ReVival 80

What better way to start a fresh new year than Puerto Rico, famous for all of the things it is famous for. It’s ReVival time baybee and the excitable and electric crowd in Jose Miguel Agrelot Coliseum are ready for hot and fresh wrestling action in the PRIME formation.

As the buzz of excitement of things to come sweeps through the coliseum, the lights begin to dim, which makes the buzz even more buzzier. There’s a “thud” style noise that heralds the arrival of four bright spotlights shining atop the entrance way. The thud makes sure that the crowd turns their head in the right direction which is at the top of the entranceway and not the bottom of the entranceway.

The next thing to happen?

Music.

That music?

“Razzmatazz” by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME.

Nick Stuart: Happy New Year everyone! Welcome back to the first ReVial of twenty twenty six, and we’ve got the Intense Championship on the line in the main event later tonight as Bryan Dawkins challenges Wade Elliott, himself a fresh champion after the events of Colossus.

Richard Parker: All that may be true Nick, but can I ask you of a finer way to start the new PRIME year than in the company of PRIME’s Stable of the Year, our friends in Glue.

As the voices of Nick Stuart and Richard Parker welcome the viewing audience into the show’s events, the four spotlights are taken by each member of the Stable of the Year. The Universal Champion is dressed in a teal suit for a festive flair, he also has shoes without socks, so you just know it’s real stinky in there. The Universal Championship is displayed underneath an unbuttoned blazer. Joe Fontaine is there with his usual sparkling suit. Behind him, there is a fabby-like creature carrying a big ‘ol bag of jolf clubs. Hayes struts alongside, trading his black button-down for his old disco jacket, unbuttoned to let that big ol’ chest air out for the Puerto Rican chicas. FLAMBERGE, in his own twist on festive flair, is wearing an all-black suit; much like Cecilworth, his blazer is unbuttoned, but in a shocking betrayal, he’s wearing socks. (Did Cecilworth and FLAMBERGE get each others’ dry cleaning? Are these intentional homages to each other? yOu DeCiDe.)

The Glue Friends take a few more moments to enjoy each of their spotlights before the house lights come up and the absolute squad of guys begins their walk towards the ring. There’s a screeching noise that seems to be happening a few feet behind the Glues as they march to the ring, and the camera quickly detects fabby carrying one of those little toy carts with some wheels in real need of lubricant.

Inside the cart? A whole host of PRIME awards. The Wrestler of the Year, The Tag Team of the Year, The Stable of the Year, The ReVival Match of the Year, The PPV Match of the Year (they were in it so it counts). The Stable and Tag Team Awards have one for each member so the cart is already looking pretty full, but there’s also two scrolls of paper that have been unfurled and just saying “Hall of Fame” on them. fabby lugs The Glue Awards Cart down to the ringside area (along with the jolf clubs, so you know he’s particularly burdened today), where he is instructed to lift it and bring it into the ring, which is a bit of a challenge, particularly with Farthington yelling “DON’T KNOCK ANY OF THEM OVER, THESE ARE PRECIOUS.” None of the boys help fabby with this task for fear of messing up their suits, which, in fairness, have been tailored very well.

Richard Parker: Now I think about it, you’re also looking at half of the 2026 PRIME Hall of Fame class in the ring right now, with FLAMBERGE already a member. That’s a lot of award, Nick. So much award!

Nick Stuart: It was certainly a sticky night at our Year End Awards, there is no denying that. I don’t know if fabby and a cart is the most respectful presentation of said awards.

Richard Parker: You see how many they got there? They need that cart!

After a few dicey moments where a pile of awards almost comes clattering down upon fabby, the entire crew and their riches are now finding themselves inside the ringzone and within said ringzone, the Universal Champion has a microphone in his hand. The Puerto Rico crowd is very excited to see a man with a shiny belt and many awards and therefore they clap and cheer this man.

Cecilworth Farthington: Hello Puerto Rico! I am your Universal Champion, Cecilworth Farthington and Puerto Rico exists within the universe, therefore I am YOUR champion!

The crowd cheered in appreciation of having a champion.

Cecilworth Farthington: You know, fine people of San Juan, we are here on a very special night, it’s the night of a one year anniversary celebration. One year ago, me and these three fine specimens of humanity made a pact with each other. We came out to the ring at the end of the show, to support our precious Hayes in kicking a man when he was down, and I think we all knew what we were saying when we kept kicking whoever that was. We knew, bonded by booting, we were agreeing that 2025 was going to be the Year of Glue, and boy, wouldn’t you know it, look at what we have here.

The champ gestures towards the fine array of awards sitting in the little red cart in front of him.

Cecilworth Farthington: But do you know what, universal citizens of San Juan, Puerto Rico and also the other locations people flew in from to see this sweet show live, I don’t think our year is over yet. The Year of Glue 2025 will be two years minimum, so 2025 is two years now.

The crowd scrunches their faces up a bit as they try to logic out that sentence, although some just keep clapping because they are enjoying the ride of being at live entertainment.

Cecilworth Farthington: Colossus was another beautiful big series of nights, FLAMBERGE rid the world of such a rude lady and then she went home to be a mother or something, Hayes Hanlon sent Nate Colton to some form of hospital room where there may or may not have been pudding, and I…

Cecilworth begins to rub the Universal Championship likes it was his belly but it is not his belly it is a belt.

Cecilworth Farthington: I got my Colossus cure, I made up for falling at the last hurdle in 2023. Man, Hayes had such a good idea stomping that guy last year, that was some good bonding. Speaking of bonding, you don’t want to hear little ole me yap yap yap when there’s a Tag Team of the Year, when there’s a fellow Hall of Famer, that’s like a lot of cool people who may or may not want to say things.

Joe Fontaine can visibly be seen saying “I like things,” which is very astute of him. FLAMBERGE raises his eyebrows and extends an upward palm towards Cecilworth, who correctly reads this as a signal that the Frenchman would like to speak and hands him the microphone.

Now, while FLAMBERGE is pretty fluent in English, he still has some grammar slips and vocal eccentricities when cutting promos for an American audience. In comparison, his Spanish is just about non-existent, which makes his accent sound even more heightened than normal.

FLAMBERGE: …Olà.

The crowd cheers in appreciation for the attempt.

FLAMBERGE: Alors, that is all the Spanish I have, but know you are appreciated for this warm ovation, San Juan.

The crowd cheers in appreciation for him not bumbling around any further with a language he’s bad at, and for the hometown pop of it all.

FLAMBERGE: Ouais, it is as Cecilworth has said – the accolades, the achievements, they continue piling high as a living monument to the legacy Phil Atken started when he and the Glue Factory first bottled Civil Dusk nearly four years ago. But, if there is a curse to the successes, it is that the work, she is never over. To my brothers in Glue, I say to you, this…

He turns to the other three ‘minatis.

FLAMBERGE: Life is full, full of surprises, and the nicest surprise of my life is you…so whatever happens this year…

He locks eyes with Cecilworth.

FLAMBERGE: WHATEVER, happens this year…the more the world is changing, the more it stays the same. Life is full of small surprises, it is a never ending game. If nothing is impossible, will you believe your eyes? If the unexpected brings a smile, that is a big surprise.

Joe, who’s also staring wide at FLAMBO, mouths “Surprise, Surprise” at this.

FLAMBERGE: To Glue staying on top.

He raises the microphone as if it were a champagne glass to toast. Hayes steps in and faux-clinks the mic before taking it over.

Hayes Hanlon: And how can we not, huh? In what POSSIBLE universe can that not be the case?

The Event Horizon steps forward, smirkin’ that ‘stache, strolling about the ring.

Hayes Hanlon: (gesturing to the cart) With a collection like that, just from one year? 

He turns, opening his palm to his compatriots.

Hayes Hanlon: With absolute studs, like these magnificent bastards?

He shrugs, waiting for some kind of answer.

Hayes Hanlon: Glue stays on top because it’s freakin’ required. ALL the gold. ALL the accolades. Three, count ‘em…

Home Run Hayes, indeed, counts ‘em.

Hayes Hanlon: THREE Hall of Famers, and another to come. It can’t be beat man. It. Just. Can’t.

Hanlon then steps to the ropes, and points a rigid finger to the entrance ramp.

Hayes Hanlon: And there’s NO collection of douchebags in that locker room that can do a damn thing about it. The top is for Glue. And that’s STILL a problem for you.

Hammerin’ Hayes flips the mic toward Cecilworth, who snatches it out of the air with a smile.

Cecilworth Farthington: To Glue on top.

