classic red karate gi of Ken from Street Fighter. He spends a moment on the stage working the crowd while pointing out the variety of signs in the crowd that read “SCOTT RULES!” and “HUNTERMANIA IS RUNNIN’ WILD!”

After a beat, his faithful furry companion Kerry Koalayama rolls out in his Rascal scooter. The Eucalyptic Apex perfectly complements Hunter’s choice in costume with his fur dyed jungle green to emulate Blanka, also from Street Fighter.

Hunter claps hands with the fans, reaching across the barricade as he descends the ramp and walks the aisle. His smile widens as the crowd’s energy washes over him. Koalayama tails him in his scooter, high as fuck and barely capable of operating the controls with his two-thumbed paws, but somehow keeping up.

Reaching the ring, Hunter carefully assists his marsupial sidekick through the ropes before himself climbing the steps and stepping in.

Simon Tillier: Good evening, Scott… feeling good tonight?

Scott looks Simon up and down, then smiles.

Scott Hunter: Yes, of course, but I am a little disappointed in you. I realize you probably had to rush right over here from your other job at Long John Silver’s, but I would have expected you to put in a little bit of effort to get into the spirit of the season. But, putting that aside, I’m in a decent mood so far. We’ll see how the rest of this goes.

Simon Tillier: Sure, sure… well, it goes without saying that you’ve been on a hot streak as of late. As I understand it, you’re now over SIXTY days undefeated, with your last big win going down two weeks ago against none other than the Amasy winner himself, Chandler Tsonda.

Scott Hunter: Yes, it was quite a difficult match. Channy Boo is quite the difficult opponent, having won the Almasy and being the former Universal Champion, and I think he also won his bowling league this year. It felt good getting such a big win, for sure. It feels like all of my hard work is really starting to pay off.

Simon Tillier: You may be right about that. But as we all know, your success has put you on the road to Colossus, where you will challenge for the Five Star Championship… currently held by your VVingman, Vae Victis associate, and close friend, “The Emerald Apex” Kerry Kuroyama!

Scott tries his best to keep his head on his shoulders, but they slump just a tad.

Scott Hunter: Yes, it’s true. It will be quite a difficult challenge for me. I know very well how good he is, and I know how much the Five-Star Championship means to him.

Simon Tillier: Real quick, let’s review what happened two weeks ago at the last ReVival…

Tillier motions to the PRIME*View, and Hunter looks. The screen flickers to life as it replays footage from ReVival 77, with a complementary “Two Weeks Ago” bug in the upper corner for those who have trouble keeping time.

…

STOMP!

The champion screams. Hanlon stomps again!

STOMP!

And again!

STOMP!

Barlow grabs Hanlon’s arm, trying to pull him away.

“HAYES! STOP IT! IT’S OVER!”

Hanlon shoves her aside—not violently, but firmly enough to move her out of his way. He’s lost control. The beast has fully taken over. He delivers one more stomp to Kuroyama’s ankle before finally stepping back.

STOMP!

Nick Stuart: That is absolutely sickening from Hanlon!

Richard Parker: I don’t think it is. You’re overreacting.

Hanlon drags Kerry to his feet and goes to whip him into the ropes, looking for The Epoch.

Yet, before anything else can happen…

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: SCOTT HUNTER IS HERE! SCOTT IS RACING DOWN THE RAMP!

Richard Parker: Run, Hayes, run!

Hanlon quickly slips out of the ring, an evil grin on his face, as he looks up at the #1 Contender for the Five Star Championship. He waves at him as he makes his way up the ramp.

…

The PRIME*View goes dead. Simon turns back to Scott.

Simon Tillier: Clearly, after that last title defense, the disqualified Hayes Hanlon was intent on leaving some lasting damage to the retaining Five Star Champion. You, however, were having none of that. One might think you’d have a better advantage if Kerry Kuroyama walked into Colossus at less than one hundred percent. So why stop Hanlon from doing something that might end up working in your favor?

Scott frowns.

Scott Hunter: You know, I only just now realized how ugly and stupid you are, Simon. Only ugly or stupid people would ask such a ridiculous question, so you may even be both of those things. Ugly. And stupid. But assuming you are not ugly or stupid, I will answer the question for you. Your dumb, stupid, dumb question. Kerry Kuroyama is my best friend. How difficult is that for you to understand? He’s my best friend. You don’t let someone beat up your best friend.

Ignoring the insults, Simon nods approvingly.

Simon Tillier: Okay, um… I’ll just give House Hunter a hundred Punk Rock Points for that. On that note, many of us want to know, where do things currently stand between you and Kerry Kuroyama?

Scott Hunter: To be honest, I don’t really know. He’s the one who wanted to train separately. That wasn’t my idea. Maybe you should ask him.

Simon Tillier: Well, Scott, not a bad idea. Let’s see what he has to say for himself. Ladies and gentlemen, here is… KERRY KUROYAMA!!

All eyes turn to the stage as “Blouses Blue” hits the house speakers.

A moment passes. Followed by another. Then a few. In the ring, Scott looks anxious, while Simon appears impatient.

Finally, the title on his shoulder, the Five Star Champion emerges from behind the curtain. Clad in a black tracksuit with the tricolor of his school, Dojo Cascadia, KERRY KUROYAMA spends a long beat standing in the entry-way, pensively staring back at Scott in the ring…

…then without warning, he suddenly lurches forward as AMI TROY shoves him the rest of the way out.

The Merry Mischief Maker wears the blue dress and white apron of Alice (from the Wonderland variety) while ensnarled in a mess of chains, in addition to having a stuffed red rooster perched on her shoulder. To much approval from the crowd, “Alice in Chains” (nyuk-nyuk) insistently points Kuroyama to the ring.

Swallowing hard, Kerry marches on toward his fate. He remains emotionless on the trip to the ring while Ami tails after him, both egging him on and working the crowd into believing something BIG is about to go down.

As they enter the ring, Ami immediately crosses over to Scott and greets him with a friendly hug, then goes to pet Koalayama. Kerry awkwardly panders about his side of the ring, looking stiff and uncomfortable.

Simon Tillier: Thanks for coming out here, Kerry. Let’s get right into it, guys. At Colossus, the MegaVVings EXPLODE when the two of you compete for that Five Star Championship.

Close-up on the belt draped over Kuroyama’s shoulder.

Simon Tillier: Kerry, we just heard from Scott. And, as we just reviewed, two weeks ago, he stopped Hayes Hanlon from shattering THEM BONES in that ankle of yours.

He nods to Ami.

Simon Tillier: So now that the two of you are finally face to face, is there anything you have to say to your VVingman here tonight?

Kuroyama sets his jaw as he mulls over his answer. After a beat, he leans in over Simon’s microphone.

Kerry Kuroyama: …thanks, Scott.

The crowd groans dejectedly.

Simon Tillier: Hang on, that’s it?! Look, for weeks we’ve all been watching Scott walk around to “Arthur’s Theme,” being all down in the dumps, and it’s clearly because you’ve made the request to train separately. And all you have to offer back to him is a half-hearted “thanks?!” 

Kuroyama says nothing.

Simon Tillier: I take it this is all part of your master plan? You cut off communication with your best friend so that you can psych him out before the big match? Maybe you’re the one looking for the advantage…

Kerry sets his glare on the interviewer.

Simon Tillier: Could it be you’ve just grown jealous of the rise of Huntermania, Kerry? Is this your passive-aggressive way of punishing him for stealing a bit of your shine?

Kuroyama snaps, grabbing Tillier by the wrist to pull the mic to his lips.

Kerry Kuroyama: You think I’m enjoying this?!

Simon shrinks and hands over the microphone. Kerry turns his attention directly to his VVingman.

Kerry Kuroyama: I’m going to level with you, Scott… I know you’ve missed me, and I’ve missed you, too. These past couple of months have been hell without you hanging around. Suggesting we split up… had to have been one of the most painful things I’ve had to put myself through in a long time. But I still feel it was justified, because honestly, dude, even though you are my best friend, this match has me torn, in a way that makes me feel overwhelmed by guilt and dread when I look at your face.

Kuroyama bites his lip as he tries to formulate the words.

Kerry Kuroyama: The truth is, Scott, I know what this match means to you. Everyone wrote you off as an underdog to guys like Harrison, Hanlon, and Tsonda. But not me. I have NOT been sleeping on “Huntermania.” From Day One, I’ve watched it steadily grow into a force that can’t be denied. You’ve put in the work. You’ve dedicated yourself to improving. You GOT SURRIOUS, and now the world is only coming around to seeing what I saw in you from the beginning.

He nods and deliberately points into Hunter’s chest.

Kerry Kuroyama: Given everything you put into this, I can say in all confidence that you deserve to be a champion, Scott! You deserve to have your moment of triumph at Colossus! From the kid who grew up watching PRIME, to becoming one of its champions… I want that for you, Scott! Especially knowing everything that’s going on in your life right now! I want your family to witness you finally achieve your dreams! I want to be there in your corner, cheering you on, the way you were there for me these past couple years!

His downcast gaze settles on the championship belt hanging on his shoulder.

Kerry Kuroyama: Problem is, Scott… I’m the one holding the belt. And I’m not ready for my moment to be over.

He shakes his head as anguish fills his face.

Kerry Kuroyama: Which is why instead of standing in your corner, I have to stand in your way. Instead of supporting you, I have to try and disappoint you. Instead of helping you achieve your dreams, I have to ruin them. And that… that doesn’t sit right with me, brother…

Kerry looks at Scott, who looks down for a moment. After a moment, he looks back up and asks for the microphone.

Scott Hunter: You know, I got dressed up for the holidays, wore my Ken costume, Little Kerry has his Blanka costume on, and I was totally gonna SHORYUKEN! Simon right over the top rope to the floor, but suddenly, I’m not really in the holiday spirit.

Simon *gulps*.

Scott Hunter: I don’t understand why you’re making this so complicated. I don’t understand why we can’t just go and have a match. One of us has to win and one of us has to lose, but it doesn’t have to be the end of the world. Maybe I just don’t get it. I don’t get why this means anything more than two people who respect each other climbing into the ring, giving it everything we’ve got, and letting the cards fall where they may.

Scott lets the microphone drop to his side for a moment, then something occurs to him.

Scott Hunter: Unless… unless Simon’s right. You know, I was just remembering something you said to me once. It was when we were training together before my second match with the Russian. You said, ‘you’re the star, Scott,’ and I don’t think you were too happy to say it. You played it off, but I just noticed something else. What was it you said a few seconds ago? You’re not ready for your moment to be over? Instead of helping me achieve my dreams, you have to ruin them? You have to ruin them? You have to? Are you sure you don’t want to? Are you sure that deep down you don’t think I need to be knocked down a peg or two?

Kerry shakes his head firmly, ‘no,’ but he says nothing.

Scott Hunter: Probably looking too deeply into that, huh? Yeah, I’m probably wrong there. So in that case, let’s just do it the way I said. Let’s have a nice, friendly competition, wish each other the best, go out to the ring at Colossus, and show ‘em what we’ve got. And no matter what happens, when we get back to the dressing room, we celebrate the winner, no matter which one of us that is.

Scott lowers the microphone again and holds his hand out for a shake.

Kerry looks down, but hesitates. His face twists through several emotions, reluctant, conflicted, unsure. After a moment, he slowly starts to reach out. But, seeing the hesitation, it’s Scott who pulls back and raises the microphone one last time, a look of intense disappointment all over his face.

Scott Hunter: Doesn’t work for you, does it?

Kerry sighs, not knowing what to say or do.

Scott Hunter: You know? I just thought you were gonna be a better friend than that.

Scott drops the microphone to the mat, head down. The crowd boos as Kerry looks up in exasperation, but can’t bring himself to say or do anything. Simon is stunned. The crowd is stunned. Ami is looking back and forth between the two of them. Scott shakes his head without giving his best friend another look, then walks past him and rolls out of the ring, all of his usual joyful exuberance completely gone.

Simon Tillier: BROOOOOOOO, that was WEAK! Minus, like, two thousand Punk Rock Points to House Kuroyama!

Kuroyama watches with despondence as his VVingman exits up the rampway. He briefly looks down at the belt, and, in a moment of decision, reaches for something in the pocket of his tracksuit.

He pulls out what looks like a red sash.

Kerry Kuroyama: Wait, Scott…

Kuroyama ties the sash around his head like a headband and frantically begins unzipping the tracksuit.

Kerry Kuroyama: WAIT!

He tears off the jacket and pulls down the pants, revealing himself to be wearing a WHITE KARATE GI underneath!

Kerry Kuroyama: Look, Scott! I didn’t forget to dress up! I’m RYU! From Street Fighters One through Six! It was meant to be a surprise! Scott!!

His words fall on deaf ears, as Hunter has long disappeared behind the curtain.

ReVival moves on.

Words appear in the lower right corner.

Silver Lining Gym
Seattle, Washington
Earlier this afternoon

We open to what appears to be a highly-upgraded pro wrestling-themed gym. State of the art training equipment. Brand-spanking-new wrestling ring with a cerulean-blue mat and black ring ropes.

The lights in said gym suddenly go dark.

A moment passes…

(voice): PRIME… long time, no see. Been a minute since Nova and I beat the brakes off each other.

And a spotlight shines in the ring with a familiar face that earlier fans of PRIME and current fans of DEFIANCE know allllllll too well.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

The fans watching in attendance can’t help but make noise!

Nick Stuart: Oh, my God! Richard… that’s PRIME Hall of Famer Sonny Silv…

Richard Parker: Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME!

Nick Stuart: …ver. How do you still do that after all these years?

In a dark charcoal suit and burgundy tie, he holds out his hand and waits for the OLD SKOOL MIC to drop from the ceiling.

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: Mic.

Nothing happens.

He waves his hand a little more frantically.

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: AHEM… MIC, ASSHOLE!

With a heavy sigh, one of Sonny Silver’s students pushes a stepladder next to the PRIME Hall of Famer with a microphone in hand. He slowly climbs up the rungs of the stepladder and then dangles a regular microphone from just above for him to grab like the OLD SKOOL MIC of years before. Father PRIME snatches it out of his hand, then points at the door.

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: GET OUT OF MY RING, ASSHOLE! YOU DON’T LEAVE ME HANGING EVER! I AM PRIME’S LORD AND SAVIOR!

The student scurries off and leaves the self-proclaimed Chairman of PRIME alone.

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: Ahem… PRIME. For those who don’t know me… hit yourself over the head with a flat rock because OF COURSE YOU KNOW ME! Other mortals have referred to me as Father PRIME. The most Intense of Intense Champions! Former Universal Champion! For you lowly mortals whose eyes normally burn when watching wrestling greatness firsthand, I’ve chosen a form that most PRIME fans may know. I am Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME!

While his actual, factual chairman position has been called into question, what hasn’t is his ability to talk out of his ass.

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: Like I said… it’s been a minute. Me and Lindsay aren’t seeing eye-to-eye this week… don’t worry, we’ll be back to regular frenemies. It’s almost Christmas, after all…. But I gotta say. I love what LT’s done with the place for the most part. Keeping it in great working order… I still see Wade Elliott and Ta-chew still work here. Great to see some familiar faces I’ve kicked in once upon a time. We gotta catch up…

He clears his throat.

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: But unlike 99.9% of the time… this moment isn’t about me. Well, it isn’t JUST about me. It’s about something that’s looming on the horizon. A little thing called… oh… the PRIME/DEFIANCE Crossover show on January 9th! That thing!

He pauses, which gives the PRIMEates in attendance (and DEFIANTS watching) time to react with cheers!

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: Now my in-ring days have pretty much come and gone. Burned out bright and kicked a SHIT-TON OF ASS doing it! You know… PRIME Intense Champion! I beat Garbage Bag Johnny! PRIME Universal Champion! Kicked LINDSAY TROY’S ASS FOR IT! PRIME Hall of Famer! Laid the groundwork for everything you see around you today… but these days, my talents are on training talent… and managing talent. And right now, I’m managing a very SPECIAL talent. A SPECIAL talent that has his eyes on that PRIME/DEFIANCE Crossover show!

Another pause.

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: And these days, I’m honored to speak on behalf of that man right now that DEFINES PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING. That’s all caps, by the way. Not that lowercase bullshit. He DEFINES DEFIANCE. In fact… some might say he IS DEFIANCE. I’d like to introduce to you, my counterpart in DEFIANCE! The Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME in DEFIANCE form…

He moves out of the way…

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: Introducing… all caps for you lowercase neanderthals… OSCAR! BURNS!