Joe dabs. It seems like the thing to do at the time. There’s high-fives all around. With their message sent, the Glueminati make to exit the ring.

There’s just one problem.

No one thinks about fabby. Actually, that’s not really a problem in of itself, one should never have to think about their furniture as though it’s a disaster waiting to happen. But unfortunately, fabby is that disaster. He goes to exit the ring after the rest of Glue does, and… Well, he’s still got all of those nice awards and the jolf club bag and it’s a little more than he’s capable of handling.

And so, he exits the ring and falls and all those awards go flying.

Joe jumps back a good three feet, bringing his arms and one of his legs up like he’s about to do fuckin’ Karate Kid shit. FLAMBERGE blinks (maybe). Hayes Hanlon looks the most furious he’s looked in at least a minute. Cecilworth Farthington stares.

Then they all, as mutual stable of the year members united in purpose, yell at fabby at once. A veritable cacophony of yell. One line in particular is heard over all of them, though.

Joe Fontaine: fabby, YOU ARE THE OMNISHAMBLES!

Richard Parker: Yeah, I agree with that.

They yell so much and so loud that we’re going to have to take a quick break for a fine video before we get ready for our first match.

ReVival 80 Commercial!

Pyro.

Lots of pyro.

ALL THE FUCKING PYRO.

And signs.

REALEST MFER

ALEXEI VS. JILES??? I WANT A REFUND

I AM CURIOUS IF THE 12,784 RUMORS ABOUT CANCER JILES THAT I READ ABOUT EARLIER THIS WEEK ON RUMOR MILLS ARE TRUE!

I GAVE IVAN STANISLAV A PEDICURE AND RECEIVED HAZARD PAY

PRIME: MORE BUTTHOLES THAN A PROCTOLOGIST’S ITINERARY

THINGS THAT RHYME WITH BLAZE: DAYS. HAZE. PLAYS. MAZE. GLAZE. TASE.
THINGS THAT DON’T RHYME WITH BLAZE: ALIAS TITLE.

RIP BLAZE CLAYMORE’S NUTS
1993 – 2025

IT’S THE YEAR OF THE HORSE; SIGN MUSTANG MORADO YOU COWARDS

I SURE HOPE NOTHING TERRIBLE HAPPENS TO OL’ ALEXEI TONIGHT

I DO

ME TOO

Nick Stuart, too, I guess.

Nick Stuart: THIS! IS! REVIVAL! Hello, everyone, I’m Nick Stuart. Joined as always by Richard Parker…

Richard Parker: Sup.

Nick Stuart: And we’re here live in Puerto Rico with the first ReVival of the year! We’ve an evening jammed full of action, so let’s not waste any time and take you right to the ring for our opening contest.

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

Nobody repeats him.

This time.

Vince Howard: Introducing first…

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 and weighing in at a total combined weight of three hundred and thirty-six pounds…

Vince Howard is a hall of famer now, y’all. He’s a hall of famer because he’s a pro. So when he sees some hot nonsense on an introductory card, he reads it.

Vince Howard: And a total combined height of eleven feet and 7 inches…

Richard Parker: Are we seriously doing this bit again? Did Immortals spark a new trend?

Yes.

Vince Howard: The team of Kenny Freeman… Randall Schwartz… the MASTERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRS OF THE MOSCOWVERSE!!!

Kenny and Randall hand their flags off to a ringside attendant before entering the ring and posturing for the crowd.

Vince Howard: And their opponents…

“Kick, Push, Kick, Push, Kick, Push…”

Vince Howard: At a total combined weight of four hundred and twenty five pounds… Making their PRIME in-ring debut…

Here we are, dropped in medias res of Lupe Fiasco’s “Kick, Push,” hitting the chorus as we wait for the latest tag team from Gray’s Wrestling Academy.

Wait a second…doesn’t Lupe say “coast” after that line?

Vince Howard: Kris Roswell… Satan Jones… THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE FOOT SOLDIERS!!!

“Kick, Push, Kick, Push, Kick, Push…”

It seems like it’s on repeat. That’s kinda annoying. Anyway, Kris Roswell and Satan Jones now appear beneath the PRIMEView. Satan is pointing at his devil horn hair and his feet interchangeably, and Kris is posing. And…wait, there are no other words?

“Kick, Push, Kick, Push, Kick, Push…”

So that’s all they’re using from the song? Look, I get that Roswell is a kicker, but this is kinda silly, no?

“Kick, Push, Kick, Push, Kick, Push…”

Oh god make it stop. Kris and Satan are in the ring. Children are screaming. Everyone is covering their ears. Make it stop. Dear God.

DING DING

It’s Freeman and Roswell to start. Veteran versus rookie, and the difference in experience isn’t even close. Because while Kenny Freeman has a lifetime – multiple, in fact, across dimensions – of experience as a professional wrestler, there is only one Kris Roswell and he’s taking the first, biggest step in embarking on a career change.

The difference becomes evident right off the rip. An opening lock-up is followed by a quick arm drag by Freeman. Roswell rolls right up to his feet and moves to re-engage, but a second arm drag puts him right back down on the mat. The frustration is already clear on the newcomer’s face, and it doesn’t get any better when his next attempt to assert himself is met with a rapid snapmare takeover.

Nick Stuart: Kris Roswell…

Richard Parker: Finally knows what it’s like to play a real sport.

Nick Stuart: I was going to say is struggling here in the early going.

Richard Parker: And you’d be right. And I would be happy.

Nick Stuart: Well then next time maybe don’t cut me off?

Richard Parker: No promises.

A quick dropkick by Freeman connects to the back of Roswell’s neck before the rookie can recover.

Richard Parker: Ha! Now HE is the ball!

Nick Stuart: Okay, I’m sensing a little animosity here, Richard.

Richard Parker: Would you believe me if I told you it’s completely justified?

Nick Stuart: Well are you going to explain why, or do I just have to guess?

Roswell rolls to his feet, but instead of moving to tag in his partner he stands his ground and tries to counter. He throws a few low kicks to try and catch Freeman off balance. A few connect, which seems to surprise Freeman, but there’s no follow-up.

Richard Parker: Ugh. Roswell with some foot-punches to the thigh.

Nick Stuart: Foot… punches?

Richard Parker: You heard me.

Roswell steps in to throw another kick, but this time Freeman intercepts, grabbing the Grey’s grad and taking him over with a snap suplex.

Nick Stuart: Why not just call it what it is? A kick.

Richard Parker: Listen, Nick, there’s a lot of things I’ll do for this job, okay. But I draw the line at pretending that kickers are people.

Kenny heads to his corner and after a quick tag Randall Schwartz becomes the legal man.

Richard Parker: They’re all like, “Oooh, I get special rules that say you can’t hit me and I only play for forty-three seconds every week. I’m A kIcKeRrRrRr.”

Nick Stuart: I don’t think that’s fair, Richard. You have to give the kid credit. Making the jump to professional wrestling from another sport can’t be easy.

Richard Parker: I don’t have to give him anything, and yes it is because kickers aren’t people, and I’m pretty sure I just made it clear they don’t actually play their sport.

Randall, by the way, entered the ring and immediately started dancing around Kris Roswell in an exaggerated manner like someone who saw one boxing match on TV and said, “I got this.” Still, despite the theatrics, his first punch connects. It’s not pretty, but it lands nonetheless. He follows this by throwing a head fake, bobbing and weaving, and launching a left hand that connects more with Roswell’s shoulder than anything else.

Nick Stuart: So is it kicking in general, or football kickers specifically? Because PRIME has had some very successful stars who’ve used kicks to their advantage.

Richard Parker: Oh yeah? Name ONE.

Nick Stuart: Cancer Jiles.

Richard Parker: I’m not even going to dignify that with a rebuttal.

Randall’s third strike is telegraphed, and Roswell is able to dodge out of the way. Now it’s his turn to try and press the offense. He steps forward and fires off a front kick, but Randall is already backing away before Roswell’s foot even leaves the mat. Every time Kris attempts an offense flurry, Schwartz is a step ahead of him. Literally. This is a man who is doing his level best to not get hit.

Nick Stuart: Okay then. What about Dusk? Or Impulse?

Richard Parker: …

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: Really making my point here for me, Nick.

Roswell moves to engage with Randall, but the Master ducks his top half between the ropes and covers up. Referee Jimmy Turnbull heads over to intercept Roswell, which gives Kenny Freeman an opportunity to sneak around the other side of the ring and pull Satan Jones off the apron. The biggest man in the match lands in such a way that he comes down face-first across the ring apron.

Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman using the distraction to his team’s advantage, and Satan with a hard fall!

Richard Parker: Which makes it a lore-accurate maneuver.