The camera pans to a second spotlight in the ring behind him, back turned to the camera. A green cape hides his presence, but on the cape reads a phrase that all DEFIANCE fans are familiar with.

ALL CAPS.
ALL GRAPS. 

Turning around to face the people for the first time, the dapper and chiseled form of the former two-time FIST of DEFIANCE is squeezed into a custom dark green tailored suit, white designer eyewear and brown loafers cause BURNS don’t mess with laces unless they are his wrestling boots. The New Zealander’s presence gets him a HUGE mixed reaction from the PRIMEates in attendance.

OSCAR BURNS: Appreciate the kind words, GC!

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: All good. Drop some knowledge on ‘em.

Father PRIME steps back behind OSCAR BURNS to let him have the time.

OSCAR BURNS: PRIME… after these past few years of sitting side by side with DEFIANCE! Wondering who’s better! Wondering what would happen if the proverbial worlds collide, so to speak! January 9th, 2026 is that magnificent day! Won’t be long now! Matches are already being made! Stars from both promotions wanted to test their mettle against one another to see which one truly stands tall! And PRIME… now that I’m here?

He waves a dismissive hand up.

OSCAR BURNS: The pleasure’s all on YOUR bloody side of the camera. Not mine.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

OSCAR BURNS: For bloody MONTHS, MY promotion! MY home! MY land! The only promotion that can lay claim to being synonymous with the name OSCAR BLOODY BURNS… for months, I’ve to hear idiots in charge who also work with me in DEFIANCE talk this place up! I’ve had it up to my cape clamps with the disrespect against me and what I do! So now, I’ve got no choice… to protect my home, I have to walk over here and make my stand! You want to talk about how this place is some thriving wrestling mecca? You know what this place is to me? PRIME? Hardly! This place’s PRIME was back in TWO-THOUSAND AND EIGHT when my good friend here, Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME, MADE it that way!

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: Facts, as the kids say.

OSCAR BURNS: You know what ISN’T PRIME? Not a single damn bloody one of you GCs! In the time this place was down, DEFIANCE grew and thrived! And when PRIME came back from the dead, all you inferior wrestlers have done is try to play catch-up to ME and MY promotion! We’re grittier than you! We’re flashier than you! We CERTAINLY have better Graps than you and that’s just cause I’m like 95% of the great Graps we have and that’s a true stat, don’t bother trying to look it up! For years now, PRIME has been trying to BE DEFIANCE and I’m the only one with the stones to say it out loud, GCs! I’M the only one in this entire “partnership” between the two promotions to speak the truth! Your PRIME passed you all by. In fact… I’m not just DEFIANCE! I’m not just our fine parent company, FAVOURED SAINTS. I’m not just bloody PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING. Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME, if I may?

He whispers something into Father PRIME’s ear. Sonny nods and appears to give BURNSIE his blessing.

OSCAR BURNS: With the blessing of one of this company’s greatest athletes and Hall of Famers… I! AM! PRIME!

Smile.

OSCAR BURNS: Don’t worry, though… I don’t dare say these things if I can’t back them up. Ask your boss and she’ll be the first to tell you that I can back up everything I say. In fact… January 9th! Back to the whole reason I’m here! I want to see who in this company thinks they are PRIME enough… to beat PRIME! Anyone, anywhere, top to bottom! I don’t care who, I don’t care why… if you want to stick up for yourselves and try to prove me wrong about anything I’ve said tonight… consider this an open challenge!

An even wider smile as he holds his hands out!

OSCAR BURNS: JANUARY 9TH… PRIME… VERSUS… PRIME!

Behind him, The Chairman grins.

Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME: Your PRIME is up. His PRIME is now!

FIN.

ReVival moves on.

The PNC Arena may have been in the grips of spooky time overload on such a haunting night of ReVival, but the next few moments were going to be nothing of the sort even in the near vicinity as a spooktacular.

Nay, instead there was a simple black backdrop, and a man standing proudly in front of it, staring the camera directly down the lens in a manner that many viewers could find unsettling, so at least it was filling the Halloween quote in that respect. Draped from atop the shoulder of this man was the PRIME Universal Championship, because it is of course time to hear from Cecilworth Farthington. You could say it was Cecilworth Farthingtime.

Cecilworth stands, a haunting smile and almost dead eyes, just a light flicker inside, with a microphone in hand, adorned in a charcoal gray suit that is sparkling in a way that feels like it may not have been part of the design and instead some kind of Joe Fontaine run in earlier in the day.

The Universal Championship? As shiny as ever.

A brief clear of the throat and…

Cecilworth Farthington: Failure stings. Hell, it burns. A raging inferno runs up and down every part of your being. All that heat, nowhere to go. So, the question becomes what to do with that energy burning up inside of you. Do you let it fade away, dream of better days? Do you let it consume you, let the passion light the way, and perhaps change your fate.

Cecilworth takes a brief moment for a loving glance at his beautiful and sparkling Universal Championship.

Cecilworth Farthington: Unfortunately for Nate Colton, I knew at ReVival 77 I was in a horror of my own making. I had to prove myself to myself once more. I had to use all that fire in me after Tchu slapped that title into my skull and mold it to my advantage. Mold it I did, and it’s why I just managed to get my foot on the rope at the right time. If I didn’t have that failure holding a locked grip upon my heart, maybe Nate Colton is your Universal Champion right now, maybe I finally let my year of being beaten, bloodied and bruised conclude. Yet, no, Tchu unlocked some kind of magic inside of me.

Cecilworth pauses for a second, perhaps imagining someone singing out in the wind and letting their hair flow in a beautiful manner.

Cecilworth Farthington: Chandler Tsonda, two weeks ago, he experienced his own failure and yet I’m not certain how he will choose to mold it. See, Colossus is now ordained, there are no more exits, there is no more road, there is only the end of the line. Cecilworth Farthington versus Chandler Tsonda, Almasy winner vs. Universal Champion. A spectacle befitting of PRIME’s biggest show of the year. Two men who had their hearts broken in different ways at that very same event two years ago. It’s fitting we both found our way back to the very top. As if this is what the Universe always wanted, which it does, because as Universal Champion I can converse with the universe, it is part of the rules.

Cecilworth smiles into the camera but not in a way that would absolutely convince you he doesn’t believe what he just said, which I think we can all agree is incredibly concerning.

Cecilworth Farthington: You don’t get Nate Colton, Chandler, you get the consequences of your actions and if you don’t know what that means, you soon will. In many ways, I believe Scott Hunter was a harbinger for you. A warning screaming in your face, one of which you did not take heed. There are no more warnings, only a conclusion.

Okay, yeah, he’s definitely believing all this, that’s really fucked up. He has the face of a really fucked up guy.

Cecilworth Farthington: The time for Chandler Tsonda’s tight five is over. The time where the Almasy winner is using his screen time on this programme as an audition tape for Idaho’s Biggest Roast Battle is long gone. This is now a test of the very limits of humanity, to see how far two men would go to avenge public humiliation in the middle of the biggest spotlight there is.

Cecilworth takes a big longingly lovingly look at the Universal Championship once more.

Cecilworth Farthington: Did you know today marks a special day indeed? I’ve been informed that this beautiful championship has been in my grubby paws for longer than any other in the ReVival era, a record I have taken from a very great man. Now, there will be no banner, no parade, no fireworks and certainly no cakes. This is not a celebration, it is an opportunity for sober reflection. To consider what has been taken from me to have this achievement, and what it may take from you, Chandler. You’ve been here before, but not in this era. You can probably see the pain buried in my eyes, that is what taking on PRIME’s best in every match you fight does because there are No. Easy. Outs.

Yes, Cecilworth does slap the title for emphasis on each syllable.

Cecilworth Farthington: So Chandler, I invite you to empty your tank because this is not the time to hold on to reserves. I think you’ll be quite surprised what I still have in mine. Sorry to have ruined your dream, but we now have the pleasure of sharing a nightmare.

Farthington provides a cheeky wink onto the camera as it fades away.

Nick Stuart: Quite morose words from the Universal Champion, almost fitting on Halloween Night.

Richard Parker: That man has seen a lot, he has done a lot, he has suffered a lot. I’m starting to worry that the weight of responsibility is becoming too heavy for our Universal Champion.

Nick Stuart: He’s a man you can never write off, we’ve called so many matches this year where he springs back into action in a life or death situation. It’s why he’s been PRIME’s Universal Champion for so long.

The camera cuts to the announcer’s table where Richard Parker has a “Congratulations Cecilworth” cake sitting in front of him.

Richard Parker: Now what the hell am I supposed to do with this, Nick?

The camera then fades fully away to another thing that is happening.

The PNC arena lights drop into darkness, save for the backlights in the entryway, as a mix of curious silence and spontaneous cheers comes over the crowd. With haste, a figure emerges from the back and stands head high, fist raised, and strikes a pose for a brief second.

LEEEET’S GET READY TO RUUUMMMBLE

The bell dings as Volbeat’s “A Warrior’s call” floods the airwaves and brings the lights back up. A chaotic lightshow takes over the entrance ramp, with flashing white and red strobe lights, before Crash jumps in the air and stomps both feet in clear view for everyone to see.

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall… Introducing first, representing NOBODY’S HEROES. He stands at five-foot-eleven-inches and weighs in at two-hundred-thirty-eight pounds… He is the Hot Dog Hero, the Northern Light, he’s… CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH JAAAAAAAAAACKSON!

He roars violently with a fiery, toothy grin before beginning his frantic descent to the ring.

FEEL THE FIRE, HE’S ENTERING THE RING
HIS MINDSET KNOWS ONLY HOW TO WIIIIIIIN

Crash reaches the ring while pumping his fist in unison with the beat, being joined by many fans simply out of respect for fist pumping, and scales the stairs at the same hellacious pace before turning around to roar at the crowd again.

UNLEASHING HIS HELL
YOU WON’T EVEN HEAR THE BELL

He leaps the top rope and lands with a thunderous rattle before pacing around the ring and nodding his head repeatedly. He stops in the middle, facing the crowd.

FEEL THE POWER OF THE WAAAAARRIOOOOR!

Crash steps towards the crowd, slamming his fist into the air and yelling along with the song.

FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!

He turns to the opposite side of the arena and offers the same sentiment.

LET’S GET READY TO RUUUUMBLE

Much more fist pumping begins with sweat flying off his face and arms, landing on the lucky fans in the front row.

FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!

The music begins to die out as Crash locks in on his opponent with an alarming stare, holding a violent gaze and snarl that raises red flags all over the place.The lights then dim inside of the arena as a siren echoes throughout it, like a trumpet heralding the end times.

What’s up, danger? (Danger)

What’s up, danger? (Danger)

Then, “What’s Up Danger” by Black Caviar and Blackway plays throughout the arena.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, 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!

Two thousand on thermometers

Two thousand surroundin’ us

Travel two thousand kilometers to hang out with us

What’s up, danger? (Danger)

What’s up, danger? (Danger)

Rose emerges from the backstage area and the spotlight lands on her. She stands there, focused and determined, wearing a pair of black pants with ROSE painted on the sides in purple and a black sports bra.

Ayy, didn’t know they doubted us

Makes it that more marvelous

Sign ’em up, ’cause ominous vibes and I get synonymous

What’s up, danger?

Ayy, don’t be a stranger

She struts down the ramp, confident in herself, even as the fans yell at her. She blocks them out as she reaches the halfway mark of the entrance ramp before she explodes into a run and slides under the bottom rope. As she reaches the middle of the ring, she hops up to her feet and sprints to the opposite set of ropes before placing her right foot on the middle rope and her left foot on the bottom. She extends her right arm high as she screams into the void.

‘Cause I like high chances that I might lose (lose)

I like it all on the edge just like you, ayy

I like tall buildings so I can leap off of ’em

I go hard wit’ it no matter how dark it is

She moves around the ring, shaking her head, stoic.

I’m insane but on my toes

I could keep the world balanced on my nose

I had a slumber party wit’ all my foes

Now I wear them like a badge of honor on my clothes

Rose reaches one of the corners and climbs up to the second turnbuckle, slamming her fist into her chest and raising both arms.

If I’m crazy, I’m on my own

If I’m waitin’, it’s on my throne

If I sound lazy, just ignore my tone

‘Cause I’m always gonna answer when you call my phone

She hops off the middle turnbuckle, moves to the opposite set of ropes, and glares out at the fans.

Like, what’s up, danger?

Like, what’s up, danger?

Don’t-don’t be a stranger

What’s up, danger?

The music then fades.

DING DING DING DING!

Richard Parker: Before this match gets started a little birdy told me that Rose needs to win this match or Ivan Stanislav will eat her house.

Nick Stuart: Wh-what are you even talking about?

Rose and Crash circle each other in the ring when Rose pauses and reaches out her first. Crash eyes the outstretched hand with a skeptical glance before he cautiously extends his own fist, bumping knuckles with his opponent. The PNC Arena cheers both of them on as Rose shows an uncharacteristic bit of sportsmanship.

Nick Start: Rose showing Crash some respect at the start of this and everybody likes that!

Richard Parker: You know, ‘cause of the three little piggies.

Nick Stuart: I don’t… What on Earth are you talking about?

The two begin to circle each other again as both search for an opening in the other’s defenses. Crash bites first, charging forward looking to connect with a clothesline. Rose ducks under, hitting the ropes before flying through the air with a Flying Forearm Smash!

LETS GO JACKSON, LETS GO ROSE! LETS GO JACKSON, LETS GO ROSE!

Nick Stuart: This match is starting off fast! Both of these athletes are known for their speed and explosive offense, I expect we’ll see some heavy strikes in this match, wouldn’t you agree Richard?

Richard Parker: Yeah, sure, of course. I don’t think you’re following me on this Three Little Piggies thing. Okay, so Ivan is a bear, right?

Crash notices at the last moment, rolling beneath the strike before hitting the ropes himself! As Rose turns she sees Crash charging forward with a Running Cross Body Block!

Nick Stuart: Counter after counter! And it’s a wolf in the Three Little Piggies, Richard.

Richard Parker: Yeah, I know it’s a wolf, just let me explain. The Wolf blows as his primary attack, which, there’s a lot to unpack there.

Using her Lucha skills, Rose dives beneath Crash’s Cross Body, rolling back up to her feet before spring boarding off the ropes. On his end of the exchange, Jackson hits the canvas and jumps back up to his feet, turning just in time to catch Rose in her own Cross Body attempt.

Nick Stuart: These two are so evenly matched, despite the size advantage of Crash. So wolves blow, go on?

Richard Parker: Well wolves are small compared to bears, and if wolves have super breath weapons, my money is on bears being able to eat anything. So they wouldn’t waste their time blowing down a piggies’ house, he’d just eat it and the piggies inside.

With a smug look, Crash carries Rose to the center of the ring before lifting her up into a Body Press. Before he can drop her, Rose twists in his grip, turning and flipping around his body until she pulls him down into a Tilta-Whirl Headscissors Takedown!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: That was an incredible counter by Rose! When natural talent meets disciplined training cross, you get athletes like the Second Coming! Okay, so what do bears have to do with this though?

Richard Parker: Well because… well. Uh. Give me a minute, I know I had a point.

Nick Stuart: Take your time, there’s only a match going on.

Rose springs up to her feet gracefully while Crash stumbles back up, his face painted with surprise and confusion. He’s ill prepared for the Running Forearm Strike to the back of his head knocking him flat on his stomach. The Second Coming doesn’t hesitate to quickly jump to the ropes, springboarding off the middle rope executing a picture perfect Moonsault across the Northern Light’s back!

Nick Stuart: Rose is moving around crisp and clean! I’ve heard she’s really been putting in some intense training recently and it looks to be paying off tonight!

Richard Parker: Since joining the Red Army she’s been channeling the power of Communism! I heard a rumor that if she lost toni-THAT’S IT! Ivan is gonna eat her house because he’s a bear and she’s a piggie!

Nick Stuart: If I were you I’d pray that Rose doesn’t listen to commentary when she rewatches the show.

She rolls her opponent onto his back, hooking his left leg as he rolls Crash into a pin!

One!

Two!

Kickout!

Before Elvis Nixon can slap the mat for a third time, Crash throws his shoulder up. Rose doesn’t relent, hopping up to her feet before dropping a Knee Drop across his larger opponent’s throat. As Crash claws at his throat, the Second Coming throws herself into the ropes, climbing them before spinning around and springboarding into a Shooting Star Press!

Nick Stuart: Rose taking some high risks here!

Richard Parker: It’s just Crash Jackson, the Hot Dog guy!