Nick Stuart: Satan back on his feet, and he looks hot.

Richard Parker: Also lore-accurate. Unless we’re talking about Dante, in which case this is artistic license.

Nick Stuart: What the hell are you even talking about right now?

Richard Parker: Exactly!

Nick Stuart: …What?

Richard Parker: Hell!

Nick Stuart: Oh for the love of…

Richard Parker: Don’t say it! You might upset Satan.

With the referee now focused on Kenny Freeman for his shenanigans, Randall Schwartz takes the opportunity to catch Kris Roswell with an awkward chop block.

Richard Parker: Yes! Destroy the knees! Show this kicker the error of his ways, for they are legion.

Nick Stuart: Really stretching tonight, aren’t we?

Randall makes the tag back to his partner, and Kenny Freeman immediately slingshots himself over the top rope and connects with a rolling senton. He uses the momentum of the move to quickly get back to his feet.

Nick Stuart: Impressive teamwork tonight by the Masters of the Moscowverse. Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz firing on all cylinders and isolating Kris Roswell.

Richard Parker: It only makes sense, Nick. They’ve been a team for years, where the Foot Clan…

Nick Stuart: Soldiers.

Richard Parker: Whatever. The Foot Soldiers are only getting their feet wet in PRIME.

Nick Stuart: Was that pun deliberate?

Richard Parker: Also the Red Army are above having a kicker.

Kenny runs to the opposite ropes, parkours up to the top turnbuckle, and twists in the air to connect with a satellite splash. He hooks the leg and makes the first cover of the match.

ONE!

Richard Parker: Yes! Show the kicker what this world is all about!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: But Kris Roswell gets his shoulder up.

Richard Parker: Shit.

Kris Roswell rolls towards his corner where Satan Jones waits with his hand extended. Before he can get there, Kenny Freeman pulls him back towards the center of the ring and slaps on a rear chinlock.

Nick Stuart: Kris Roswell was so close to making that tag. The Foot Soldiers are going to need to get the fresh man in there if they have any chance of winning this.

Richard Parker: They have a kicker starting the game, Nick. They’re proper screwed.

Nick Stuart: All the credit to Kris Roswell for hanging on against a pair of tag team specialists. You’ve at least got to give him that.

Richard Parker: No.

Richard Parker: I would rather bake a cake for fabby than compliment a kicker. Do you know why?

Nick Stuart: (sighing) Because furniture can’t kick the ball?

Richard Parker: BECAUSE FURNITURE CAN’T KICK THE… oh. Yeah, you’re right.

Freeman once again makes the tag to his partner, and Randall enters the ring only to apply a rear chinlock of his own.

Nick Stuart: The Masters are really wearing down the rookie here tonight.

Richard Parker: Well you have to think that this match is already longer than all the playing Kris Roswell has had total through his entire life. Because he’s…

Nick Stuart: A kicker. Right, no, we get it, Richard.

Kris manages to get his feet underneath him and he starts to stand. Randall holds on for dear life, tightening his grip and attempting to grind Roswell back down to the mat. The Team Player drives an elbow into Schwartz’s midsection.

Richard Parker: Holy shit that wasn’t a kick!

A second creates enough breathing room where Roswell can attempt some offense of his own.

Nick Stuart: Might have spoke too soon.

Richard Parker: Jumping over the shoulder goofy style foot punch!

It’s an enzuigiri. He’s describing an enzuigiri.

Roswell again tries to go for his corner, but Schwartz has made it to his own first and brought Kenny Freeman back into the ring. With his partner only a few feet away, Kris Roswell catches a running elbow drop to the back of the neck which halts his forward progress. Freeman gets back to his feet and grabs Roswell by the leg, attempting to pull him back towards the Masters’ corner.

Roswell rolls onto his back and tries to kick Freeman away. Kenny manages to avoid it, but the break gives Roswell time to get back to his feet.

Richard Parker: Loopy leg foot punch!

Nick Stuart: Just say roundhouse kick.

Richard Parker: I would rather die.

The kick connects flush and Freeman stumbles back into his own corner. This creates an opening for Roswell, who takes two steps and dives for his corner.

Nick Stuart: There’s the tag, and Satan hits the ring like a man on fire!

Richard Parker: Lore… Accur-

Nick Stuart: ALRIGHT WE GET IT!

A running shoulder block sends Freeman soaring. Randall hits the ring but eats one as well. Freeman gets back to his feet, but is once again hit with a huge shoulder block.

Richard Parker: I swear to Hoyt if this a whole-ass team of one move wonders…

Randall stands up.

Richard Parker: Don’t you do it. Don’t you do it!

And is immediately blasted back down by what? A shoulder block.

Richard Parker: WHAHHAKFHJAKAHARRGLEBARRLLLLLANGRYRESINNOISESDHFJFHEJK!!!!

Kenny Freeman is scooped up and slammed down to the mat. This is followed by a running corner splash on Randall, which is kind of like a shoulder block. Sort of.

Not really though.

Nick Stuart: Satan Jones is operating like a man possessed!

Richard Parker: (whispering) Also lore accurate.

Randall rolls out of the ring and onto the apron. There’s a quick tag made so Kris Roswell can get another crack at the Masters.

Nick Stuart: Kris Roswell looking to get a measure of revenge here, folks!

Richard Parker: Straight leg foot punch!

Which is just a basic front kick.

Richard Parker: Bendy leg side foot punch!

Nick Stuart: It’s a superkick. Just say superkick!

Roswell hooks Freeman for a vertical suplex, but instead of throwing Kenny down to the mat or dropping him across a rope, a limb, literally anything, he instead brings his own leg up and kicks Freeman square in the face.

Richard Parker: Uhh…

Nick Stuart: What… what do we…?

Richard Parker: That’s an, ummm, vertical weirdo foot punch… thing?

Nick Stuart: Suplex kick. I’m going with suplex kick.

Richard Parker: Gonna have to work real hard to get that one out of my brain later.

Roswell lines Freeman up for another kick variation, but overcommits and Freeman is able to dodge out of the way. Roswell stumbles, which gives Kenny time to tag Randall back into the ring.

Schwartz, looking very much like a man who does not want to be kicked, has his guard up as he circles Kris Roswell.

Richard Parker: Mid leg foot punch!

It’s a thigh kick, but one that Randall is able to scoot away from, albeit awkwardly.

Richard Parker: Center mass straight leg foot punch!

Nick Stuart: So help me if you say “foot punch” one more time.

Richard Parker: We’ve been over this, Nick. Or do I have to remind you about kickers again?

Roswell attempts a high kick, but Randall manages to duck it. He immediately uses the momentum shift to get behind Roswell and shove him chest first into the corner, where he unloads his own barrage of punches and kicks.

Richard Parker: Randall’s offense looking a little sharper today, Nick. I wonder if he’s been practicing those kicks with Alexei in preparation for tonight’s match.

Nick Stuart: His… his whats? Did you just say kicks?

Richard Parker: Yes.

Nick Stuart: But you’ve…

Richard Parker: Randall Schwartz isn’t a kicker, Nick. Wrestlers throw kicks. Kickers do foot punches. Closest they’re going to get to being real people.

Nick Stuart: I need a drink.

Having taken the brunt of the offense this match, Roswell slumps in the corner. Not wanting to get kicked again, Randall backs away and gestures to his partner on the apron, but he doesn’t get there in time.

Nick Stuart: Kris Roswell has made the tag and Satan Jones is back in the ring! Randall Schwartz doesn’t see it!

Satan connects with a big shoulder block – yes, again – that sends Schwartz careening into his corner. Unable to react in time, the move drives him into Freeman and sends him to the arena floor. Randall stumbles back, and a big release German suplex sends him to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Satan Jones is… What’s he looking at?

Randall’s feet.

There’s an ever-so-brief moment where the big man thinks about stealing Randall Schwartz’s shoes, but instead of doing that he ascends to the top rope.

Nick Stuart: That’s a big man to be up so high, Richard.

He flies off the top rope with what looks like a flying push.

Nick Stuart: He calls that the Shove From Above!

Richard Parker: That can’t be a real name.

Nick Stuart: Kris Roswell back in the ring… OHHHH!!!!

Richard Parker: Biggest foot punch of the night!

Nick Stuart: And I’m told he calls that kick the UFO! Satan with the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

Kenny Freeman slides into the ring and tries to break up the pinfall attempt.

THREE!

A second too late.

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: The winners of this match… THEEEEEE FOOT SOLDIERS!!

The Foot Soldiers remix of “Kick Push” by Lupe Fiasco hits the speakers as Roswell and Satan take a minute to compose themselves.