Crash lifts his knees at the last moment causing Rose to crash and burn! Her body springs off Crash’s knees as Rose clutches her chest in pain. Given a moment’s reprieve from Rose’s assault, Jackson pulls himself to the ropes and up to his feet.

Nick Stuart: I wouldn’t rule out the Hot Dog Hero until this is all said and done, Crash Jackson is a consummate underdog.

Richard Parker: You mean a consummate hot dog!

The sound of Nick Stuart sighing.

Staggering back up to a vertical base, Rose is caught in a Head Scissor of Crash’s own design. Rose’s head gets driven down into the mat though by instinct, she rolls back up to her feet and into the nearest corner. Crash follows her in with powerful Lariat comboing into a Drop Toe Hold as Rose slams face first into the mat.

Nick Stuart: Both of these wrestlers have very similar movesets, technical skills mixed with high flying weaponry, wouldn’t you say?

Richard Parker: Similar, sure, like a Chicago Dog and a Dodge Dog at both technically hotdogs.

Nick Stuart: We’re onto hotdog related stuff now?

Richard Parker: Honestly, it’s not a bit, I’m just hungry.

Dragging her to the center of the ring Jackson singles out her left leg, dropping an elbow across the knee! He quickly jumps back to his feet before dropping another elbow across the same knee. Rose cries out in pain, trying to free herself from Crash’s grip.

Nick Stuart: Crash putting the work to Rose’s knee, not a bad tactic. She knees her legs to execute her Rose to Rose cutter. This is also a potential set-up for Crash’s submission game.

Richard Parker: Rose needs to find a way to out hot dog a hot dog hero!

Nick Stuart: Can someone get Richard some food?

Using his strength advantage, Crash maintains control of both of Rose’s legs, folding her into a modified Elevated Sharpshooter! (JaxSS – Jackson Sharpshooter)

Nick Stuart: The Jackson Sharpshooter! He’s got it locked in tight right smackdab in the center of the ring!

Rose screams, her face contorted in pain. Her wild eyes flash around the ring searching for a way out. Elvis Nixon asks if Rose wants to submit to which she aggressively dismisses the idea.

Richard Parker: Don’t surrender Rose! Think of the PRIME Tag Team Champions! Think of your comrades! Think of Ivan Stanislav!

Crash elevates his position, torquing Rose’s back at a wicked angle. Being folded into an even more painful position causes the Second Coming to let out another pained cry. Even still, she refuses to surrender, pushing herself up off the mat! In doing so she folds even tighter, the pain wracking her body.

Nick Stuart: Rose is sacrificing her body to try and work herself into a position to get out of this hold! Will it pay off?!

Richard Parker: Stuart, I really hope she stops screaming soon. They said they’re breaking me some corndogs and Rose screaming isn’t gonna help my appetite.

Nick Stuart: I’ll let Elvis Nixon know to tell Rose she needs to stop being in agony for you.

Richard Parker: Thanks, buddy.

The sound of Nick Stuart sighing.

With enough clearance made by lifting her body, Rose rolls under Crash, freeing herself and surprising Mr. Ketchup and Mustard!

Nick Stuart: She did it! She got free!

Richard Parker: Oh I can see the corndogs, Stuart!

Crack!

With speed and accuracy born from years of training, Rose superkicks Crash before he can process what is happening. His head snaps back, his body following behind it as he stumbles away in a daze. Rose puts feet to the mat, zeroing in on her prey, jumping into a picture perfect Sling Blade sending Crash down hard!

Nick Stuart: Rose is a house on fire with a sling blade taking down Crash!

The crowd in Raleigh begins to rally behind Rose as she jumps to the ropes, climbing and spinning once again! Airbourne, she attempts another Shooting Star Press!

Nick Stuart: She takes to the sky once more!

Richard Parker: Don’t let a bear eat your house!

Her full body connects with Crash, driving the air out of both! Rose pops off Crash, taking in a deep breath before hooking both of Jackson’s legs, rolling him into a pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kickout!

Once again Crash avoids defeat by managing to throw up his shoulder.

Nick Stuart: She almost had him but Crash is a resilient S.O.B.

Richard Parker: I should show her how to do a proper Shooting Star Press.

Nick Stuart: Oh the Shooting Star Press is a big part of your offensive package?

Richard Parker: Sure, if I landed one, I’m pretty sure that’d be the end of my opponent.

Nick Stuart: … yeah, I’ll give you that.

Rose pushes herself off Crash, dragging herself up to her feet recovering from the Shooting Star Press. The Hot Dog Hero twitches, slowly rolling to his side though it’s clear Rose’s assault on him has taken a chunk out of him. Rose shakes off any lingering pain and once again presses her assault on Crash, dragging him up to his feet by his hair. In a burst of energy, Crash shoves Rose away!

Crack!

It’s the Northern Light’s turn to surprise Rose, planting his boot on her chin with a Super Kick!

Nick Stuart: WIDE LEFT! Crash Jackson’s own variant of the Super Kick hits its mark!

Rose collapses onto her back, eyes staring up at the lights! The crowd has now turned back to Crash as they cheer him on! Still staggering, Crash uses the ropes to get to the turnbuckle. He climbs slowly as Rose begins to recover in the ring… poised at the top rope, Crash mimics smoking a joint before launching himself through the air into a Double Clutch Frog Splash!

Nick Stuart: What goes up must come down, and that’s why they call him CRASH!

He crushes Rose beneath him as he lands before he bounces off her, grabbing at his chest! Jackson pushes through, hooking Rose’s legs!

ONE!

TWO!

TH-KICKOUT!

A mixture of disappointment and frustration as he checks with Elvis that it was only a two count. Pushing himself up off the mat, Crash points to the top turnbuckle again.

Richard Parker: If I showed him how to do a real Frog Splash he would have won.

Nick Stuart: You just did this bit.

Richard Parker: Yeah, but it still technically applies.

The sound of Richard Parker eating Corn Dogs.

Climbing up lifts both hands above his head before launching himself through the air into a Corkscrew Shooting Star Press! (Crash Dot Com)

Nick Stuart: Crash launches himself from the high rent district again! Is it the late 90ies cause we’re about to see a CRASH DOT COM!

The sound of Richard Parker choking on Corn Dogs. 

Mere moments before he lands Rose gets her knees up. It’s too late for Jackson to pull out as he connects chest first with his opponent’s knees. He snaps back up to his feet, clutching his chest and gasping for breath before collapsing to his back.

Nick Stuart:  An incredible counter as Rose mirrors Crash’s own earlier countermeasure against her own high flying attacks! It’s like watching wrestling chess with these two!

The sound of Richard Parker coughing up Corn Dogs.

Rose drags herself to the ropes grabbing her left knee. Using the ropes for balance she hopes gingerly into the corner to recover. Speaking of recovery, Crash pulls himself up to his feet, chest still stinging from Rose’s counter. Spying Rose looking wounded in the corner, Crash summons what strength he has left and charges forward with a roar.

Once again Rose lets her Lucha knowledge show, dexterously slipping between the ropes to avoid her opponent. Crash connects with the turnbuckles, his chest exploding with pain once again as he staggers back.

Nick Stuart: She’s heading for the top turnbuckle! She looks like her left leg might be injured! How is that going to effect her this late into the match!?

Quick as a hiccup, Rose slips back between the ropes and hopes up onto the second turnbuckle on one leg! Flipping in the air the Second Coming catches Crash with a Springboard Backflip Cutter! (R2R Rose to Rose)

Nick Stuart: ROSE TO ROSE ON ONE LEG!

Rose hooks Crash’s leg and pulls him into a tight pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING DING!

Nick Stuart: She did it! Rose out gunned a heavily armed Crash Jackson!

Richard Parker: She did it for the Red Army and for Ivan! Her house remains uneaten!

Vince Howard: Your winner by pinfall, the Second Coming… ROOOOOOOOOOSE!

Nick Stuart: One hell of a match from Rose and Crash there. They both went for it.

Richard Parker: That they did. Rose has been on a buzzsaw of a schedule as of late and you can tell it is taking its toll.

Rose leans against the ropes, feeling the aches and pain of her match with Crash. She watches as Elvis Nixon makes his way up the ramp and makes her way towards the ring ropes. As she starts to step through, though, someone pulls her back into the ring.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE! FLAMBERGE is in the ring!

Richard Parker: Time for roosters to come home and all that shit!

FLAMBERGE’s fist goes flying into the jaw of the Second Coming, rocking her into the ropes as she tries to cover up to the best of her ability. After the match she had though, she is finding that hard to find, especially once The Lizard King starts driving his knee into her midsection, dropping her to one knee.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: The fans here in Raleigh letting it be known how they feel about this blindside from FLAMBERGE!

Richard Parker: Yeah – they want violence! It’s only fair after Rose was in the dumpster at ReVival 77 and cost FLAMBERGE and Joe the Tag Titles!

Nick Stuart: Well, fair point!

FLAMBERGE yanks Rose to her feet and connects with a series to 12-to-6 elbows across her skull and neck, inflicting as much pain as he possibly can against the woman who has been a thorn in his side for months now. With Rose back on the mat, he begins stomping away at her, as Rose is unable to defend herself.

From the back, referees — including Elvis Nixon — rush out to stop the attack on Rose and restore some order.

Richard Parker: Oh hell, let them fight!

Nick Stuart: This isn’t a fight, Richard. This is a mugging.

Nixon and Turnbull pull FLAMBERGE off of Rose while Barlow attends to the wounded wrestler. FLAMBERGE lets a flurry of words fly from his lips and then spits at the downed wrestler.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE has gotten the better of Rose here tonight, payback for hitting him with that steel pipe. The fans letting the referees know how they feel about this forced separation.

Richard Parker: Maybe she’ll finally leave this mess with FLAMBERGE alone and realize she is woefully outmatched he–

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Rose fights back to her feet, brushes Barlow out of the way and leaps on top of the group of Nixon, Turnbull, and FLAMBERGE, fists flying at the Lizard King! FLAMBERGE is caught by surprise as Rose lands on top of him, now trying his best to cover up against the attack from the Second Coming.

Barlow comes up behind Rose and starts pulling her off of FLAMBERGE, but Rose begins stomping away at him, driving her boot into his midsection as much as she can before Barlow puts her body in between the two of them. She pushes Rose into the corner while Turnbull and Nixon help FLAMBERGE to his feet. Meanwhile, security starts pouring out of the back to put more separation between the two wrestlers.

Richard Parker: Rose may have opened a can she had no business opening!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think that’s a phrase. At all.

Richard Parker: Well, I’m making it o– FLAMBERGE is free! FLAMBERGE is free!

Sure enough, the former Tag Champion has freed himself from the grasps of Turnbull and Nixon and has launched himself forward, driving his forearm into the skull of the Second Coming! Barlow moves out of the way, not wanting to get struck, and allows security to wrap their arms around the waist of FLAMBERGE, looking to extract him from the situation.

Rose though could care less as she starts firing away right after right into the forehead of her enemy, pushing forward even as security gets in between the two of them. Words continue to fly between the two as their arms and legs are restricted.

Nick Stuart: This situation has boiled over, months of back and forth, attacks, verbal assaults, have led to this.

Richard Parker: This is not the fight that Rose wants to pick, though! She’s out of her depth!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think she cares!

FLAMBERGE is forced out of the ring by security while Rose is restrained in the corner. FLAMBERGE is corralled around the ring and towards the ramp as the two wrestlers continue to shoot verbal jabs at one another. FLAMBERGE then connects with a series of rights to the security detail holding him back and he rushes towards the Second Coming before dragging her out of the ring under the bottom rope.

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE is free! He is taking it to Rose once again!

Nick Stuart: He just drove her straight into the ringside barricade and Rose is on the floor, in a world of pain.

Rose tries to make her way to her feet only for FLAMBERGE to drive his knee into her midsection. Doubled over, Rose leans on the ringside barricade as FLAMBERGE lines her up for another attack. He rushes at her only for the second-generation wrestler to dip her shoulder and send FLAMBERGE over the barricade and into the crowd. FLAMBERGE quickly scrambles to his feet only for Rose to fly off the top of the barricade and connect with a knee that sends both wrestlers crashing to the floor.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: These two can’t be contained!

Richard Parker: These two are in the crowd, fighting! They may destroy the city of Raleigh! Which, who cares?!

More security funnels out, including the Enemigos, as FLAMBERGE and Rose get to their feet, trading blows with one another until nearly a dozen people are in between them, separating them from each other.

Richard Parker: This is pandemonium!

Nick Stuart: I think they have managed to separate these two, but not before they managed to get their licks in!

Rose stands on top of the barricade, pointing and yelling at FLAMBERGE. Meanwhile, FLAMBERGE is pushed up the stairs and he stares back at Rose, challenging her, promising this is far from over.

Nick Stuart: Folks, we’ve got to go to commercial. It looks like order has been restored, but I wouldn’t expect this to be the final chapter in the war between these two.

Richard Parker: Far from it, Nick – good God almighty, far from it!

Cut.

Oh man, we cut inside the locker room where everyone’s favorite family man and never suffering lover of life Steve Harrison hits staring at this phone. A knock is heard on the door and he grumbles to himself and gets up while at the same time putting his phone in his pocket for now. He gets to the door and opens it and standing there is everyone’s favorite helper Doug Tim! Yay, his bag looks a lot more full today as he probably went trick or treating before the show this evening. Harrison sighs and looks him up and down.

Steve Harrison: (Sarcastic, you know normal) Wellllll Jiminy Cricket, what can I do for you?”

Doug Tim: Awful sorry for bothering you but gosh darnit I was told to bring someone who says he is family to you.

Steve freezes and inside his head you know damn well it is going ‘NOTTTTTTTT FAMILYYYYYYY.’

Steve Harrison: Where is this supposed ugh—family?

Doug looks around and then back to Steve.

Doug Tim: Well shoot, I am not sure…

…Out of nowhere.

Person: HEYO CUZZOOOO!

Doug jumps back surprised by the person’s sudden reappearance and The Miracle Man smacks his forehead with his palm.

Steve Harrison: What the hell are you doing here Jimmy?

James ‘Jimmy’ Lawson stood in the doorway sporting a knot on his head from the knee he had taken from Steve a week ago. Doug Tim disappears like Batman.  Jimmy is dressed in a Kings Halloween costume with a big burger king crown on his head but of course it wasn’t big enough to hide the injury. He also is wearing a cape that looks like it was taken from a vampire costume.

Jimmy Lawson: Is that any way to treat the cousin you knocked out? But anyway, dad told me to come see you because he got called away on business. He said something about you having lonely eyes with Jack and Doc away as well.

Harrison groans and motions for him to come inside. The door is closed and both sit down.

Steve Harrison: Happy to see you awake, James…

Jimmy Lawson: Come on fam, call me Jimmy!

Shit, now Dave Mathews Band is playing in the remarkable mind of The Miracle Man.

Steve Harrison: Before we go any further what the hell are you supposed to be dressed as?

Jimmy Lawson: King Vampire!

Steve Harrison: So, Dracula?

Jimmy Lawson: Gesundheit.

Harrison stops and squints at Jimmy and shakes his head.

Steve Harrison: Are you fucking with me?

Jimmy Lawson: Nah, Steve. But hey…can you set up a meeting between me and Kerry Koala?

Anger ensues as Harrison is given another crease around his mouth.

Steve Harrison: No.

Jimmy Lawson: How about a hair product expo with Henry Keyes?

Steve Harrison: Hard pass. Before you ask another question, please ask yourself, is this important enough to get DDT’d on the hard concrete or should I rethink my idiocy.

Jimmy Lawson: Well happy halloween to you too, cuz. I get it though, but I think I’m ready.

Steve Harrison: Ready for what? To put the ring together before the show?

Jimmy laughs and waves his hand at Steve.

Jimmy Lawson: To wrestle. I want to tap someone out with…

Steve Harrison: Your string bean calisthenics?

Jimmy Lawson: I get the feeling you don’t think I am ready.

Harrison sighs.

Steve Harrison: Look, if you are actually serious, I think the Belmont is looking for show opener crash test dummies.

Jimmy Lawson: Heck yea, I can take it to some of those.

The Immortal Jellyfish rubs his face after that response. He then looks at the ceiling and chuckles to the air.

Steve Harrison: Sure, of course you can. Go grab us some water and I can show you how I prepare for a match.

Jimmy hops up happily and heads out the door. Harrison watches the door shut and then lets out the biggest groan.

Steve Harrison: What the hell are you trying to do to me JD? You said the future, not the next week. Ugh.