Nick Stuart: Big win tonight in their debut match for the Foot Soldiers, Richard. You really have to hand it…

Richard Parker: I said it earlier, Nick. I won’t HAND anything to a kicker.

Nick Stuart: We’ll be back with more in-ring action in just a few moments, fans!

We fade to elsewhere.

…THE NEWS…

…returns…

Please stand by.

That famous ACTION WON NEWS TEAM music roars to life as we race across the new WON ACTION NEWS STAGE for the year 2026. Gone is the more traditional talk show set up replaced with a vast shiny black stage dominated by a massive twenty foot tall NEWS THRONE crafted from polished black stone that matches the stages floor. Ominous glowing green cracks crackle like lightning across the thrones surface terminating in the seat.

Max Kael: WORMS OF PRIME!

The music slowly fades as Max Kael enters stage right wearing his usual black three piece suit however the red bowtie and handkerchief have been replaced with a dark, sickly green. Indeed even Max’s green eyes burn with an intensity that almost makes it look as though they are glowing or perhaps drawing the light around them inward.

Max Kael: Welcome to the NEW Segment One slot WON ACTION NEWS STAGE! I’ve simplified things, cleaned them up and given it all a nice, modern feel. BEHOLD MY NEWS THRONE!

The Mayor of Arkham waves his hands maniacally at the towering NEWS THRONE before quickly scrambling up the winding stairs. Plopping down on the seat of the NEWS THRONE, Max kicks his feet into the air cheerfully.

Max Kael: As you can see it is absolutely MAGNIFICENT and is by far an improvement on that pathetic NEWS DESK!

We cut to a back alley dumpster somewhere in the urban jungle, the NEWS DESK broken down and sticking out of it. After a beat we return to the grinning, silver toothed smile of the Lord of Kaelsalvania.

Max Kael: So a lot of other life updates, yeah? The last time you saw me I had my heart broken, my family shattered and my constitution tested by that foul Bryan Dawkins and his nefariously treacherous family! Well who needs’em, right!? NEW YEAR, NEW GOALS, that’s what I say! Though there is one final bit of business to take care of in regards to that whole… Dawkins situation.

Clearing his throat, Max procures a scroll from somewhere in the massive NEWS THRONE. Unravelling it, he clears his throat.

Max Kael: Due to the TREACHERY of one Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington I am hereby TERMINATING the position of The Herald. It is to be replaced by a new, better position known as THE HARBINGER!

There is a fork of lightning and the crash of thunder at the mention of THE HARBINGER.

Max Kael: From this day forth, by the decree of the Mayor of Arkham, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, the BOLOGNESE BULL shall be my HARBINGER!

The sound of heavy foot falls precede the lumbering arrival of the massive Bolognese Bull. The massive masked monstrosity roars, flexing his massive arms in the process.

Max Kael: Yes-YES my The Harbinger! With the Bolognese Bull as my social media representative, ALL SHALL KNOW THE MIGHT OF MAX KAEL!

The Harbinger The Bolognese Bull: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH! MRAAAAX KRAAAAAEL! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!

Full of dutiful rage, the Bolognese Bull turns and charges toward the nearby wall, smashing through it with both arms, beginning his social media rampage with a bang. Throwing subscribe buttons and demanding comment interactions, no one is safe from his Bolognese blowup.

Max Kael: The set is BRAND NEW! God damn it.

Pulling a notepad and a pen out of his back pocket, Max begins furiously scribbling notes.

Max Kael: Remember to install a Harbinger Door.

Grunting to himself, Max tucks his reminder away before looking back up at the camera with his demented green eyes.

Max Kael: Moving on, WORMS! I must admit that the year 2025 wasn’t our finest. Not our strongest record, we didn’t win any titles and we lost out to Heel of the Year. Clearly we simply weren’t evil enough last year, it’s the only possible excuse for our lackluster showing.

He nods enthusiastically with his own assessment of the situation.

Max Kael: So this year your friendly, balanced and reasonable friend, Max Kael, is declaring WAR!

He bangs both of his fists down on the armrests of his NEWS THRONE.

Max Kael: That’s right, WAR! War on Heroes and Heroism! WAR on all that’s “Good” and “Right” in this PRIME Universe! To prove to you… to prove to ME… that I’m the BEST at being BAD! Heh-heh…

Rubbing his hands together, Max’s practiced political smile shrivels into a tight smirk.

Max Kael: And that means unseated the biggest hero in PRIME, the ultimate GOOD GUY, the ultimate… champion. Now I know everybody loves him, Lord knows I do, but it’s just gotta be done. Two years ago I declared that I would KILL CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON!

We get a flash back to Max Kael declaring he’s gonna kill Cecilworth Farthington, in case you didn’t believe him.

Max Kael: Well I’ve changed my ways, made a few things right since then. I am not here to declare I am going to KILL CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON!… but so long as he holds that UNIVERSAL TITLE I am afraid I am going to have to declare that I will DESTROY CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON… in the ring. For that beautiful Universal Title! THAT IS MY PRO-

Before he can finish, Snark Darkly manifests from behind the throne, oiling his way up the steps to whisper something into Max’s ear. The Mayor of Arkham listens, his face contorting in confusion.

Max Kael: …who?

Snark whispers a name into Max’s ear.

Max Kael: …who?

Shaking his head, Snark whispers the name again along with something else.

Max Kael: … who the fuck is Blaze Claymore?

Darkly pats Max on the shoulder with a condescending smile before he descends back down the steps without answering Max’s question.

Max Kael: Well what if I don’t wanna deal with Blaze Claymore, huh? What if I wanna fight Cecilworth Farthington for the Universal Title Match in a Sea Lion Death Match?! Huh!? HUH!?

Snark doesn’t answer Max as he slips away off camera leaving the incredulous Max Kael glaring after his shadow. His eyes snake back to the camera.

Max Kael: WORMS of PRIME we’ll get this sorted out… Until next time… THIS HAS BEEN THE NEWS!

The WON ACTION NEWS TEAM music slams back on as we pan back. Max pouts in his chair, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.

Max Kael: … who the fuck calls themselves Blaze. Fuckin’ weak.

We cut away as Max continues to complain loudly about Snark’s choice of opponent for him.

Nick Stuart: We’re being told something special is about to happen here at ReVival 80. You can see the anticipation—whoever this is, PRIME is rolling out the red carpet.

Richard Parker: That limo doesn’t show up for just anyone, Nick. Big night already.

The limo pauses… then pulls forward and drives out of frame.

The camera doesn’t cut.

Danny Christie is standing there.

Scruffy suit. Unflattering angle. Leaning against an old works van. He opens the driver’s side door, reaches across the front seat, and pulls out a golden trophy shaped like a boxing glove. He closes the door and walks forward.

Cut to Matt Mills, visibly caught off guard. The red carpet behind him suddenly feels wrong.

Danny steps onto it, stops, looks down, and deliberately wipes his boots before continuing. He shakes his head.

Matt Mills: Danny, congratulations on—

Danny Christie: What do you call this?

He gestures around them.

Danny Christie: You’ve really rolled the red carpet out, haven’t you? Is that it? A bit of leftover carpet from the PRIME End Year Awards?

He looks at Matt.

Danny Christie: I’m glad you were invited, Matt. Now all of a sudden I get the Hollywood treatment. Same old story, mate. Once Danny barks you all listen.

Matt Mills: Danny, we’re here to talk about—

Danny Christie: Why can’t this be done in the ring?

He taps the trophy lightly.

Danny Christie: My official awards ceremony, and it’s out here. In the parking lot. Look at the stains on this thing. Trying to pass it off as state of the art but really it’s like a pig wearing lipstick.

A beat.

Danny Christie: I am the Realest Motherfucker. Without a shadow of a doubt. But who’s up next? The Kindest Chaperone Award? Most Improved Company Man?

Matt Mills: The PRIME Faithful want to know more about your… self-awarded trophy.

Danny Christie: Yeah. I gave it to myself.

He lifts the trophy slightly.

Danny Christie: Because nobody else was ever going to do it honestly.

He nods toward where the limo disappeared.

Danny Christie: That was manufactured. That was designed. That was supposed to look important.

He taps the trophy once.

Danny Christie: This wasn’t.

He gestures to the carpet.

Danny Christie: Look at it. Red and brown, worn through, barely holding together. I love it. Because it’s raw. Because it’s uncomfortable. Because it’s exactly what I am.

He looks straight into the camera.

Danny Christie: Being real isn’t glamorous. It doesn’t arrive in the right car. It doesn’t get presented the right way. It just shows up and makes people deal with it.