The scene fades on our friendly Octopus Man, who loves his family staring at the floor and muttering to himself.

The crowd sees the match graphic and they are immediately hyped.

Nick Stuart: Not much to say here, Rich. This match speaks for itself. It’s Jared’s first contest since mid-2024 versus Ivan Stanislav. We all know what happened there.

Richard Parker: We do? I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast!

Nick Stuart: Somehow this does not surprise me.

The announcers could quibble all day. But we’ve got a match to get to!

To ringside where Vince Howard awaits.

Vince Howard: This match… is… for…

As he slows his speech down, the fans know what’s coming. Vince puts his mic in the air because it’s that time of the show once again!

The Crowd: ONE FALL!

Howard lowers the mic, a massive grin on his face.

Vince Howard: That’s right. This match is for ONLY ONE FALL! Introducing first…

There’s a buzz among the crowd. For the first time in over a year, the once-Heart of PRIME is about to re-enter the global stage. And as the arena lights fade, the wait for that first rumble.

Only it doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s a synth melody that begins to swell in volume.

Richard Parker: Oh, this is kind of nice.

And then, all at once, an eruption of blast beats and heavy guitars unleash a barrage on the senses. And with it comes the rapid flashing of white and blue lights along the stage.

Richard Parker: I TAKE IT BACK THIS IS AWFUL!

As Lorna Shore’s “Unbreakable” thunders through the arena, now complete with the demonic roar of Will Ramos, Vince Howard tries to get a word in edgewise.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring… he hails from Boston, Massachusetts and weighs in tonight at two-hundred pounds…

From whence we came a tremor

The quake that never ceased

The earth was turning too quickly beneath

Gra-vi-ty

I feel you weigh me down

Deeper into the ground

The PRIMEview depicts a darkened sky. Swirling clouds dance over a field of rapid lightning strikes. The blade of a golden sword, broken no more than a foot above the pommel, strikes down into the center of the screen revealing two words.

IMPERIUM AETERNI

Those letters reform and reshape, taking on their English translation, this time with a slight modification.

EMPIRE OF THE ETERNAL

And after it all

Our hearts are invincible

Like diamonds, we glow

All of the arena lights quickly fade to nothing, and on the PRIMEview a single lightning bolt strikes down towards the center of the entryway.

WE

ARE

UN

BREAK

ABLE!!

At once the entire building is bathed in bright white light. A single figure stands in the middle of the stage.

Vince Howard: He is theeeeeeee Dragonslayer… JAREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED SYKES!!!!

Jared’s gear appears largely unchanged since the last time he stood ready to compete, only now – for the first time in fifteen years – the loose shorts have been replaced by form-fitting tights that extend halfway down his thighs. The goods are on full display.

And then there’s the myriad accessories he’s adorned with. A frayed hood of deep crimson hangs low over his eyes, but reveals enough to show that underneath he’s wearing a half mask that looks like a stylized version of the bottom of a skull. A single pauldron of midnight blue sits on his right shoulder, emblazoned with a red-winged dragon skull. An additional length of tattered red cloth hangs just behind it, dancing in the air as Jared moves to the ring at a brisk pace.

The remainder of his arm is covered in armor of a similar color, and in the gauntlet of his right hand is held the same blade that only moments ago was on the big screen.

Through ice and cold

Fire and brimstone

And now we know

We are unbreakable

He sheaths the broken blade across his back before reaching the ring. As soon as he does, he ascends the ringpost and perches hunched over like a gargoyle with one foot on the top buckle.

We grow, from the depths we will ascend

We know

We are unbreakable

At the culmination of the chorus, Jared pulls the mask free from his face, throws his hood back, closes his eyes, and holds both arms out to the side. Despite everything that being here is costing him, there is a genuine smile of joy on his face.

Vince Howard: And his opponent-

Anna Daniels: G’day, primates!

The fans boo as the Muse pops up on the PRIMEview. If the Multitudes hear it, they don’t really seem to care. There’s a casual sip of tea.

Anna Daniels: We are here to inform you that due to circumstances that are none of your fucking business, we will not be competing tonight.

Cheers, naturally. But wait! She’s holding up a hand.

Anna Daniels: However. There’s no need to worry. You will be given your usual contracted seven star rated match tonight because we found a wonderful replacement. She has such potential and we ask that you give her every bit of respect as you have given us throughout the years. Hooroo for now!

Before anybody takes time to notice the weight behind those statements…

The warped wailings of The Murderdolls sound throughout as a strange, punk-rocky introduction to the event.

Erm, what?

It’s okay. As the camera soars throughout the crowd, there’s a mix of feelings with the familiar tune. Confusion? Obviously. Nostalgia? Absolutely. The sight eventually leads to the entrance where the “Hardcore Harlot,” Ria Nightshade stands, arms out wide with a vicious grin as she struts down the ramp, a lightshow of toxic green and dull yellow whirling about the arena.

…huh?

Nevermind that she had a slight growth spurt and lost some weight. That’s perfectly normal for someone you haven’t seen in quite some time. Perfectly normal indeed.

Richard Parker: Never saw this coming! What a bait and switch!

Nick Stuart: Uh… you want to look a little closer at the monitor, partner?

Richard Parker: My cataracts aren’t what they used to be but I’m sure Ria Nightshade looks fantastic!

Whatever you choose to believe, “Nightshade” slides under the ropes, twirling in the ring, sticking her tongue out in creepy, taunting fashion.

Vince Howard: Introducing from The Paraphernalia Wagon, standing five feet, six inches tall and weighing in at one-hundred and sixty pounds, she is the Toxic Queen…RIA! NIGHTSHADE!

So step right up for the ride of your life!

The line starts here, in the back of my mind!

Richard Parker: Well, this HAS TO throw Jared off his game! The poor guy hasn’t wrestled in well over a year, almost a year-and-a-half. He was planning for Anna but instead he got RIA! Is this… is this even allowed, Nick?

Nick Stuart: I told you to look a little closer into the monitor, but you refused. You do know what day this is, right?

Richard Parker: Halloween! We’ve (probably) talked about it many times already!

Nick Stuart: Right. So what do people do on Halloween?

Richard Parker: Dress up! Wear costumes!

Nick Stuart: You’re getting warmer…

Richard Parker: I don’t know what any of that has to do with this bait and switch, though! It’s also got to be a tough, tough ask for Jared to wrestle Ria in his first match back. Didn’t Ria once stab Sykes in the ass?

The camera changes to Jared who, in Richard’s defense, does look a little apprehensive as he glances “Ria Nightshade” over from head to toe.

Anyway, Nick sighs openly as referee Ashley Barlow goes over the rules with both Jared and Ria.

DING DING

Barlow calls for the bell as Sykes and Nightshade circle the ring. They meet in the center and lock up, with Daniels- eerrr Nightshade providing a quick kick to the stomach, then a knee to the stomach, dropping the plan to grapple entirely.

Richard Parker: Yep, you can tell Jared’s been thrown off guard. Poor guy can’t catch a break!

Nightshade shoots herself off the ropes and flies across the ring with a knee strike to the side of Sykes’ head, catching him doubled over in the process. Jared remains on his feet, however, as “Ria” lands on hers, then sends a few more knees into Sykes’ stomach before slamming him to the mat with a DDT.

Nightshade rises, holding onto the small of her back as she does. She starts kicking at Sykes, moving him into a corner of the ring where she proceeds to stomp. Jared tries to battle through the beating, using the ropes to pull himself up. He hoists Nightshade in the air and tosses her into the corner of the ring. He clunks Ria in the side of the head with a forearm, takes a few steps back and charges in…

Nightshade rolls out of the way! Sykes’ head meets the top of the ring post as he falls down, and “Nightshade” moves to the far side of the canvas.

She RACES in FULL BLAST.

WHAMP.

Nick Stuart: A hard hip attack to Sykes! It might have knocked him out.

Richard Parker: Jared definitely came back too early, Nick. He shouldn’t have come back at all!

Nightshade peels Sykes off the mat and slams him into the center of the ring. Elbow strikes follow. More gut kicks. Every time Jared tries to get up, Anna Daniels- eerrr we mean Ria Nightshade keeps him from getting onto more than just one knee.

A palm strike hits flush in Jared’s forehead, sending him back-first to the mat. She leans down and drags Sykes up with her…

Snap suplex.

Anna holds on.

EERRR WE MEAN RIA HOLDS ON.

Another snap suplex.

Nightshade hops to her feet and then delivers a standing leg drop to Sykes with a cover. Barlow slides into position.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Look, I’m sure Jared will be the first to tell you this is not the start he wanted.

Richard Parker: And, again, I can’t blame him today. He spent the entire two weeks getting ready for ANNA DANIELS.

Nick Stuart: Seriously? Still!?

Parker might actually be clueless but nevertheless, Nick calls the action. Ria’s back to stomping the piss out of Jared and working him into another corner. Barlow is there for the FIVE count… and she reaches THREE before she interjects and tells Nightshade to go back to the center of the ring.

Daniels rolls her head around and then gives it a shake. She moves to the center of the squared circle, in a way she’s showing off body language very similar to Ria. Then, once Jared reaches a vertical base, she charges with a head full of steam at the former Universal Champion…

SLAM!

Sykes gets his knees up. They meet Nightshade dead under her chin. She’s stunned and on rollerskates as she wobbles around. Sykes cracks a slight grin, taking a moment to make sure he’s totally in one piece before emerging from the corner and connecting with a swinging neck breaker.

Sykes pops up to a cheer from the crowd. He looks into the bleachers, nods and smiles once again. He shoots off the ropes.

Nightshade LEAPS over Sykes as Sykes hits the next set of ropes. Ria comes running towards him as well-

Short-arm into a backdrop driver via Jared! It looks like Nightshade lands on her head!

Sykes rolls her onto her back but he doesn’t go for the pin. Instead, he spins onto his feet and starts clapping his hands. It takes the crowd mere milliseconds to start clapping theirs in response. It’s clear The Heart of PRIME is waiting for Ria to find her footing. Once she does, he bursts forward…

Whatever Jared was planning is averted, because Nightshade slides out of the way. However, as Nightshade looks for a clothesline, Jared ducks it, floats through and over, snatching “Nightshade’s” head as he does.

Cutter.

Ria is DOA and the crowd gives a cheer as Jared rolls her into a cradle.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Sykes nods along, like he was expecting more of a fight. He keeps the crowd going by smacking his left hand against his thigh before dragging Nightshade up along with him. This time it looks like he’s going for a running bulldog off the ropes-

When cough cough Daniels cough cough sends Jared through the top and middle rope!

Nick Stuart: An impressive pushoff by Nightshade!

However, equally as impressive is the fact Jared landed on his feet upon parting the ropes and exiting the squared circle. This doesn’t stop Ria, however, from doing something else…

Nick Stuart: Look out!

A suicide dive, landing perfectly on top of Sykes! The second Sykes was pushed away from his bulldog attempt, Ria hit the ropes on the far end and planned her next attack.

Nightshade stands, with Sykes and a handful of his hair in her hands. She’s about to send him into the ring post when Sykes stops cold in his tracks and reels Nightshade in.

Backdrop onto the floor.

The crowd cheers as Sykes collapses on top of the apron, completely spent.

Richard Parker: Cardo will take a while to come back, hey Blueberry King?

Both wrestlers are back in the ring, as Jared amps up the crowd and leaps in the air with a poisonrana to Nightshade. Sykes wastes no further time and runs into the ropes, completing his springboard blockbuster, the Domino Effect.

Nick Stuart: Cover and a count!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Sykes, once again, starts nodding to himself like he knew the match wouldn’t be over. He’s smiling, too. He seems to be enjoying things. He fires up the crowd again and rolls into a corner of the ring… waiting for the absolute perfect time to strike.

Daniels is up. Sykes comes racing in-

A jumping high knee catches Sykes under the chin. This is followed by a snap dragon suplex.

With Sykes reeling, Nightshade stumbles away from him in order to get a good measurement. Once she likes the setup, she moves forward.

A hooking clothesline follows.

Sykes doesn’t move as Nightshade falls down on top of him for a pin.

ONE.

TWO.

LAST SECOND KICKOUT!

The crowd goes RAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH and Ria slams her hands down to the mat. She drags Sykes along with her and it looks like she’s going to attempt a blue thunder bomb-

No! Jared slips free! He hooked his feet under the top rope in order to help him escape at the last possible second. He spins Nightshade around and delivers a cutter.

Followed by a springboard 450 aka Dead Aim.

Nick Stuart: This is OVER.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

The crowd is stunned as Sykes looks up at Barlow, but keeps that smile on his face. It looks as though he’s running his mouth in the process, too. Not directed at the referee by any means, his body language suggests he knows it was a kickout. However, it’s specific trash talk not picked up on the mic, directed at Anna Daniels. Or Ria Nightshade. Whatever.

Richard Parker: What resilience by Ria!

Sykes has Nightshade up along with him and tries for another cutter when it’s blocked by Ria. She pushes Jared into the ropes and he bounces off with a double knee facebuster smash (codebreaker)- but Nightshade discards him to the mat without taking the knees into her forehead! An impressive escape, most definitely. She drops a leg across Sykes the second he lands back-first on the mat. Then she scoops Jared up and places him right back down to the center of the ring.

Ria points UP.

All the way up she goes as the crowd stands along with her. She measures her opponent and takes off with a swanton bomb.

WHAM!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

Jared Sykes showed LAST SECOND signs of life. He exploded off the canvas the second Ria Nightshade took air and once she was close enough to the canvas, he sent those double knees square into the back of Ria’s neck.

She is completely out.

Sykes fumbles into a corner of the ring upon impact. It’s clear his legs are killing him but that smile remains absolutely stuck on his face.

Richard Parker: Ugh.

While Parker doesn’t like it, the rest of the arena does! Sykes gives his legs a shake as he marches over to Ria Nightshade and drags her off the mat…

The crowd knows what’s coming. It’s the Omega 13. The impact driver. He snatches Nightshade by the back of her already hurting neck and lifts her up…

RIA SLIPS AWAY!

She backtracks into the ropes, inadvertently? bumping into referee Ashley Barlow as she does and then SHOOTS forward IN. A. HURRY.

SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW!

Pink mist goes EVERYWHERE!

Nick Stuart: JARED GOT HIS HANDS UP! SYKES COVERED HIS FACE!

Richard Parker: Dammit!

Pheromone Fog doesn’t get it done. Jared saw it coming right before! Instead, he WHAPS Nightshade in the side of the neck, gets right behind her again and keeps running his mouth as he does…

SLAM!

Nick Stuart: OMEGA 13!

Ashley Barlow is no longer discombobulated. She’s right there for the cover and the count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: Dammit! I thought Ria had him!

Vince Howard: Here is your winner… JARED SYKES!

Sykes’ theme plays as the crowd goes wild, while the former champion rolls away from his opponent and takes a moment to rest on his knees, surveying the crowd. Then, as the cheers continue to swell, does he rise and allow his hand to be raised by a chorus of cheers!

Nick Stuart: In his first match back, Sykes follows through like he hasn’t missed a beat!

Richard Parker: I have to wonder if the results would’ve been different, had we seen Anna Daniels and not Ria Nightshade tonight but, I digress. Maybe next time.

Nick Stuart: You really haven’t been messing with me this entire time?

Richard Parker: What?

It honestly seems like Parker is clueless as Sykes claps and thanks the crowd for their support. ReVival goes elsewhere.

“WHEN MY BACK’S TO THE WALLLL!!!!”

I!!

WILL!!

CON!!

QUER!!

“Daggers” hits the speakers, and Raleigh shares their thoughts.

BOOOOOOOOOOO!

But as The Event Horizon saunters onto the ramp, black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, black dress pants and shoes, and a mic in his hand, it’s all smirks behind the ‘stache.

Richard Parker: Here’s our guy!

Nick Stuart: He certainly is a guy, and if he’s gracing us with his presence tonight, I can only assume we’re in for something…inspirational…based on the Event Horizon’s last couple of outings.

Hayes Hanlon takes the slow walk to the rink, jeering and snorting at the fans lining the entrance, throwing a half-asses fist bump to the occasional “Hanlon Bro.” As We Came as Romans hammers the arena, Home Run Hayes steps through the ropes, taking his time before the music trails off, only leaving a loud, unimpressed collective of PRIMEates.

And so, he lets them wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Until finally lifting his microphone.

Hayes Hanlon: I mean, I don’t wanna waste anyone’s time tonight or anything.

BOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Hanlon twirls his finger, mouthing the “booooooos” along with the patrons of PNC Arena.

Hayes Hanlon: SO, I’ll try and get right to the point.

He steps into the dead center of the ring, holds a fist out in front of him, studying it quizzically, before lifting his index finger.

Hayes Hanlon: Kerry Kuroyama-

He lifts his middle finger to join the index.

Hayes Hanlon: Vae Victus-

And finally the ring finger, to meet the others.

Hayes Hanlon: And Lindsay. Troy-

He lifts that hand overhead, and the ring and index fold back into the fist. Leaving only the middle, high in the air.

Hayes Hanlon: CAN KISS. MY. ASS.

BOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Classy, as always.

Hayes Hanlon: Oh! Yeah!? I’M the dickhead?? For what? For knocking Kerry’s ball bag up into his freakin’ stomach? mY bAd. Sorry if your lips had trouble finding them the last couple weeks, SCOTT.

Hayes Hanlon: No. NO. You don’t get to do that. I HAD MY ANKLES FUCKING RUINED. RUINED! All of this, ALL OF IT! Was taken away from me for MONTHS!!!

Hayes Hanlon: And Rose. The bitchy, annoying fucking spawn of Ol’ Red Eyes himself, just haaaaddd to try and make herself relevant. SHE got to stick around while I was staring the end **of my CAREER dead in the FACE.

Hayes Hanlon: And what did Lindsay Troy do?

Hayes Hanlon: Not a GOD. DAMN. THING.

Hayes Hanlon: And even then, I beat the odds. I had the surgeries. I did the WORK to get back here. For all of YOU. Thanks to Cecil, and Joe, and Julien, and Phil!

He shifts his jaw for a beat.

Hayes Hanlon: And how was I greeted?

Another beat, and a scowl.

Hayes Hanlon: With a Five Star Title shot against Lindsay Troy’s Emerald Butt Plug.

Nick Stuart: Oh come on now. That’s far from necessary.

Richard Parker: C’mon, Nick, that’s a good one!

Hayes Hanlon: KNOWING how serious those injuries were. KNOWING that I wouldn’t be, COULDN’T be at my best. KNOWING, that this was an easy way to make sure Kerry fulfill his title defense obligations, and also give him a pitch count of 3 and 0.

A pause to let the crowd settle.

Hayes Hanlon: All this to say…

And a smirk behind the ‘stache.

Hayes Hanlon: …Brandon Youngblood was right.

He shrugs his shoulders.

Hayes Hanlon: And man I hate saying that, but it’s true. ****A few years ago he called it alllll out. That Lindsay. Troy. Wasn’t willing to do a damn. Thing, to make sure the monkeys didn’t run the circus. And honestly, as one of those monkeys? She still. Fails.

BOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Hayes Hanlon: So that’s while I put Kuroyama’s reproductive future into question. That’s why I wouldn’t give Vae Victus and Lindsay Troy any ounce of satisfaction. Because moving forward, I intend to…

“…keep being a crybaby asshole?”

RRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

The speaker hasn’t revealed himself yet, but the fans were going to blow up for anyone who interrupted Hayes Hanlon’s pity party. But then he steps through the curtain…

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

…and yeah, Nate Colton’s gonna get some cheers.

Jeans and his satin ring jacket on, Nate steps onto the ramp, quite unimpressed. There’s something roiling behind those baby blues that hasn’t quite reached the surface.

Nate Colton: Just gonna cut you short here, ‘cause listening to you bitch is nobody’s idea of a good time. I swear, you’re the first guy I’ve ever seen complain about getting a title shot he didn’t deserve.

Hayes Hanlon: Look everyone! The sheriff is back! Give him a hand!

Nobody does, except Hayes, who claps against the mic with a series of thuds.

Nate Colton: (gesturing to Hayes) Is this the rabbit hole the “great” Hayes Hanlon wants to dive into? Conspiracy theory bullshit?

The New Diamond takes a couple steps forward, his narrowing eyes questioning Hanlon.

Nate Colton: Is it that? Some great conspiracy to keep you tied down?

He plants his feet, and sticks his chest out.

Nate Colton: Or is this just you finding out after two solid years of fucking around.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!

Nate Colton: I mean c’mon, man. How much more shit do you have to eat before you’ve finally had enough?

Hanlon, meanwhile, has been leaning over the ropes, and his jaw is grinding, hiding it behind an amused smirk.

Hayes Hanlon: And how far up her ass do you have to be before your nose is the same shade of shit, Nate?

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Colton hasn’t stepped further. But that one? He didn’t appreciate. His nostrils flare a little, his breathing has quickened. And the Event Horizon has taken notice.

Hayes Hanlon: You getting excited, buddy? Gettin’ all riled up? Man, I thought you just had some weird crush on Julien, but if you’re getting all bricked up for me too-

Hanlon holds out his big arms, and sticks out his own broad chest.

Hayes Hanlon: -then there’s plenty of me to go around.

The crowd rises. Chants of “Nate! Nate! Nate!” start to rise. But no. The New Diamond doesn’t fall for it that easily.

Hayes Hanlon: C’mon, man. You getting big mad up there? Good. I like seeing the golden boys when the the silver spoon falls out of their ass!!

Hayes starts unbuttoning his dress shirt. Nate’s fingers start squeezing. The crowd continues to lift.

Hayes Hanlon: DO IT, Nate! Let’s see you get PISSED! Show everyone you’ve got more than cobs of corn up there to fill the gaps that silver spoon can’t!

Hanlon’s all wound up. He starts shaking the ropes, and stomping the mat.

Nick Stuart: Hayes is really asking for it here.

Richard Parker: Let’s see it, Colton!

Hayes is frothing, talking trash, spitting through his ‘stache. Colton’s eyes are death glare, and his scowl is on full display. He’s on the verge.

And then, he lifts the mic to his lips.

Nate Colton: Nah, I’m good.

Colton drops the mic to the ramp, letting it tumble, and turns away, walking back towards Argyle. Hayes shakes his head, laughing like an idiot.

Hayes Hanlon: That’s fine! That’s FINE! Play his music! Play it!!

“Tryin,” by the Eagles hits just as Nate disappears through the back, leaving Hanlon to laugh and jeer. Meanwhile, while disappointed in the lack of action, Raleigh still continues to chant “Nate! Nate! Nate!”

Nick Stuart: Hanlon tried to press the buttons, but Colton didn’t bite. That’s a testament to his character in my book.

Richard Parker: But there’s something there, Nick! The New Diamond wants it, I can tell!

Nick Stuart: Stay tuned! We’ll be right back!

Oh, look! We’re backstage. And apparently, somebody has a song stuck in their head.

“Ria Nightshade”: Nowhere…no place I’d rather be~

Yeah, we can drop the charade now, right? Anna Daniels in Nightshade’s clothing is strolling through the halls like she owns the place and occasionally singing a lyric to “Welcome to the Strange”. The Muse doesn’t seem to be uncomfortable in the edgy black-and-green outfit. In fact, she walks like it’s a high school prom dress that you can still somehow fit into in your thirties. It’s a certain mix of comfort and surprise.

After the ninth time of singing, there’s a huff.

Anna Daniels: For fuck’s sake! Why is that song so catchy?

At any rate, the Multitudes are aiming towards catering where all the tricks and treats are. Chocolate spiders, candy skeletons, and…ooh! Bobbing for eyeballs!

That’s exactly what they do. Bob for eyeballs. Not realising (or perhaps not caring?) about who else shows up.

???: My my, what a pretty little spider.

Annashade slowly cranes her head to peek over their shoulder. Standing about six feet behind them is a cloaked individual. From underneath a closed red cape, two hands move up and push the hood concealing their identity back. A circlet wraps around their forehead, the rest obscured by long black locks. A dark green top covers their upper body, ending just before the sternum. Onyx shaded cargo pants cling tightly to their legs and waist. On their feet are a pair of combat boots.

This person? They’re Anna Daniels, circa 2022. Except not really. Apparently, there’s more than one group of people sharing a single brain cell.

RiAnna Daniels: And the song’s catchy cuz I have good taste. So sis… How’s tricks?

Danielshade pops up from the ghoulish green water, making an entire damn mess with three “eyeballs” wedged between her teeth. There’s a quick analysis of the outfit.

Maybe Not Anna Daniels?: Et ish wut et ish.

Then she crunches the “eyeballs” loudly, making damn sure she’s causing the “blood” from them to squirt onto RiAnna’s top. After a bit of chewing, the Toxic Muse grins.

Definitely Not Nightshade: Gurl, you look like shit.

The Timeberry wipes the liquid from her top indifferently before looking back up to the maniacally beaming Anna.

RiAnna Lockhaniels: Yeah? And you don’t quite fill out that outfit, so we’re both flawed here.

OG RIA takes another gander up and down at the sight in front of her. Her eyes lock with this reflection from her past, those unnatural green eyes… the black lipstick. She throws a fake smile onto her mug.

RIA Lockhart: So what exactly was YOUR plan here? Screwing with me is the obvious answer, but I feel like it’s probably deeper than that.

She crosses her arms on her chest, that almost taunting look staying on her face.

Anna Daniels: Does it need to be? Is it any deeper than you dressing up as our weaker self?

Of course it is and they all know it is. And yet Anna is the picture of nonchalance as reddened teeth munch onto spooky Chex Mix. They lean with their back towards the wall.

Anna Daniels: Not to mention it’s Halloween, for fuck’s sake. If there’s ever an opportunity to dress up like this, it would be tonight. Your reaction alone is worth this dye job. Don’t understand how sis did it without the urge to shave her head off and start again.

She absentmindedly touches her mane for a bit before giving a shrug.

Anna Daniels: Ah, well. Guess we’ll never know.

RIA Lockhart: Suppose so.

Lockhart picks up a chocolate spider and bites off the head, chewing for a minute.

RIA Lockhart: I mean, she is me. Always has been, always will be. I might have tried to deny it for a while, but that’s the truth. Kinda like how the ‘weaker’ version of you is still you. But them and I actually talked, had deep conversations, even if they didn’t think I’d fully understand where they were coming from.

The rest of the candy arachnid pops into her mouth.

Anna Daniels: You can tell people that, but we know that ain’t true. You’re not her. She may have lived in your body for a while, but she’s not around. Face it, Lockhart. You’re a bigger fraud without this garb than we are with it.

Huh. A tiny bat pretzel.

Anna Daniels: You murdered her. It took us a while to accept it. We just figured she deserved one last shot at the spotlight so the other people that loved her could mourn.

RIA cackles. A very familiar one. She takes a step closer to Anna, looking them up and down before a sneer crosses her face.

RIA Lockhart: You think you know her? The pain, the humiliation, the suffering that led to her? You might understand it, but I can promise you that you don’t fully get it!

Lockhart reaches up and yanks the circlet off, tossing it without concern down the hall.

RIA Lockhart: I’ll be more than happy to tap into that. That what you want, sis? You want to take on that side of me?

A mocking grin slides onto RIA’s visage as she takes another step closer.

RIA Lockhart: Or maybe you miss her? Is that it? You don’t like how I’ve changed, how I’ve evolved? Miss the pissed off emo version?

Anna…sighs.

Anna Daniels: Christ, Lockhart. Does the truth rattle you so much that you gotta try to dig up her corpse to try and prove some point? That she’s still in there? That you’re still pissed? Because you should be. And honestly, us beating the shit out of you should be damn low on that particular totem pole.

Despite the irony in a few of those sentences, a smile forms on her face. As if she expected this somehow.

Anna Daniels: And what’s crazy is you’re the one missing what we used to be. You miss somebody who didn’t see the patterns. You miss the one that was screeching for help and got fuck all. You are the one who misses what doesn’t evolve. We miss the woman that had fire in her heart. We miss the woman that wasn’t content with just existing. We miss the woman who didn’t have to act dumb all the time in order to keep–

Air quotes!

Anna Daniels: –“friends”. We miss conversations without guilt trips. We don’t know who you are. We tried understanding you. But at the end of the day, no matter how much you pretend, you are not that bitch. Not anymore.

And with that rant, Anna begins to strip. She rips off the facade of Nightshade as much as one can without getting censors involved before staring RIA right in the eye.

Anna Daniels: You’re right. We’re not her. We’re Anna Daniels and we are that bitch.

The grimace on RIA’s face only grows. She shakes her head vehemently.

RIA Lockhart: I’m not her? Yeah, I don’t have a fucking needle plunged into my god damn arm! I’m not constantly fighting of thoughts of suicide! Yeah, I ain’t her. But you’re an idiot if you think I can’t still draw on those emotions. The wounds might not be open, but the scars are enough of a reminder. And you’re right that I miss the old you! Yeah, the one that had some shred of moral fiber in their body.

Lockhart grabs a pretzel bat and lazily chucks it down the hall.

RIA Lockhart: You don’t get to do objectively awful things and just have me shrug my shoulders. I’m sorry me holding you to a standard has offended you. Besides which, what conversations?! That’s my problem; I have no fucking idea what’s going on with you and haven’t for awhile! So forgive me for following my own path on things.

There’s a pause after this. The Time Lord stands dumbfounded by what the hell RIA just said.

Anna Daniels: First of all, the fact that you’re saying “wHaT cOnVeRsAtIoNs?” further proves that Nightshade is dead. Secondly, we are speaking to you about our problems with you clear as fucking day in pure goddamn English for what feels like the ten thousandth time…and you’re still standing here acting like you don’t know anything. Like this is allllll new to you.

It feels like a loop has continued. Usually, this would be a crash out time. A time to try and force the issue. A time to try to make her understand only to be brushed off or mocked by others. Instead, Anna breathes.

In.

Out.

And says the only thing she can say.

Anna Daniels: You’re not our sister, Lockhart.

She walks off. Not arrogantly, but also nowhere near defeated. Just…ready. Lockhart stands there still frowning. But she can’t stop her bottom lip from quivering. She can’t keep her eyes from watering up. RIA turns around to storm off, before she completely falls apart.

ReVival moves on.

On any other night, he would stay to the end. On any other night, he might take the opportunity to get a drink and talk shop with the boys backstage. Until tonight, it had been over a year since Jared Sykes had stepped foot inside a wrestling ring. It’s the sort of event one might want to commemorate.

And on any other night, he might do just that.

But tonight there is one mission, one singular purpose to which he has dedicated himself. In the wake of a fight against Anna Daniels, Jared Sykes only wants to get back home. To be there when his little girl wakes up in the morning. The red-eye flight back to Boston is already booked. The rental car is only a few feet away. If he hurries, he can still catch it. If he hurries, he might be able to repair some of the damage that his leaving caused.

A picture on his phone, sent so he would know what he missed in being away.

So he rushes through the backstage area, hair still wet from a post-match shower and clothes lazily thrown into his gear bag. He can sort those when he arrives at the airport. And besides, he’s going to have to open the bag for security anyway, so why waste the time now?

It’s close now, so close. Only a few yards left until the journey home begins.

Jared doesn’t notice the faint glow of a cigarette through the darkened windshield of his rental car until the driver’s door creaks open.

Alexei Ruslan steps out first, pulling deep on his smoke before flicking it aside. A gout of gray drifts between them.

Alexei Ruslan: Ah, Jared. Good evening. Such convenient automobiles, these American rentals. So easy to open when one the right tools.

From the passenger side, the entire car rocks beneath a shifting weight before Ivan Stanislav rises from the other side. The Bear towers over both car and comrade, dressed for battle later this evening. He surveys the garage with disdain.

Ivan Stanislav: Last time we stood in garage like this, Jared, you tried to kill me with forklift. But, once again, you failed.

The giant takes a deliberate step forward. Alexei snaps his collapsible baton into place and lingers just behind him, eyes bright and hungry.

Ivan Stanislav: Our dear Arina Timofeyevna came to you, unbidden, to plead for mercy.

Alexei twirls the baton lazily, smirking.

Alexei Ruslan: You turned her away.

A low rumble escapes Ivan’s throat.

Ivan Stanislav: She tried, Jared. She tried to stop what now must happen. You failed her.

Jared sucks in a breath through his teeth and nods his head. The thought that has been ever-present in his mind since leaving home has found itself a voice.

Jared Sykes: Yeah.

He sighs the word, resigned to the bitter acceptance.

Jared Sykes: I’m hearing that a lot this week.

Metal sings through the air. A whistle, then a sickening crack.

The flagpole connects with Jared’s shoulder, bone meeting metal. His body crumples, knee smashing against concrete as air blasts from his lungs.

The camera jerks violently to reveal the attacker.