A pause.

Danny Christie: And Luc Labelle?

His tone hardens.

Danny Christie: Luc doesn’t get the polished version. He gets this one. The one that doesn’t pretend. The one that doesn’t fit.

He lowers the trophy.

Danny Christie: You want real?

A nod.

Danny Christie: Then pay attention.

Danny turns and walks back toward the van, leaving Matt Mills standing on the carpet as the camera lingers before cutting away.

Nick Stuart: Folks, up next we have a debuting Big John Pepper against in-ring veteran, the Northern Light, Crash!

Richard Parker: BIG JOHN PEPPER! You know every Mountain Dew mouth and no internet knows who Big John Pepper is, Stuart!

Nick Stuart: And who is that?

Richard Parker: I don’t know, I don’t have Mountain Dew mouth and no internet to speak of.

Nick Stuart: Great commentary, Richard. Let’s throw it to Vincent Howard in the ring.

We cut to the ring where Vince Howard is standing by.

Vince Howard: The following match is for one fall! Introducing first…

The 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. 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.

Vince Howard: From Buffalo, New York, standing at five-foot-eleven-inches and weighing two-hundred-thirty-eight pounds… He is the Northern Light… CRAAAAAAAAAASH!

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.

Suddenly, the arena lights dim to a warm yellow-gold, like sunlight.

And then, the jingle-jangly guitar of Natalie Imbruglia’s rendition of “Torn” begins to play.

Stepping onto the stage immediately are Toddrick and Miguel, the Lasagna Boys, who gesture towards the curtains with the classic point-over-the-head gesture.

And from there, he emerges.

Big John Pepper.

Massive, muscular, and insanely light on his feet, the blonde mustached man practically ballets down to the ring, twirling his body to the music.

Before Vince Howard can start the introduction, he’s interrupted by a familiar voice with a megaphone.

Fred Dick: And his mothafuggin’ opponent… from our GORGEOUS U.S. NATIONAL PARKS… Standing as tall as three skyscrapers… weighing in at two Grand Canyons… he is… THE MAN! THE MYTH! THE LEGEND! BIIIIIIIG! JOOOOOHN! PEPPERRRRRRR!!!!

Fred Dick is the caboose of the train that leads Big John Pepper to the ring.

At ringside, Big John Pepper gives his park ranger hat to a young lady sitting ringside with her dad.

As he steps into the ring, the song reaches its first chorus while rainbow strobes flutter across the arena.

🌈 🌈 🌈 🌈

Nothing’s fine, I’m torn!

I’m all out of faith

This is how I feel

I’m cold and I am shamed

Lying naked on the floor.

Illusion never changed

Into something real

I’m wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn.

You’re a little late.

I’m already torn.

Big John steps into his corner, gives Fred a BIG THUMBS UP, and waits for the bell. Referee Ashley Barlow checks both BJP and Crash before signalling for the bell.

DING DING DING DING!

Both Crash and John come out of their corners hot, curling each other in the center of the ring. BJP moves surprisingly fast despite his massive frame, getting into a low crouch down and scramble, matching Jackson’s speed.

Richard Parker: You know Big John Pepper once wrestled six rabid raccoons dressed in a trench coat outside a Piggily Wiggly? That’s why he’s got such good footwork!

Nick Stuart: That doesn’t sound real.

Richard Parker: It’s better than real, Stuart, it’s lore!

The two eventually lock up with Pepper easily powering Crash up into the turnbuckle. Barlow begins the five count but Big John Pepper immediately breaks the hold, backing up with a friendly smile. Crash seems hesitant, not trusting this respectful gesture. On the outside Fred tells BJP he can keep attacking Crash for another four seconds if he wants.

Nick Stuart: It seems like Fred’s client isn’t as inclined to engage in nefarious acts as Dick is.

Richard Parker: He’s just shy is all! He’ll figure things out eventually.

Crash carefully leaves the corner as the two men begin circling again. Pepper lunges out but Jackson manages to roll beneath his arms, snapping up to his feet with a turn. A loud crack echoes through the Jose Miguel Agrelot Coliseum as Crash executes a stiff kick to the back of Pepper’s knee. Pepper winces, turning around to Crash and swinging for the fences!

Richard Parker: Good luck chopping down that redwood tree, Crash!

Nick Stuart: Legs as thick as tree trunks for certain, Parker.

Once again Crash’s speed pays off as he slips beneath the swing, slinging himself into the ropes before connecting with a clothesline across Pepper’s beefy chest! Pepper is staggered as the crowd noise jumps out excitedly!

Not wasting any time, Jackson throws himself back into the ropes again, building up a head of steam before smashing his arm against the barrel of meat and bone that is Big John Pepper’s chest! The thud of flesh against flesh echoes around the Coliseum as Pepper staggers backward, tilting back as both of his arms flail forward helplessly.

Crash gestures to the crowd before pointing to the ropes popping the crowd. Throwing himself into the ropes, Crash rebounds once, twice and finally a third time before swinging his arm!

Nick Stuart: Crash throwing himself at Pepper to try and take the big man down!

CRACK!

Richard Parker: Oh! How did that work out for him, Stuart!?

Crash Jackson gets turned inside out as Big John Pepper shoulder blocks straight through his smaller opponent. The crowd lets out a collective sympathetic groan for Crash followed by an appreciative cheer for the absolute power shown off by Pepper.

Miguel and Toddrick jump up onto the apron, waving their arms and screaming at Ashley Barlow, distracting her. The crowd begins booing as Fred Dick jumps up, holding a steel chair out to Pepper.

Nick Stuart: Fred Dick continues to try to get Pepper in line with his treacherous ways but I don’t know if the big man has any interest in his underhanded ways, Parker!

Richard Parker: Big John Pepper just likes to finish men with his bare hands, that’s what I figure! But when the time comes, he’ll listen to the wisdom of old Fred Dick.

Big John Pepper apologizes to Fred, letting him know sitting down isn’t appropriate in the middle of the match leaving his manager confused. Instead of taking the chair he turns, leaning down to check on Crash.

SMALL PACKAGE!

Nick Stuart: Crash with the surprise small package! Can he keep the big man wrapped up!?

The wily veteran quickly uses the good intentions of his opponent to pull him into a Small Package Pin! The Lasagna Boys are stunned by the sudden turn of affairs, breaking Barlow’s attention as she turns to see the pinning predicament!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: Too much power! You can’t keep the Parkland Protector down with a mere Small Package! You’re gonna need a BIG Package!

Nick Stuart: That probably sounded smarter in your head.

Using pure power, Big John Pepper is able to break Crash’s pinfall attempt while complimenting Jackson’s cunning and temerity. The Northern Light looks confused by the continual sportsmanlike conduct of his opponent, sweeping up to his feet before knocking both Lasagna Boy’s from the ropes! Barlow finally catches Fred standing on the apron with the chair.

Nick Stuart: Oops, Fred Dick got himself caught!

Richard Parker: Caught!? Caught doing what, looking for a seat?!

Nick Stuart: Oh sure, suuure he is Richard.

Caught red handed Fred explains he has gout and needs to keep his foot elevated, jumping off the apron and setting up the chair with his foot up on the apron.

Back in the ring BJP and Crash are once again circling each other when they lock up. Jackson slips low, getting Pepper in a waistlock before transitioning into an attempting Drop Toehold but John is just too stout to drop. Pepper snatches Crash up and pulls him over his shoulders into a Torture Rack!

Richard Parker: Torture Rack! He’s gonna rip Crash in half!

Crash screams out in pain as Big John Pepper stretches him across his broad shoulders!

Nick Stuart: An impressive display of power from the rookie!

Richard Parker: If Ashley Barlow had any sense she’d stop the match and save Crash’s career before Big John Pepper ends it!

As his ribs are torqued and his body contorted, Crash fires desperation fists down on Pepper’s head. At first Big John Pepper weathers the blows, gritting his teeth and narrowing his brow. Unfortunately the rain of blows eventually breaks the seemingly unbreakable ranger, stunning him enough for Crash to wriggle free of the Torture Rack!

Nick Stuart: He’s free! He’s free!

Richard Parker: Impossible! Crash is cheating somehow, there is no way any living man could break Big John Pepper’s Torture Rack!

Swinging his body around, using his momentum, Crash manages to drive the big man down to the mat with a huge swinging DDT! Scrambling back up to his feet, Jackson keeps up the pressure, rushing to the corner as he quickly ascends to the top rope! As Pepper clamours slowly back up to his feet with a dazed expression Crash takes to the air with a Big John Pepper sized Jumping Swinging DDT! The crowd is on their feet as Crash hooks the leg!