Arina Timofeyevna.

She clutches the flagpole, her entire frame convulsing. A sound, primal and raw, rips from her throat as tears are already streaming down her face, cutting paths through her makeup.

She swings again. Wild. Desperate. The pole whistles past its target and strikes the floor with a spark. Her body lurches forward, nearly falling.

Ivan looms above her, eyes drilling into her while one lone finger aims at Jared like the barrel of a gun. Ruslan hovers behind him, his eyes burning. Arina’s gaze locks with Ivan’s, but the silent command from The Russian Bear might as well be a scream.

Again.

Arina hesitates. Her eyes dart between Jared, blood now pooling beneath him as he claws at the ground, and Ivan, whose massive shadow stretches over them.

Ruslan hisses.

Alexei Ruslan: Do it devushka. For the Motherland.

With tears blurring her sight, Arina lifts the flagpole again. She swings with a cry as the pole whistles through the air and slams into Jared’s ribs, a wet crack echoing through the garage. His body convulses as he wheezes painfully.

Arina stumbles backwards while vomit burns her throat and Jared’s blood splatters against her shoes.

Arina Timofeyevna: Пожалуйста, Старший Прапорщик… хватит… (Please, Starshy Praporshchik… enough…)

Her plea dissolves into a whimper while Ivan’s eyes turn glacial.

Ivan Stanislav: Nyet.

Arina’s legs give way beneath her. She crashes to one knee, watching Jared’s fingers claw at the concrete, leaving scarlet streaks where his nails dig in. He turns his eyes up to Arina and makes eye contact.

Jared Sykes: Hey… hey, it’s…

His words are momentarily broken by an involuntary cough. A thick gobbet of crimson stains the floor beneath him.

Jared Sykes: This isn’t your fault… this isn’t your… Hey… Look, Arina… It’s okay. It’s okay.

The words strike harder than any weapon. Arina covers her mouth, a sob tearing free as she shakes her head.

Jared Sykes: S’like you said…

Another cough wracks his body.

Jared Sykes: You have to pr… you have to protect… the littlest. S’okay… Ih’s’okay.

Arina Timofeyevna: Прости меня… пожалуйста, прости… (Forgive me… please forgive me…)

Jared Sykes: Prot… the littlest…

Ivan’s shadow falls across both of them. His expression does not change.

Ivan Stanislav: Remember when he left me drowning in my own blood beneath forklift? Now we carve this memory into his flesh, Arina Rakhila. He crushed mercy under his machine, so we will crush him. Again. Harder. Until he stops forgiving you.

Ivan’s jaw tightens. Just once. The only tell in an otherwise unreadable Russian facade.

From his place on the concrete, and despite the injuries already sustained, Jared can’t help but laugh. The act sends a shock of pain through his chest, and every word after sets his nerves aflame.

Jared Sykes: Never gonna happen, Arina.

Her scream is silent as she drags herself to her feet, only the trembling of her shoulders gives it away. The metal whistles down and connects with Jared’s skull with a sickening crack that echoes through the garage like a gunshot. Blood sprays across the concrete as the pole tumbles from her trembling fingers, clattering with finality

For a long second there is only the rasp of the overhead light and the wet, slow breath of the wounded PRIME superstar.

Arina collapses onto her knees beside Jared, her whimpers raw, until they aren’t. The sound cuts off, mid-breath as she remains frozen, mouth open, and silent.

Alexei rifles through Jared’s pockets, yanking out a keyring with a laugh. The trunk pops upon. He hauls Jared upright by an arm, slings him over one shoulder, and drags him to the rear of the rental. Jared’s legs spasm once in a final, futile protest, before Alexei dumps him into the darkness of the trunk. The lid slams with a thunderous crack that jolts through Arina’s body

Alexei jams the key into the lock. The mechanism resists. He shoves, twisting, and with a small, satisfying crack, the key breaks off in the lock. He pockets the rest of the keyring and dusts off his hands with glee.

Ivan watches, impassively, and then levels his gaze on Arina. She remains on her knees, small and broken against the concrete, her breathing ragged. She doesn’t look up. Ivan extends his hand, scarred and steady.

It compels her eyes to move to the huge hand. She stares at it and then, slowly, trembling, she places her hand in his. He pulls her to her feet with surprising gentleness. She rises unsteadily. His hand engulfs her shoulder.

Ivan Stanislav: Теперь ты понимаешь. (Now you understand.)

His eyes search hers for only a second. Then, he releases her.

Ivan Stanislav: We have a match. Let him rot.

He turns and makes for the arena. Alexei follows, plucking up the flagpole like a souvenir, a small satisfied smirk on his face and he whistles the Soviet National Anthem.

Arina stands where Ivan left her, swaying slightly. When she finally moves, it’s like an automaton. One foot. Then another. She follows Ivan at a step behind, eyes empty.

ReVival moves on.

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

“Easy now, easy now
Easy now, easy now
I wake up in my bed
With monsters in my head
Easy now, easy now
Easy now, easy now
I wake up in my bed
With monsters in my head”

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

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

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

The lights go out in the arena, and a big murmur goes up in the crowd, excited for what’s next. Then the PRIMEView lights up to show a Japanese man with impeccable combed-over black hair, a square jaw, and a towel around his neck emphatically saying a phrase in his native tongue. The translation is in subtitles:

PRO WRESTLING IS A SACRED SPORT!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

A spotlight shines on the curtain, and a beat later, The Anglo Luchador jumps out, dressed in a green tracksuit with a purple towel around his neck, pumping his fist into the air. He jogs in place at the top of the ramp for a moment before bounding down to the ring, slapping hands. He gets to the ringside area, strips from his entrance gear, throwing each piece into the crowd before sliding into the ring.

Vince Howard: Introducing his opponent, weighing in at 211 pounds and hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He is the first Intense Champion of the ReVival, the Last Son of Tenochtitlan, and the Spear of Huitzilopochtli… The Anglooooo…. LUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCHADORRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!

RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

DING DING

Nick Stuart: And WE…are underway here.

Richard Parker: And you can already see the size discrepancy on display from the get go. Three inches. Nearly forty pounds.

Nick Stuart: The ReVival’s first Intense Champion has made a living facing off against men much bigger than him, has comported himself well in those situations–

Richard Parker: He’s also dropped a good few of those as well.

Nick Stuart: But that doesn’t necessarily equate to size or weight advantage. Nor does it involve strength. Both of these men have been in the ring together at the same time. You don’t place second in Manhunt if this is a measurement pageant.

Richard Parker: But if the skills are on the same level, those aspects could play a major role. And you can see that in Harrison, taking the center of the ring, and TAL backing away. Those strides forward, each other of them, is cutting the ring smaller and smaller.

Nick Stuart: Two former PRIME Champions here. The Anglo Luchador, as mentioned previously, was the first Intense Champion of the ReVival–

Richard Parker: –and to your point, Steven Harrison beat the…the…the disgusting cockroach wearing a human skin suit that won Manhunt. The Miracle Man because the Miracle 5 Star Champion by beating CANCER JILES HOYT I HATE THAT BASTARD–

Part and parcel with this movement, a sly smirk spread across The Immortal Jellyfish as, in stance, he seemed to glower over The Last Son of Tenochtitlan. Nary a breath from the corner, Harrison drives in, lead foot forward, for a tie up. The Anglo Luchador ducks and darts forward, catching The Miracle Man on his heels. As the former 5 Star Champion begins to turn, he is caught with a charged back elbow.

Cobwebs are at home as decoration on a Halloween night; for Harrison’s sake, that is where they should be left, rather than multiplying in his skull. Maybe a knife edge chop will cut through the grey? And if it doesn’t, then how about another? And another? And another for good measure? If the ring being cut down was a conversation piece at the start of this match, then the turn about should be just as prevalent, especially because all the ground purchased by Steve Harrison’s size discrepancy has molted before The Last Son of Tenochtitlan.

The tanned flesh of the ocean dweller turns burgundy in hue, a fact not helped by the rising welts pebbling across the surface. Another stiff blow pushes the back of Harrison fully into the corner, and with a few steps back, The Anglo Luchador takes off, ready to crash into The Miracle Man with a body splash.

No dice.

Harrison catches him. And, uh oh, that looks like a mighty nasty STO that’s about to spike the back of TAL’s skull into the canvas. We’ll call this one about a .4 on the Hank-to-Maloof scale. Ask Rose and Dusk (his ghost is everywhere, breaking containment even) the damage that does.

Except…

The Anglo Luchador maintains hold of the arm, and, all the force from Harrison, along with his own body weight, he swings him out of the corner and skittering across the canvas with an arm drag.

Basic wrestling stuff.

It’s why the instincts of the former 5 Star Champion kick in, and he is up, already charging the rising Luchador.

oooooOOOOf.

Hey, remember that side deal?

Does it matter when someone hiptosses you right onto your tailbone? Let’s ask The Immortal Jellyfish if he has bones. Hey…Steve?

Oh. Right. That gritting of the teeth. The wincing. The sweat stinging the eyes. Yeah…this jellyfish got some calcium in him. No amorphous blob here. Shame, then, when TAL caroms off the ropes and DOES A BARREL ROLL right into him.

COVER

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT! Harrison.

TAL quickly grabs onto him, trying to smother, side headlock in tight. Harrison, for his part, will not stay down for long, and begins to rise, hands clasping around the waistband of the tights of The Luchador. A heavy tug. Wait. WAIT! People might think TAL makes an ass of himself from time to time, but they don’t necessarily want to SEE HIS LITERAL ASS ON THE ACE NETWORK! If anyone seems as aware of this reality as anyone else, it’s The Luchador, who is busy grabbing to keep his tights up.

Cradle by Harrison.

ONE!

TWO!

PULL OF THE TIGHTS!

NO!

Lucha libre style involves a reserve of strength at the base, in the legs, as a necessity. This saves The Anglo Luchador. Without hesitation, right off the hop, he once again finds the neck of Harrison, a familiar and comfortable nook (but not a sports nook), but The Miracle Man is not about to play stand around, instead driving the heels of his boots into the canvas, deadlifting TAL up and over, dropping him on top of his head with a backdrop driver suplex!

The vicious topple has The Luchador wrapping his hands around his neck. Not a comfortable fall, needless to say. Threads and cords. Another notch punched on the ole spine. But today holds no tragedy, and The Anglo Luchador is fighting to get to his knees.

Harrison dives toward him with a smothering front face lock, all before yanking him up and snapping him to the canvas with a vertical suplex. There is no float over, instead, simply, a grip and a waistlock from behind, and deadlift and forceful saito suplex that crunches the former Intense Champion together like a collapsible mattress.

There is the hook of the leg.

ONE

TWO

THR–

KICKOUT BY TAL!

The Luchador reaches with a hand to the air, but Harrison grabs hold of him with a rear naked choke, ready to strangle his opponent to sleep. At least out of air. TAL begins to bridge from the canvas with his feet, and with Harrison trying to pushing him down with pressure, chin at the top of his head like a hammer, he leaves himself dangerously vulnerable.

Drop.

To.

The.

Bumtocks.

The asschecks.

The…

He hit a jaw breaker. And Steve Harrison is stumbling, perhaps with a few busted teeth inside his mouth. For what it’s worth? The Anglo Luchador grabs at his neck and jaw, trying to twist it and pop it. No dice. He’s not in the most conducive environment for healing chiropractic…and he’s not in the ring with someone who is versed in that. No…Steve Harrison is a professional hurting chiropractor. He lifts you up and suplexes you and you go ouchie wowchie and need to spend lots of money to feel remotely human again. It sucks. It’s a whole thing. Do not recommend. Do not try this at home.

But The Anglo Luchador IS at home. And with Harrison still in a state of unawares, the fact that he’s able to get a hold of him for a ripcord and a right cross, The Drizzle Maker, definitely doesn’t hurt. It DOES hurt Harrison, though, dropping him to his backside, leaving enough space for TAL to blast him in the face with a front dropkick. And if that isn’t enough? He grabs onto him by the ankles and goes full on high angle, ready to tear ligaments apart, turning The Miracle Man into a Miracle Bow, high angle boston crab.

The former 5 Star Champion does everything he can, his hands swinging out wildly, trying to find an angle, some proximity, something, ANYTHING, close to the ropes. Does he find one? Maybe?

It doesn’t matter.

TAL drags him into the center of the ring, yanking, sitting back. Torture. Unadulterated torture. And Steve Harrison fights. He claws. He tries to move. The Anglo Luchador? He ain’t budging. He’s obstinate like that. The only way Steve Harrison is going to find his way out of this mess is if he lets go.

Which he…does?

Wait? What?

Is there some trick? Some help coming in the wings? Are we getting another surprise Red Army member? Maybe Harrison is finally linking up in true with Glue?

No. TAL is just STUPID! SO STUPID! Right?

Right?

Harrison grabs at his knees as he struggles to his feet.

A dumbass doesn’t get the best La Magistrol cradle in the business.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE

THREEEE—

THREE–

Three?

LAST. SECOND. KICKOUT. But Harrison is scrambled. Discombobulated. Out of sorts. Swim, fish. You know how Huitzilopochtli would catch you? Right through you. Tip of the spear. Predatory shit. That’s The Anglo Luchador. Eyes focused. Ready to pounce.

Cross those arms.

Hey, Steve…

Let me show you the Pacific.

We hope it doesn’t have any of those pesky cyclones…

Preparation triggers something in Harrison’s brain. A fight at the hand grip. Too late! TAL is already lifting him onto his shoulders–

No.

NOT too late. The fight to get free of his hands is enough to drop Harrison behind him on to his feet as TAL falls back for the suplex. Scurry to get up.

Enlightenment.

The Luchador tries to get up, and in the process, Harrison steps behind him, coiling. On his knees, TAL pushes with his palms against his canvas, ready to get up.

The first one didn’t take.

How about some more damn Enlightenment?

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner…by pinfall…STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVE! HARRISON!

Harrison’s pinfall is successful, but just barely, as The Anglo Luchador kicks out just after the three. His hands reach for the ankle of Harrison, who kicks away at the hand, only for Jimmy Turnbull to step in to prevent escalation.

The Miracle Man sees no reason to keep going on.

The Anglo Luchador reaches out with his hand, asking about the three from Turnbull, shaking his head after the unfortunate affirmation.

As as “Set Your Soul Free,” by Trey Anastasio w/ Derek Trucks plays, PRIME moves elsewhere.

In the backstage halls, the Anti-PRIME makes his way down a bustling corridor. Matt Ward holds a set of papers half-folded in his left hand, and in his right, the replica Universal title as the uncrowned champion.

His steps are deliberate and fast, wasting no space or time, as they make their way towards his intended destination.

And as he rounds a corner, his eyes lock on that destination.

The Steel Door O’ Doom.

With his left fist, the one gripping legal documents, Ward pounds on the door with three short, forceful knocks.

KNOCK

KNOCK

KNOCK

There’s a brief pause before the door swings open and the moment it does, Lindsay Troy’s smile evaporates.

Lindsay Troy: You’ve got some nerve.

The Inhuman Being stares back at the Queen of the Ring – or, should we say, the Airship Pirate of the Ring. The Boss is dressed as her Bestie, Henry Keyes, in his OG DEFIANCE attire: tight white sleeveless tee, loose-fitting red pants and black suspenders (calm down, Hutch), black boots, and steampunk goggles that sit atop a fiery red, short-haired, slicked-back wig. There’s also a matching mustache.

Tchu: I do. Always have. But I’m not here to trade barbs.

Lindsay Troy: (deadpan) I’m stunned. Just stunned.

The Inhuman Being holds up his right arm and goes to hand Troy the replica Universal Championship he had been parading around with just two weeks earlier.

Tchu: Not sure what level of fame I still carry, but I signed this. Figure a high quality replica Uni title with my autograph ought to fetch a few bucks. Auction it off and donate it to charity.

The Boss, who has quickly replaced her Airship Pirate attire with Keyes’ OG Kraken attire (a tight black T-shirt, black pants with a pink belt, red boots, a large eyepatch over her left eye, a salt and pepper short-haired, slicked-back wig, and a Van Dyke goatee), scoffs as she snatches the belt away from Ward. Over her shoulder, in the background, Quick Change Plague Doctor fixes his masked gaze at the Inhuman Being.

Lindsay Troy: So much for the Four-ish-time champion, huh?

Tchu: Guess so.

Ward holds up the papers in his left hand and shoves them towards LT.

Tchu: I also signed this.

The Queen unfolds them and it can be clearly seen that it’s the Colossus contract that had only seen one signature at ReVival 77.

Tchu: Sorry it took so long, but there it is. Lindsay Troy versus Matt Ward… one-on-one… at Colossus. And then I’m retiring. Win, lose or draw. I’m done.

Troy’s expression darkens in displeasure.

Lindsay Troy: What the hell is going on. First the match with Clay, now this?

Tchu: Ask my daughter. And start training. I’ve got nothing to hold back, nothing to leave in the tank at Colossus.

The self-proclaimed Anti-PRIME turns and walks away without another word, true to his promise that he had no intent to trade barbs. As he disappears down the hall, Troy – now in Modern Keyes clothes of a PRIME-blue tee, hot pink pants, black boots, no eyepatch, and the BIG BLU FIST of DEFIANCE belt – looks down at the signed contract, then towards her friend-turned-nemesis-turned-sadsackofshit.

Lindsay Troy: (growling low) Fucking coward…

She walks back inside her office and slams the door shut.

Troy versus Ward III is on, but something is definitely off…

The TV production trailer located out in the parking lot is a happening place. There’s people aplenty bounding about, all with fancy headsets over their ears and clipboards grasped in their hands. Everyone is focused, naturally, on producing the very best, highest quality wrestling show PRIME has become renowned for. It’s no fluke the PNC Arena in Raleigh, North Carolina is sold out. The fans on the inside of the arena watch the video screens as a silent tour around the production area takes place.

Suddenly, a few of the interior monitors in the production truck flicker. The producer stationed in front of the faulty monitors shrugs it off at first but after a second flickering, they wheel their chair closer and begin tapping on the glass display in hopes it might fix the problem. It seems to do the trick as the producer is able to sit back in their chair, make hand gestures and convey verbal directions to nearby production team members about what’s happening next.

Then the power goes out entirely. Left in a seemingly endless amount of darkness, the producers scramble for flashlights and the ability to restore power but by the time the generator is cranked and the exceptional production team is triaging the outage, all of the monitors in the truck turn on, but not to the typical PRIME ReVival feed anyone is used to or was expecting. No, instead the feed shows a static channel that feels like it’s been plucked from a nineties cable service.

Everyone stops and watches the monitors as heavy breathing can be heard from the other end.

Distorted Voice: Hello there. Do not adjust your sets. They are under my control for now.

Producers work furiously to counteract whatever sort of brief hostile takeover seems to be occurring. The phrase ‘MALWARE DETECTED’ keeps flashing over the screens in a toxic, corrupt manner.

Distorted Voice: PRIME. Number One By Definition. That’s great. I love that for you but how does this place boast itself to be the best when it’s MISSING the BEST?

By now, everything the producers have tried to regain control of their broadcast has fallen short and they are left utterly helpless but to watch the propaganda air over their program. One could assume Lindsay Troy would be shouting at the top of her lungs about such an interceptive message being played on her show without consent.

Distorted Voice: How is greatness defined anyways? What makes THIS place so special? So many questions and very few answers but I have ONE to give all of you.

Of course, there is THAT ONE producer who just will not accept no for an answer as they furiously smash the commercial break button repeatedly but again, nothing takes place.

Distorted Voice: PRIME has now been infected with a very incurable strand of MALWARE. This virus will turn PRIME cold to its very foundation and alas, this begs more questions. Who will stand up to the virus? Who will fall to it? Where did I come from? Why now?

A blurry masked individual is shown on the screen. They are shrouded in darkness as they laugh like an evil supervillain.

Distorted Voice: In the end, all efforts against me are futile for I have INJECTED myself into PRIME and there’s only one way to get rid of me.

The masked individual gets as close to the camera lens on their end as possible. Their breathing intensifies.

Distorted Voice: By letting me rot PRIME from the inside–

The figure stands.

Distorted Voice: OUT!

The feed abruptly cuts, goes black, and then finally returns to a view of the hard cam. Relieved, producers in the truck assume control of ReVival and can continue on with the show.

We cut to ringside for the main event, and it’s already quite the scene.

Richard Parker and Nick Stuart are not in their normal position. Instead, they’ve made a retreat to a commentary table close to the entryway. It had been fortified, steel surrounding the table proper and something resembling a barrier surrounding the table itself. Clearly, this had been built rapidly in the time between the TAL/Harrison match and this moment. Whether or not it’s sturdy enough to withstand the match that’s about to unfold is a debate for another time.

Like, maybe fifteen minutes from now, give or take.

Nick Stuart: Folks, we’re about to be in a dangerous situation. Two monsters are about to fight each other in that ring, and we’re not sure how safe anyone is going to be out here tonight.

The lights dim… and then the slow, mean twang of “Fastest Horse in Town” by Sturgill Simpson cuts through the dark.

Smoke drifts across the stage as Daytona Diamonds steps into view, rhinestones flashing like gunfire. Hat low. Sunglasses on. No smile. No Halloween costume. Just swagger and venom.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring… from Carson City, Nevada… weighing in at two hundred and ninety pounds… he is THE RHIIIIIINNNNESTONE COWBOY… THE ANABOOOOOLIC OUTLAW… THE KIIIIING OF THE OCCCCCEAN…

He walks the ramp slowly, every step echoing through the boos that roll over him. Somewhere near ringside, a woman and a little boy stand in the front row. Bambi, clutching their son. A small, honest smile breaks through the scowl. He taps two fingers to the brim of his hat and gives them a nod.

Vince Howard: …DAAAAAAYTOOOOONNNNAAAA DIAAAAAMOOOONNNNDS!

He climbs the steps, wipes his boots on the apron, and steps through the ropes. The crowd’s booing swells as he moves to the center of the ring, raising his arms before flexing beneath the white-hot spotlight. As those muscles relax and he cracks his neck, the Rhinestone Cowboy takes off his hat, crosses to his corner, and places it almost reverently atop the turnbuckle.

One last glance at Bambi.

One more little smile.

And then he leans back against the ropes, head bows, eyes fixed.

Somewhere, the ghost of Ronald Reagan leers down upon that ring, shouting through Alzheimer’s tangles spooky speak, “Mr. Diamondschev, tear down that motherfucker.”

Nick Stuart: Daytona Diamonds is looking ready for this match.

Richard Parker: Good, because I’m not! This is not a safe distance!

Nick Stuart: I’m sure the action won’t come this far.

He pauses, reflecting on it.

Nick Stuart: Hopefully.

Sturgill Simpson dies down, and there’s a brief silence beyond the murmuring of the crowd before “The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir hits the PA system.

Without that much more preamble, Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Rulsan emerge from the backstage area. Nobody in Raleigh is happy about that, despite all indications from Russian propaganda. They raise their arms side by side, roar at the crowd, and make their way towards the ring. Nobody’s happy about that, either.

Vince Howard: His opponent! From Arkhangelsk in Russia, weighing in at 400 pounds! HE IS THE RUSSIAN BEAR! HE IS… IVAAAAAAANNNNNN STAAAAAAAAANISLAAAAAAVVVV!!!

Stanislav points and jaws at several fans along the way, while Ruslan points and hawks at the greatness of the Russian Bear.

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

Nick Stuart: What do we expect to see here, Rich?

Richard Parker: Hopefully a warm and friendly understanding between closely aligned brotherhoods, and not a kaiju big battle right here in Raleigh.

Nick Stuart: I asked “what do we expect,” not “what we hope.”

Richard Parker: Oh. Well. I hope nobody dies.

Elvis Nixon sighs, makes the sign of the cross, and calls for the bell.

DING DING

And folks, this is going to be bad.

The very instant the bell rang, a three hundred pound gorilla came bounding across the ring and leapt into a four hundred pound bear and it was on like Donkey Kong.

Nick Stuart: Daytona Diamonds is not wasting any time here!

Richard Parker: I’m scared. This is not the safest place to be.

Nick Stuart: We’re in a makeshift blast bunker to call this match!

Richard Parker: And I still don’t feel safe!

Ivan shoves Daytona off of him. Daytona flies backwards, but lands in a three-point stance. Like a goddang superhero. He stands up flexing defiantly at the Russian Bear, who looks more than a little annoyed at this act of defiance. Ivan charges at Daytona, but whereas most opponents of the Russian Bear try to evade or flee, Daytona has it in his mind that he is the strongest man in PRIME. Look at those fuckin’ muscles, for God’s sakes! Daytona goes shoulder-to-shoulder with the Russian Bear, rising in the air to meet that eleven inch gap in height, and…

…Well, it’d say something like “the irresistible force meeting the immovable object” and all that, but it’s really more like two meteors somewhere in outer space colliding with one another and now it’s everyone else’s problem.

Daytona and Ivan stare at each other, each likely wondering why the other wasn’t on the canvas in a puddle of broken pride. Ivan dares Daytona to come off of the ropes and try again, and Daytona has the exact reaction of “nobody calls me chicken, pal!” and obliges. Once again, two monsters collide. The explosive force of the two bodies make a huge thudding impact, like two very sturdy statues knocked over into one another by Kratos trying to make his way to the next god he needs to kill.

Daytona flexes at Ivan. Threateningly. That’s a flex of threatening implications.

Ivan is bemused to say the very least.

Nick Stuart: I’m getting worried that these two are about to break something.

Richard Parker: Just so we’re clear, Nick, if they come anywhere near us, we are going to run for our lives. Me and you, together. Screaming like a little girl will not be frowned upon.

Ivan eventually decides that he wants Daytona to try again. Daytona nods and runs into the ropes.

Alexei grabs his ankle as he hits the ropes.

Daytona is undeterred to the point that Alexei is literally dragged into the ring, yelling, as Daytona charges at Ivan. Ivan goes wide-eyed at the display. So does referee Elvis Nixon, whom we should now note is the referee. Obviously. It’s perhaps less obvious because he’s dressed like the most zebra-striped medieval knight possible. Elvis tries to get Alexei out of the ring as Ivan and Daytona make contact again. Ivan staggers, if slightly from the surprise of Daytona still hitting with all that impact with the world’s least-willing ball and chain around the Rhinestone Cowboy’s ankle.

Nick Stuart: Get that clown out of there!

Richard Parker: They don’t have clowns in Russia!

With the referee distracted, though, Ivan is able to use a technique he so rarely gets to implement.

Nick Stuart: A thumb to the eyes from Ivan!

And then we were off to the races.

Ivan grabbed Daytona and heaved him bodily over the top rope and to the apron. Though his vision was blurry from the eye poke, Daytona held on to Ivan by his suspenders and started dragging the Russian Bear over the top rope with him. The end result is that both monsters were already outside of the ring, which is probably why the United States just declared DEFCON-4 in the Raleigh, North Carolina region.

Richard Parker: This was definitely not a match that was going to stay in the ring, was it?

Nick Stuart: Just hope they don’t come this way.

Imagine a ring apron. Nice, narrow space. Some call it the hardest part of the ring every time it comes up. Anyway, imagine two kaiju deciding that this is the best part of the ring to start swinging at each other. Yeah. Daytona throws a haymaker at Ivan’s jaw, which briefly stuns him before Ivan returns the favor with one of his own. Ever been punched by a seven foot tall Frankensteinian abomination that screams at you in Cyrillic? Daytona has!

Daytona is a muscle-bound genetic freak, such that even his words have muscles. But even his jaw is not fortified enough to take a Soviet-grade artillery shell to the mush. He exits the apron, pursued by bear.

Ivan carefully drops down from the apron, grabs Daytona, and literally hurls him into the front row. A few fans are intelligent enough to get the absolute fuck out of the way, but those that didn’t received a lapful of cowboy gorilla.

Nick Stuart: Daytona’s thrown into the crowd, and that’s not good for anyone!

Richard Parker: OH GOD THEY’RE LOOSE

Ivan is very helpful and understanding of the audience members that are on the wrong end of his newest Olympic sport of Cowboy Shotput, and by that I mean…

Ivan Stanislav: DYAA-HAA-HAA!

Yup, he don’t care. Filthy Americans.

Ivan raises his arms triumphantly, and turns to Elvis Nixon to demand that he wins the match by way of throwing his opponent out of the ring. Elvis Nixon dutifully reminds him that this is not how wrestling law works. Ivan Stanislav loudly declares that it does work that way in Russia, and that this match is under Russian rules. This conversation keeps going until Daytona Diamonds rises from his grave by literally using a housewife as a barbell in the process. He looks around, sees Ivan arguing with Nixon, and decides that he wants in on this conversation.

And by that, I mean that Ivan now has a three hundred pound gorilla cowboy on his back, screaming many fuck words unintelligibly the entire time.

Richard Parker: I don’t think you can say any of that on television.

Nick Stuart: How many times did you have to pay the swear jar last show?

Richard Parker: One or two or twenty times, why?

Ivan finds himself not only carrying Daytona’s weight as Daytona’s legs go around his waist, but he’s getting bashed silly by gorilla-like slams into his head and shoulders. There’s no technique here, insofar as a beast does not display a lot of technique while bashing you to death. Daytona’s closer to a beast than a wrestler right now, and Ivan is trying to come to terms with this as something of a beast himself.

He manages to shrug Daytona off by backing him into the ringpost. Four hundred pounds of angry Russian playing the role of a rock and the ringpost playing the role of a hard place is enough to get Daytona off of him. Ivan has a look of almost bewilderment at his once-comrade in the Whoresaw Pact, wondering what lengths he’d go to in order to beat him.

He decides that the first length to go through would be to boot Daytona right in the face.

Nick Stuart: SAVAGE big boot from Ivan!

Daytona goes down, and Ivan goes to grab a steel chair while he convalesces on the ground.

Ivan has, likely, forgotten about such annoyances like “the rules” and “decorum” and has definitely not “thought of the Whoresaw Pact.” The only thing that matters to him is absolute victory. He pulls Daytona up to his feet, and then throws him right back into the crowd again.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think anyone in the front row is safe!

Richard Parker: I don’t feel safe, and we’re up here!

Daytona lands hard at the feet of a middle-aged couple who didn’t get the memo that we’re in DEFCON-4 on the road to DEFCON-3. He’s a bit dazed, and he’s also very pissed off. Ivan is once again doing his thing…

Ivan Stanislav: DYAA-HAA-HAA!

…Yeah, that thing. And hearing that laugh pisses Daytona off something fierce. He starts to sit up, and then he sees them.

Bambi and their child, Dega. Sitting right there at ringside. A look of concern on the former’s face, a look of cute child on the latter’s. Something in Daytona’s head, through all of that muscle, clicks. And when Ivan finally stops the laugh and gets back to business, he finds Daytona Diamonds meeting him with a punch right to the face.

Ivan Stanislav has been punched in the face many times. Few of those punches land with the type of force that something which is more muscle and anger than a mortal man is capable of landing. Ivan staggers, and then Daytona grabs him and pulls him over the barricade to join him.

Fans scatter.

Godzilla and King Kong are taking their brawl into the citizenry, and god fucking help you if you got in their way. Elvis Nixon is begging for both of these men to stop their fight amidst the fans, but neither Ivan nor Daytona respect his authority. The two behemoths clash, exchanging blows that were better found in an artillery bombardment than a professional wrestling match. One blow catches Daytona just right to cause a gash of blood on his head, and the counterpunch that followed might have caused some of Ivan’s brain cells to leak out of his head.

No big deal.

Nick Stuart: These two men are fighting tooth and nail out in the crowd!

Richard Parker: Run for your lives! Don’t be a hero!

Things change quickly on the battlefield. Ivan takes a punch that staggers him, only for Ivan to pick up and throw a chair at Daytona’s head. The chair bounces off of Daytona’s skull. Most matches, that’d be a disqualification. In this match, it’s just a projectile version of another punch. Daytona takes the blow, flexes defiantly in response, and then throws a chair back at Ivan.

Richard Parker: Oh, great, now we have projectiles!

Nick Stuart: Any other match, both of these guys would be disqualified, but Elvis Nixon is letting these two go!

Richard Parker: Would you get in-between two kaiju to let them know that they’ve both been disqualified?

Nick Stuart: No. Hell no.

One man who clearly doesn’t care about anything other than victory is Alexei Ruslan, who is apoplectic that Daytona hasn’t been disqualified for the blatant chair use. Nixon turns to rebuke Ruslan, and as he does, Ivan throws another chair back at Daytona. So, you know, not helping anyone’s cause.

Daytona charges Ivan to avoid getting another chair thrown at him, hitting him with a right hand that knocks Ivan back and towards the barricade. Daytona doesn’t hesitate, because “hesitate” is one of the words that isn’t in his vocabulary, and he charges Ivan.