ONE!

TWO!

T-KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: Whew! See, Stuart, Big John is just too powerful!

Nick Stuart: Needs a Big Package, right?

Richard Parker: Big Package!

The double thicc Park Ranger pushes Crash completely out of the pin before sitting up, his face flushed red with what might be anger. Mr. Ketchup and Mustard doesn’t let up as he begins firing a series of kicks at his mountainous opponent. Big John Pepper weathers the storm as he rises back up to his feet, absorbing New York’s Finest’s flurry of kicks. Crash’s kicks come slower and with less strength as it slowly dawns on him that his opponent doesn’t seem to be affected by them.

Big John Pepper smiles at Crash.

Crash smiles back up at Big John Pepper.

John slaps his chest and challenges Crash to hit him as hard as he can, in the friendliest way you can imagine. Outside the ring the Lasagna Boys begin arguing with each other about BJP while Fred screams for the big man to kick Crash in the balls. Crash looks around as the crowd begins to cheer, encouraging the Northern Light.

Nick Stuart: It looks like Big John Pepper wants to square off in the center of the ring. I’m not sure I’d go blow for blow with a guy the size of Pepper.

Richard Parker: Of course not! But Big John Pepper is a man who LOVES tests of strength and skill. That is if that coward Crash feels up to it!

Crack.

A stiff chop breaks apart across Big John Pepper’s massive chest. Crash shakes off the sting in his arm as Pepper compliments the chop.

Richard Parker: Noble effort from Crash but you can’t chop down this tree!

CRACK!

A massive overhand chop floors Crash as Big John Pepper retaliates. The crowd “ooohs!” and “ahhhs!” before cheering on Pepper’s impressive display of power.

Nick Stuart: An absolutely soul crushing chop from Big John Pepper drops Crash like a cell phone call in a deadzone.

As Fred Dick continues to rage outside the ring, Pepper helps Crash up to his feet, dusting him off and making sure he’s okay. Toddrick jumps up onto the apron, screaming at BJP, distracting referee Ashley Barlow.

Small Package!

Nick Stuart: Crash using the chaos to potentially get a quick pin on Pepper!

Richard Parker: No! It can’t happen!

Once again Crash uses Big John Pepper’s kind gesture against him with yet another small package. Unfortunately Barlow is distracted by Toddrick allowing Miguel to slip into the ring, pushing the heap of Pepper and Jackson over so it’s Jackson getting pinned!

Toddrick drops down as Barlow turns to see the pinning predicament!

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout!

Richard Parker: Crash is clearly cheating, nobody gets out of Big John Pepper’s Big Package!

Nick Stuart:  What the hell are you talking about, Parker, the Lasagna Boys clearly interfered on Pepper’s behalf!

Richard Parker: I didn’t see nothing!

Crash manages to release the package at the last moment, avoiding defeat as he immediately puts space between himself and Pepper. The Lasagna Boys reconvene, their attempt at cheating having failed. Suddenly both men realize a shadow cast over them. Looking up both men barely have time to react as Crash Jackson smashes down on both of them with a Suicide Dive over the top rope!

Jumping back to up his feet with the roar of the crowd behind him, Crash pumps his arms in the air while the Lasagna Boys lay crushed at his feet. Quickly moving back into the ring, Crash avoids a big right hand from Pepper, bounces off the ropes and hits a massive Spinning Heel Kick that takes down Big John!

Nick Stuart: After getting rid of Fred Dick’s lackies, Crash is building up his momentum against the debuting Big John Pepper!

Richard Parker: This is ridiculous! Pepper! Don’t let down all those Mountain Dew mouth, no Internet having white trash kids!

With the crowd at his back, Crash climbs the turnbuckle, lifting his hand to his lips like he’s smoking a joint! Suddenly Toddrick is someone back up on the apron screaming at Crash! Barlow intercepts the man only for Fred Dick to sneak up on Jackson, pushing him off the top turnbuckle!

Nick Stuart: The nefarious actions of Fred Dick has cut off Crash’s offensive momentum! I don’t think Big John Pepper saw it either, I doubt he’d approve!

Richard Parker: What the hell do you know about Big John Pepper, Parker!? This could have all been his plan from the start!

Crashing down to the mat, Jackson writhes in pain as Big John Pepper staggers back to his feet completely oblivious to the antics of Fred Dick and his minions. Fred Dick points at Crash on the ground frantically while Toddrick backs down allowing Barlows to focus on the match again.

Yoinking Crash up into an Airplane Spin, Big John Pepper spins around in the center of the ring.

Richard Parker: He’s got Crash up on his shoulders! Time to spin him out!

Nick Stuart: What are we about to see?

One.

Two.

Three.

Four!

Five!

Six!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEEEEEEEEEEN!

On the final rotation, Pepper swings Crash over into a Sit-Out Powerbomb!

Richard Parker: PROTECT OUR PARKS!

Nick Stuart: Absolutely devastating after TEN spins!

Leaning forward, Big John Pepper locks Crash into a pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING DING!

Vince Howard: The winner of this match by pinfall, BIG JOHN PEEEEEEEEEEEPPER!

The Lasagna Boys and Fred Dick rush into the ring to celebrate with Big John Pepper as though he’d just won the Universal Title while the crowd is a mixture of cheers for Big John Pepper and boos for the company he keeps.

Nick Stuart: A strong effort by Crash but he just couldn’t overcome the numbers game as Big John Pepper wins his debut match!

Richard Parker: BIG JOHN PEPPER!

Big John Pepper,  Fred Dick and the Lasagna Boys continue to celebrate in the ring as we cut to commercial.

The scene cuts to backstage where The Anglo Luchador, clad in a v-neck sweater covering a white button-down shirt, khaki pants, and penny loafers to go with his lucha mask, stands on a set in front of a comfy looking recliner.

Yes folks, it’s time for a live commercial.

TAL: Hello folks! I’m The Anglo Luchador! You might remember me from such classic PRIME segments as “The Anglo Luchador crashes out over what twenty bucks can buy you in today’s economy” and “The Anglo Luchador puts a shock collar on a deranged Cajun man and zaps him to send a message.”

He chuckles to himself.

TAL: Ah yes, your pal “Towel” sure does run the gamut here in PRIME Wrestling.

The camera jump cuts to his side, where he turns his head slightly and winks before jump cutting again to his front.

TAL: But you see, all this breakdown, both emotional backstage and physical out in the ring sure leaves a man tired. As some of you who read those pesky dirtsheets might have seen lately, I’m a man who loves his sleep.

Jump cut to a pre-recorded message of Vinny Battaglia at home in his living room.

Vinny Battaglia: (in the most wooden voice possible) My father sure does love his sleep.

Jump cut back to the arena, where The Luchador is now leaning on the recliner

TAL: That lil’ scamp is right. I enjoy a great night’s rest! Sure, many times, I do enjoy sleeping my big bed with my wife and not in a racecar bed in some apartment complex for lonely bachelors. However, what about times when I’ve angered my wife to the point where I have to sleep somewhere else?

Jump cut to a close up of The Luchador.

TAL: Or if I’ve partaken in a particularly strenuous morning of landscaping and don’t feel like going all the way upstairs to bed yet?

Jump cut to an even closer shot of The Last Son of Tenochtitlan.

TAL: Or if I drank too much and need a place to lay down without the risk of falling down stairs?

Jump cut to an EXTREME CLOSE UP of the Luchador, only this time the camera is upside down.

TAL: Or if a certain neighborhood cat that my lil’ scamp of a son has lured into my home with the promise of a lil’ slommy is vigorously licking himself on my bed and has already scratched me three or four times?

Back to a wide shot with The Luchador casually strolling around the recliner.

TAL: That’s where the new Comfy Lad 3000-X Recliner comes in!

The camera cuts to a shot of the chair with The Luchador out of the shot for a moment before focusing back in on the first Intense Champion of the ReVival.

TAL: Comfy Lad is known the world over for cloudlike comfort without sacrificing the firmness you need for a healthy bout of relaxation, and their new 3000-X changes the game completely!

Close-up of The Luchador smiling and giving a thumbs-up with a gleam digitally added to the teeth visible in his smile.

TAL: You see, not only is the Comfy Lad 3000-X stuffed with their patented Phoenix Down, named because it would wake even waifish flower girls from death with its dreamlike comfort, it has built-in vibrating massagers that help with the aches and pains of daily life.

The camera cuts to b-roll footage of a generic man in the recliner looking like a phone on vibrate.