CRAAASH!

OHHHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: THE BARRICADE JUST GOT ANNIHILATED!

Richard Parker: OH NO!

Daytona charge had barreled Ivan and himself into and through the ringside barricade, opening up a hole near the timekeeper’s table. Both men are sprawled out on the ground, clearly regretting any chair-related life choices. Vince Howard and the timekeeper both wisely realize that they aren’t as safe as they could be and get the fuck out of there.

Nick Stuart: This is mayhem!

Richard Parker: The city of Raleigh is about to be able to declare for disaster relief after this match.

Especially since going through a barricade clearly only delays things a little bit. Ivan is already recovering, despite being on the receiving end of the charge. Unfortunately for him, Daytona is also recovering. After a brief pause, the two monsters start punching each other again.

Nick Stuart: This might never end!

Richard Parker: Please, let it end.

Hahaha, yeah right.

That puny timekeeper table?

CRASH!

It is but dust now.

Ivan throws Daytona over on top of it, no technique involved outside of raw Russian power. Ivan expects this to be the end of Daytona’s resistance, but what he doesn’t expect is that Daytona Diamonds has become something more than just a defiant, decadent cowboy who loves cocaine and bitches. He’s also a super muscular decadent cowboy who loves cocaine and bitches, with a wife that he’s started to finally want to do right by. Maybe.

So when Daytona picks himself back up from the wreckage of the timekeeper’s table, no worse for wear, even Ivan is surprised. Ivan charges Daytona again, but Daytona stands firm and locks his arms around Ivan’s waist. What happens next is something Ivan Stanislav has so rarely experienced, something that feels next-to-impossible before this night.

He is being manhandled.

He is being lifted off his feet.

He is…

CRASH!

…thrown through the goddamn commentary table.

Nick Stuart: IVAN STANISLAV JUST WENT THROUGH THE BROADCAST TABLE!

Richard Parker: THANK GOD WE WEREN’T THERE FOR A CHANGE!

Pandemonium is the capital of Hell. It is where all of the demons and fallen angels live. Every single one of them are shitting their demon pants to death right now with the prospect of accepting either one of these two monstrosities into their city. Because we’re pretty sure neither of them are going to the other place.

Right now, the noise coming from the crowd is like that crowd of demons and fallen angels collectively shitting their pants.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Like that.

Daytona Diamonds stands up woozily, punch-drunk with adrenaline and loaded with ML-347 (allegedly), and does the only thing he knows to do.

He flexes.

Hard.

Aggressively.

Furiously.

Ladies, avert your eyes. Men, hide your jealousy. Daytona Diamonds is here and he is flexing.

Alexei Ruslan is not one of the men impressed by all that flexing. As Elvis Nixon checks on the condition of the Russian Bear, Ruslan seizes an opportunity to attack unabated. Out comes the baton, and into the back of Diamonds it goes.

Daytona Diamonds reacts like someone splashed a little bit of cold water on him. Which is to say that he’s visibly unaffected in every way except that he’s unhappy. Oh god, he’s pissed. He turns to see Alexei standing there in absolute bewilderment at the fact that he hit a man as hard as he could with his trusty collapsible baton and he doesn’t even so much as budge. Daytona reacts to this in a manner you might not expect.

He dances a little jig.

Alexei’s almost bewildered by this, until…

BOOM.

Nick Stuart: BIG BOOT-SCOOTIN’ BOOGIE!

A huge boot connects with the face of Ruslan, and he goes down like a bag of hammers. If you look closely, you could see all of the hammers and sickles circling around his head as he sleeps the sleep of the knocked unconscious. Daytona finishes his move with a little “ta-dah.”

Richard Parker: No, Alexei!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think Alexei Ruslan will be interfering any more in this match.

Nope, he’s dead.

Behind Daytona, Ivan has recovered. Somehow. He looks to see that Alexei has been big boot-scootin’ murdered, and Daytona is flexing over his body and calling him a “motherfucker” among other creative insults.

Ivan is unhappy, to say the least.

He charges Daytona and…

BOOM.

Nick Stuart: A LARIAT FROM IVAN!

Down goes Daytona, and Ivan isn’t done with the Rhinestone Cowboy in the slightest. He picks up Daytona and throws him…

CRASH!

…right into the ring steps on the far side of the ring. Hard enough to dislodge the top half, sending it flying into the nearby barricade. The fans on that side of the ring scatter in terror as the two kaiju start taking their brawl that way, as Ivan starts marching after the fallen cowboy.

You’d think Elvis Nixon would restore order here, but Elvis Nixon is just letting things fly tonight. Again, are you going to tell Godzilla and King Kong that they’re fighting in the wrong part of the city? I wouldn’t, and neither would Elvis. Elvis Nixon has resigned himself to just counting a three if they ever got back to the ring.

Ivan picks up Daytona and throws him into the barricade.

CRASH!

The barricade breaks before Daytona does.

Nick Stuart: GOOD LORD!

Fortunately, all of the mere mortals that would’ve been crushed under that barricade have fled, and thus, only Daytona lies in the twisted wreckage of the ringside barricade. Ivan is no longer laughing. Ivan is no longer treating this as merely a simple match. Daytona Diamonds has unlocked the goddamn Destroyer, and nobody was safe.

Ivan marches over the wreckage, picks up Daytona again, and throws him into the sea of empty seats past the barricade.

CRASH!

People scream. It’s like watching one kaiju throw another into a suburban area and watching all of the houses crumble underneath them. Ivan picks up one chair and throws it at the fallen Diamonds. He’s not done, either. He marches over the chairs to find Daytona trying to find his way out of the wreckage. He yanks Diamonds up by the throat, and chokeslams the Rhinestone Cowboy…

CRASH!

…onto some fresh chairs that haven’t already been the landing zone of Daytona.

People scream. It’s decimation. It’s like watching Godzilla chokeslam King Kong, and you know that if Ivan Stanislav had nuclear breath, we’d be seeing Daytona Diamonds get cooked with it right about now. He doesn’t, so Ivan instead pulls Daytona up to his feet with every intention of doing it again.

Daytona blocks it.

He uses all of the raw, unimaginable strength in his body to slowly pull Ivan’s grip away from him. Ivan’s eyes go wide. He’s chokeslammed many men, and he’d never seen anyone be able to physically overpower him out of it. Daytona Diamonds is not a mere mortal man. He’s the gotdang Anabolic Outlaw!

Nick Stuart: I… I DON’T BELIEVE THIS! DAYTONA DIAMONDS IS OVERPOWERING I–

Here’s the problem.

It’s taking Daytona both hands to do this overpowering. Which means that Ivan still has a free hand. A free hand that he’s happy to throw right into Daytona’s face. Daytona staggers, stunned by getting hit in the head with an artillery shell of a fist, and then Ivan reapplies the choke and drops Daytona into the next set of chairs with a second chokeslam.

CRASH!

Richard Parker: This is getting out of hand. We’re going to run out of chairs at this rate, and then nobody’s going to be able to sit anywhere!

Ivan goes to pick Daytona back up. A third chokeslam might be the end of the Rhinestone Cowboy.

Yet, something happens that Ivan does not expect.

Which is that Daytona picks up one of the chairs as Ivan’s lifting him up again, and he hits him over the head with it.

SMACK!

Daytona gave not a single fuck if the chair was opened or closed, and as a result, Ivan has a new necklace. It smells vaguely of fart. Ivan staggers, disoriented. Daytona grabs another chair and swings it at the chair around Ivan’s head.

SMACK!

OHHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: GOOD LORD!

Richard Parker: Daytona’s out here hitting home runs like he’s playing in the World Series tonight!

You know, at this point, Elvis Nixon really should be disqualifying people or counting them out. Instead, he’s being distracted by Alexei, who I guess is back to thinking conscious thoughts again.

Daytona finally staggers his way back through the path torn through the front rows, and does something seemingly unheard of in this match: he rolls back into the ring. After a few moments, he yells at Nixon to get in the ring and start a ten count.

Elvis Nixon is perhaps bewildered by this, but he gets in the ring and begins the ten count.

One.

Two.

Three. Ivan stirs, pulling the chair off of his head in the process.

Four. Ivan turns to see Nixon counting. He becomes angry at the notion that he could be counted out, and begins marching to the ring.

Five. Ivan reaches the opening of the barricade. He is slow, because Ivan is at that age where his knees might not work as well as they used to. Daytona stares at him, watching him approach.

Six. Ivan reaches the ring and rolls under the bottom rope, whereupon Daytona meets him like a gorilla. He pulls Ivan up after beating him like this for a while, and he goes for something that horrifies a lot of people.

He puts him in position for a powerbomb.

Richard Parker: No way. That ain’t happening.

Indeed, Daytona makes the attempt to lift Ivan up, but Ivan is a fucking fortress and he’s having a hard time. Daytona screams as he tries again, his eyes bulging. If he could just get this, Ivan might stay do–

Ivan backdrops him out of the move. Daytona lands on his back, but rolls to his feet and charges the Russian Bear. A lariat rocks Ivan. A second one sends him teetering. Daytona fires up, and runs the ropes, and…

OHHHHH!!!

…gets clobbered with a MASSIVE lariat!

Nick Stuart: Ivan with the lariat!

Richard Parker: Pin him! Pin him so we don’t see what other property damage these two men do!

Instead, Ivan goes for the one move that he knows would put Daytona down – the Red Scare. He picks Daytona up, and…

…he can’t get him up.

Why?

Because Daytona has himself become an indefatigable juggernaut. He does what most normal people do when confronted with this position against a normal professional wrestler, which is that he hooks his leg around Ivan’s own to prevent himself from being lifted. This is all well and good, but this is Ivan Stanislav, and this does not happen. After three unsuccessful attempts at the Red Scare, Ivan is forced to break off the vertical suplex hold and pound on Daytona’s back.

He throws Daytona into the corner, before throwing him right out with a huge hip toss that sends Daytona to the other side of the ring. The Rhinestone Cowboy is in a lot of trouble as Ivan posts himself in the corner like a bull about to charge. Then he comes barreling in across the ring to sandwich him between the corner and 400 pounds of Russian.

He does not find his target.

Nick Stuart: Daytona… moves out of the way!

Daytona avoids the contact, though, and Ivan collides with the turnbuckles.

Daytona turns to see Ivan standing slumped in the corner, evidently having not expected to hit the turnbuckles with his sternum like that. He is frothing. He is screaming unintelligbly in what might be ancient cowboy curses. He sees Ivan, and gets an idea.

Richard Parker: What’s he… Oh. Oh no. Oh no.

Daytona places his head between Ivan’s legs and lifts with his own legs, until Ivan’s feet are planted on the second ropes. The ropes strain with his weight, unused to that much Russian. Daytona then pivots, and with immense strength that wouldn’t have been there barely a year ago, he carries Ivan to the center of the ring.

Nick Stuart: NO WAY!

Richard Parker: IMPOSSIBLE!

And then he drives Ivan down with the…

Nick Stuart: HANG ‘EM HIGH BO–

BOOOOOOM!!!

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

…

…

…

It’s pandemonium in Raleigh.

And for good reason.

Daytona Diamonds has accomplished the impossible. He has powerbombed Ivan Stanislav with the force of a nuclear fucking bomb. And that has repercussions. That has big repercussion.

Because it’s happened again.

Because…

…and hear me out here…

…the ring…

…has collapsed.

Richard Parker: AHHHHH!!!!

Nick Stuart: THE RING JUST CAVED IN!

There is a sizable hole in the canvas where Daytona planted Ivan. Elvis Nixon had managed to remain in the ring when it collapsed, but had still gotten knocked over. When he looks up, he sees what everyone else sees.

All Daytona could do was to shift his position so that he’s pinning the Russian Bear with all of his weight on top of him. All Elvis Nixon can do is count the pin.

ONE.

Alexei Ruslan realizes the peril, but he’s out of position and still dazed. He tries to enter the broken ring.

TWO.

He enters the ring with the baton in hand.

…He is too late.

THREE!

DING DING DING.

Daytona Diamonds collapses to the side, with Ivan kicking out at 3.1. It’s still pandemonium in Raleigh, but at least the demons are no longer shitting each others’ pants.

Alexei is on his knees, yelling at Elvis Nixon in shock.

That shock only grows when Vince Howard manages to find the microphone in all of the wreckage and make the official announcement.

Vince Howard: La… ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match… DAAAAAAAYTOOOOOONAAAAAA DIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAMOOOOOONNNNDDDSSSSSS!!!

Nick Stuart: I don’t believe it!

Richard Parker: I can’t either!

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav couldn’t kick out before the three count, and Daytona Diamonds has taken this one!

Richard Parker: Oh. I thought you meant “I can’t believe they didn’t come over here and start wrecking our cool bunker.”

Nick Stuart: …

Daytona, for his part, rolls out of the ruins of the ring. He flexes. A triumphant flex. A flex not directed at anyone except Bambi and their child at ringside, who had to watch that horrifying display of carnage.

He’d done the unthinkable.

He’d won the kaiju big battle in Raleigh.

And as Ivan and Alexei seethe in the ring, they had no idea that their night wouldn’t be over yet.

Oh.

Yes.

The sign off.

FADE.

TO.

…

NEXT SEGMENT.

Backstage.

Ivan Stanislav rounds a corner into the main dressing room hallway. Sweat pours down his face following his match with Daytona Diamonds, and his expression is stoic as always. Alexei Ruslan follows from behind, about ten yards back, as they return from the ring.

Ivan makes a beeline for the Red Army dressing room, then pauses when he sees something taped to the door — a folded handwritten note.

The Russian Bear slowly walks the remaining distance to the door, then reaches up and plucks the note from it. He frowns and stares at the piece of paper, and then slowly folds it open.

“Hey Ivan, enjoyed your match out there tonight. Appreciate you accepting my challenge for the big show. Figured it was high time I came to say hello. Sorry, I missed you, but I left you a present inside. See you soon – Dan.”

Alexei catches up as Ivan turns and hands him the note.

Alexei Ruslan: What’s this??

Ivan turns back to the door, his eyes narrowing, then turns the knob and pushes it open. What he sees inside looks like something out of a horror movie.

Blood slicks the floor and spatters the lockers in wide, uneven streaks. A chair lies crushed against the wall, its legs twisted and broken. Splinters and glass litter the room like shrapnel from a grenade.

Near the bench, now splintered in half, Speedy Riggs lies face-down in a pool of blood that’s already begun to congeal. One arm is pinned beneath him in an unnatural angle; the other twitches faintly. His chest rises in shallow, stuttering pulls of air.

Ivan’s boots leave wet, red prints as he crosses the room. When he turns Speedy over, the sight steals the breath from his chest. Speedy’s nose is smashed flush, one eye swollen shut, the other glassy and unfocused. Blood bubbles from his lips, a thin wheeze catching in his throat. His face is so swollen and caked in red that Ivan barely recognizes him.

Alexei peers over Ivan’s shoulder, a look of rare concern on his face.

Alexei Ruslan: Vanya?

Ivan’s words are flat and cold.

Ivan Stanislav: Get a doctor.

Alexei stammers, hesitating for just a heartbeat until Ivan’s voice detonates through the room, grief disguised as command.

Ivan Stanislav: NOW!

Ruslan nearly trips over his feet as he turns and dashes out of the room, his shoes squeaking with blood as he charges down the hallway. Stanislav presses a hand to Speedy’s back, the yellow hammers and sickles now matching the red of his shirt. Ivan whispers to him.

Ivan Stanislav: Help is coming, comrade Riggs. You did your duty.

He grips Speedy’s hand, trembling, the grief twisting into something harder.

Ivan Stanislav: Now I will do mine.

*Elsewhere.*

Near the back of catering, right inside the door that leads outside into the staff parking garage, Dan Ryan walks past a terrified-looking food attendant standing behind a spread of small sandwiches. The imposing presence of the muscular six-foot-seven-inch Texan is made all the more intimidating by the fact that Dan’s hair is caked with blood, along with most of his clothing and particularly his hands. He has a small bag slung over one shoulder as he heads for the door.

Right before leaving, however, he notices something.

Dan Ryan: Are those chicken salad sandwiches?

The nervous staffer nods.

Dan Ryan: Thanks, boss, I’m famished. Think I’ll take two.

Dan reaches down and takes two of the sandwiches, the blood on his hands tinting the bread a bright red color. Quickly, he shovels one into his mouth.

Dan Ryan: Delicious.

With a quick wink, he eats the second one, then pushes through the door and disappears into the night. ReVival moves on.