TAL: And not only is it good enough for your low impact life, well, it’s a game-changer for me, a pro wrestler who gets in the ring with the best athletes in the world like Steve Harrison and Jack Harmen!

Close-up to the Luchador with a bitter look on his face

TAL: But not Farthington. No, you need the 5000-Epsilon for the kind of damage he can do.

The Luchador looks off in the distance forlornly before snapping back into his cheery advertisement-ready self.

TAL: Don’t believe me? Just watch me give it a whirl myself!

The Luchador sits down on the recliner and nestles in. He picks up a remote control attached to the chair, and the unit splays out with his legs raising to the air and his back falling back into a supine position.

TAL: Folks, if you can’t see it, I’m the most comfortable I’ve been… in a… (yawns) good long time.

He presses the button again and starts vibrating slightly.

TAL: Oh man, this feels… great….

His head starts to slump slightly to the side before he snaps awake.

TAL: Folks, run, don’t walk to your nearest Comfy Lad showroom or approved appliance dealer to get you…

Another yawn from The Luchador.

TAL: A great deal… on a phenomenal chair…

He jostles around before finally finding the right position.

TAL: Comfy Lad… for the best rest… money can…. B…………..

He trails off with audible snoring setting in almost immediately. The producers realize that he’s fallen asleep, like shoot fallen asleep, not as part of the script, and the screen cuts immediately. We go elsewhere.

The camera returns from commercial to a wide, sweeping shot of the Jose Miguel Agrelot Coliseum in San Juan, Puerto Rico. The crowd is hot, loud, and primed for the rest of the show. It’s the kind of noise that feels like it’s climbing the walls of the arena.

Nick Stuart: Welcome back to ReVival 80! We’re live in San Juan! Two matches down, plenty more to be had in the first PRIME show of the year!!

Richard Parker: You bet, Nick. New Year, fresh show, and the people are ready for something to happen!

Nick Stuart: Careful what you wish for, Richard.

The arena lights dim. Not darkness. Not a full blackout. But a deliberate lowering. Then, a single tone rolls through the sound system. Heavy. Choral. Unfortunately familiar.

The first notes of The Soviet National Anthem, performed by the Russian Red Army Choir, boom through the Coliseum. A red wash floods over the crowd, bathing the stands in crimson. The audience response is instant and hostile, with boos and jeers erupting in a wall so thick it nearly swallows the music.

Richard Parker: Oh yeah! This is how you start a year!

Nick Stuart: If you mean by antagonizing an entire building, that will do it.

Columns of pyro detonate on the stage, timed with the anthem’s rising power. Red and gold sparks roar upward, framing the entrance like some militarized gate.

Richard Parker: Sit up straight, Nick. The Red Army is here. No slouching!

The camera cuts to the entrance as the ramp fills with smoke. Silhouettes form first, large shapes, multiple bodies, moving through the smoke.

Ivan Stanislav steps out.

He’s enormous under the lights, not rushing, not posturing, just walking forward like he owns the arena. HIs face is set, impassive, with eyes forward. He doesn’t react to the boos. He just absorbs them as he has his entire career.

Richard Parker: There he is! Newly crowned PRIME Hall of Famer Ivan Stanislav! It can’t be denied, Nick! Can it?

Nick Stuart: Say what you will about Ivan Stanislav, but even I can’t ignore the fact that in some ways, he’s changed the wrestling landscape. For better or worse? Well, I’ll leave that up to the fans.

At his side is Alexei Ruslan, crisp with his hat, rigid posture, scanning the arena with a cold alertness.

Richard Parker: Never thought I’d say this, but there’s Ruslan, in a match against Cancer Jiles tonight. He looks ready though!

Behind them, the rest of The Red Army emerges. Randall Schwartz and Kenny Freemen are changed and showered after their opening match. Tony Gamble grins beside them, while Bryan Dawkins walks out last with his glasses on.

The anthem swells as the group moves towards the ring. They don’t spread out or wave, nor do they gesture to the crowd. The red lighting follows them down like a trail of blood.

Fans along the barricade scream, some reaching out, some flipping them off, some recording and shouting insults. A few security guards shift their stance, just in case.

Nick Stuart: Listen to this crowd! Puerto Rico wants no part of The Red Army!

Richard Parker: Yeah well Puerto Rico doesn’t get a vote, Nick. This is PRIME. The Red Army goes where it wants.

Ivan reaches the bottom of the ramp and scans the audience for a moment, before stepping up onto the apron and gliding over the top rope. Ruslan jogs up the steps and climbs in next, followed by the rest of The Red Army.

The anthem continues, booming and unyielding, as the assembled mass of superstars stand in the ring. Stanislav reaches into his pocket and pulls out a microphone that looks comically small in his hand. He bellows immediately, his angular Russian accent sharpening his English.

Ivan Stanislav: Happy New Year, Puerto Rico!

BOOOOO!!

Stanislav’s expression sours. Not that it was very happy to begin with. But hey, at least he tried. He snarls.

Ivan Stanislav: I think we start new year off correctly. With first in-ring by The Red Army!

Nick Stuart: Conspicuous by his absence is Hessian, but he’s listed as injured so it’s no surprise. Still, there’s a lot of PRIME superstars in the ring, even without Hessian!

Ivan slowly turns in a half circle, staring out at the crowd as if listening to each individual jeer.

Ivan Stanislav: You boo because you understand. It is new year, yes, but it is same reality. PRIME is full of men and women who believe they are alone. Who want to be heroes. Who want to stand for something!

He points a thick camera at the hard cam.

Ivan Stanislav: The Red Army stands for something! For discipline. For endurance. For comradeship! Just at Immortals, who did Lindsay Troy, the owner of PRIME, stand with?! DEFIANCE! And what did I do? I destroyed Dan Ryan in the process!!

Nick Stuart: For the record, Dan Ryan barely got the win. But he did win.

Richard Parker: I was there!

Nick Stuart: And… are you saying he didn’t?

Richard Parker: Erm… well I mean, I was there, but Ivan was in the ring. He probably knows better than anyone else!

Ivan waves his hand towards the crowd.

Ivan Stanislav: Tonight, Alexei Ruslan, my best friend, a former PCW World Champion, goes up against Cancer Jiles. The man who should have stayed home! The man who makes habit out of failing to win Universal Championships! And trust me, I use the term “man” loosely!

Ivan hands the microphone over to Alexei. The smaller Russian snags it up and stands on the bottom rope, leaning over the top rope as he speaks directly to the hard cam.

Alexei Ruslan: Lindsay Troy! You put me in this match thinking it would be a joke. Tonight, I’m going to tear Cancer Jiles apart! You can try to intimidate. You can try to throw your weight around. But the hard workers of The Red Army will never bow to your tyranny! Tonight, Cancer Jiles returns to PRIME and learns he never belonged here!

Ivan takes the microphone back as Kenny Freeman high fives Alexei, no one noticing The Grin lowering his head and shaking it slightly.

Ivan Stanislav: And then, after Alexei destroys Cancer Jiles, we take first big chunk out of PRIME in new year!

Ivan gestures towards Bryan Dawkins, who leans in the corner, his attire not all that different than what he wore at Colossus. Red Army issued fatigues and combat boots. Even after a year, a jarring sight.

Ivan Stanislav: He is going to annihilate nepo-champion Wade Elliott and bring the Intense Title to The Red Army!

Ivan smirks.

Ivan Stanislav: We threw Max Kael out of The Red Army and took in Comrade Dawkins. And we saw what happened to Kael, did we not?  Tonight, we see eggs get cracked, and bad dogs become neutered! DYAAHAAHAA!!

Ivan’s raucous laugh booms through the arena, harsh and ugly, and the boos do not let up for a second. Ivan turns, nods once at Dawkins, then extends the microphone with a heavy hand.

Ivan Stanislav: Comrade! A few words?

He tosses the microphone to Bryan, who catches it while standing in the corner.

Bryan Dawkins: You know, Ivan is right. 2025 was a big year for the Red Army.

BOOOOOOOOOO!!

Bryan Dawkins: Not only did we grow in numbers but in accomplishments as well. Ivan won his second Universal Championship. Nearly won the Manhunt. Nearly won the Almasy. Successfully defeated his returning nemesis at Colossus…

BOOOOOOOOOO!!

Bryan Dawkins: …2025 was a good year to be the Bear.

Ivan smirks and grips his suspenders. He rocks on his heels once. Dawkins turns to the Masters of the Moscowverse. Randall has his eyes set about twelve rows up in the crowd, eyeing the closest cotton candy vendor. Kenny nudges him, bringing him back to reality.

Bryan Dawkins: Kenny and Randall continued to be loyal members of the Red Army, offering their bodies as willing meat shields anytime Ivan and Alexei were in trouble.

Ruslan nods his head in agreement and grins. Bryan turns to his fellow ReVolution era alum, the Grin.

Bryan Dawkins: Ivan gave Hessian and Gamble a home when Jiles decided to go AWOL. I guess it was just coincidence that we gained our Tag Team Championships in the process. Now, however, we’ve got one third of the tag team left.

Dawkins centers himself in the ring, facing Ivan and Alexei.

Bryan Dawkins: And Rose…well, I’m not exactly sure what happened to her, but she definitely provided an edge to the group when one was sorely needed. As for myself…

He takes a step closer to the Bear.

Bryan Dawkins: Well, we didn’t start off so hot, did we? I was able to look past Alexei allowing me to lose my Alias Championship. And I did everything I possibly could to give Ivan the help he needed to almost win Manhunt.

The grins plastered across Ivan and Alexei’s face melt slowly as Ruslan looks up at Ivan, who glances down at him, and together they stare at Dawkins.

Bryan Dawkins: I spent 2025 chasing Max Kael. And in the end, I succeeded…without any help from the Red Army.

Ruslan reaches for the microphone, but Dawkins pulls it away calmly and creates just enough space to keep speaking.

Bryan Dawkins: In fact, I succeeded despite the Red Army. In the end, this group, these comrades as they call themselves. They did nothing. In fact, they did everything short of helping Max in my plight against him. Maybe you should ask your lapdog about that. Not now, though. He’s got a big match tonight.

Just know there was heavy use of air quotes to accompany the words “big match.” Dawkins removes his sunglasses, locking eyes not with Ivan, but with tonight’s semi-main eventer.

Bryan Dawkins: Fuck you. I’m out.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The Red Army sunglasses are sent flying into the crowd while Dawkins tosses the microphone towards Kenny Freeman, who awkwardly catches it. Dawkins cracks a smirk and turns his back toward Ivan and Alexei. Ruslan’s metal baton materializes in his hand and he makes to club Dawkins, but Ivan, surprisingly, grabs Alexei by the collar and restrains him with eerie calm. Bryan mouths ‘sorry’ to his now-former comrades and slides under the bottom rope while Gamble shrugs his shoulders. As he ascends the ramp, he walks backwards, eyeing down the remaining members of the Red Army, who have remained conspicuously complacent in the middle of the ring.

Stanislav snatches the microphone from Freeman, while Ruslan roars like a caged animal. Tony finger waves goodbye.

Nick Stuart: Bryan Dawkins just detonated this entire situation! But almost as shocking is how calm The Russian Bear appears!

Ivan keeps his other hand on Ruslan’s collar. Not a struggle, not even forceful, just immovable. Alexei’s boots scrape the canvas as he fights anyway.

Alexei Ruslan: HE DOES NOT WALK AWAY FROM US! HE DOES NOT!!!

Ivan keeps his eyes on Dawkins, gaze heavy and steady. Dawkins doesn’t so much as blink, instead locking eyes with the behemoth.

Ivan Stanislav: Bryan.

Ivan shakes his head slowly. Calmly.

Ivan Stanislav: You throw glasses like tantrum. You say a rude word. You act like a child who breaks plate and believes noise is power.

Stanislav’s words are almost conversational. That might be worse.

Ivan Stanislav: You are a rat, Bryan Dawkins. You scurry away when the light comes on. You talk about my Red Army like it is a chain around your neck?

Ivan turns slightly, pointing to each respective member of The Red Army.

Ivan Stanislav: When PRIME laughed at the Masters of Moscowverse? I took them in! When Cancer Jiles abandoned his own? I accepted them! When Rose made a challenge? I beat her and reaped the rewards. And you?

Ivan’s expression breaks slightly, there is definitely rage behind his eyes.

Ivan Stanislav: Betrayal is just your playbook. Lack of loyalty is norm. You did it before, against your friends when you joined us, and now, you do it again. A rat!

The venom drips through Ivan’s beard. Bryan remains at the top of the ramp, steadfast.

Ivan Stanislav: After you failed to protect mother of your child, you came to me broken. I supported you and your family when no one would.

Ivan lets a beat hang.

Ivan Stanislav: I let you use my prized possession, Zarya. My pride. My symbol. Allowed you to use it in your battle against Kael. And now you want to walk away like you built your victories alone? Without me? Without all of us in The Red Army supporting you!?

Ivan turns to the crowd. They don’t seem to be buying his argument, but he’s gonna give it to them anyway.

BOOOOOOO!!!

Ivan Stanislav: PRIME. This is what happens when you let weak men believe they are heroes. They take what others give them, and then they run.

Ivan lowers his chin, cold, and stares back at the entryway.

Ivan Stanislav: You run tonight, Bryan Dawkins. But later? You will learn.

Ivan lifts his head and raises the microphone again, forcing the segment back onto the rails.

Ivan Stanislav: Tonight, Alexei Ruslan destroys Cancer Jiles! The Red Army endures without rats and hangers-on. We start this year exactly the way we intend to finish it!

Ivan finally releases Alexei’s collar. Ruslan straightens his jacket while Ivan tosses the microphone out of the ring.

Nick Stuart: That is a promise, and I do not know who it is aimed at more, Cancer Jiles or Bryan Dawkins.

Richard Parker: Both.

The collective members of The Red Army look confused though, other than Ivan and Alexei, who mutter to one another, with Ivan somehow calming Alexei down with a squeeze of his shoulder and together, as one, they exit the ring.

We cut from that sad sack of a simp to the greatest and most gorgeous bald man in wrestling: Steve Harrison. He is stretching in the hallway as he prepares for the HUGE match against that amazing grappler Miguel. Out of the corner of the camera comes running the highest manager in wrestling Jack Marley and sigh…Jimmy Lawson with a bottle of water in his right hand. Harrison looks up and it was if his soul left his body when he saw the two guys.

Jack Marley: Informer, ya’ no say daddy me Snow me I go blame I lick he boom-boom down!

Harrison just stares and tries to comprehend why Jack just sang a line from Informer by the great and underrated Snow.

Steve Harrison: What the fuck are you on now?

Jimmy holds the water to Steve.

Jimmy Lawson: And I have water!

Jack and Steve both stare at Jimmy now and Jack shakes his head with the most disapproval look anyone has ever seen from him.

Jack Marley: You were supposed to say that after I broke the ice with my sweet lyrics, mon.

Harrison rips the water from Jimmys hand and takes a big gulp.

Jimmy Lawson: Those really were from lit lines, Jack, no cap!

Steve Harrison: What?

Jack Marley: Whoa, whoa, Jimmy. Miguel has already made fun of Steve being bald and now you are telling him to wear a hat?

Jimmy shakes his head.

Jimmy Lawson: No bro, I am just saying you ate that shit up.

Jack Marley: I am hungry…want to get some hot dogs?

Harrison sighs as he watches both rub their stomachs as if their hunger has synced like a pair of girls.

Steve Harrison: Holy shit, what do you two want? Please don’t tell me the family just sent you two.

Jack Marley: Nah boss man, I brought Jimmy so he could see how a real wrestler prepares and performs and I am here because I am your manager…duh.

Harrison laughs and shakes his head towards Jack.

Steve Harrison: Ah yes, the manager who hasn’t managed anything in over a year other than how much weed he is going to smoke that day.

Jack Marley: It’s an eighth today by the way…wait a minute!

Jimmy Lawson: I agree, bro, that is probably not enough.

Harrison cracks his neck.

Steve Harrison: You two are giving me a far greater headache than any opponent could right now. I suppose I am a little relieved that it is just you two and not the whole family though.

Jack Marley: No, mon, they are at some nice place watching from home. We are supposed to take you there afterwards. I heard she might even give you your bank account back. Huge…if true. I mean you know…quicker we find Ellis all our dreams can come true.

Steve Harrison: Sure…

The Miracle Man of everyone else’s dreams pauses and looks at Jack.

Steve Harrison: Uh…what is exactly your dream?

Jimmy Lawson: The richest world champion wrestler ever!

Steve Harrison: I wasn’t talking to you. I don’t care about the dreams of someone still celebrating having hair down there. So, Jack?

Jack shrugs with a head tilt and before he can respond, a staff member walks over and whispers in Steves ear.

Steve Harrison: Looks like it is time, so watch what you can only hope to become, Jimmy and Jack…we will speak later.

Harrison finishes his water and accepts dap from both, each dap a louder sigh follows from our favorite positive wrestler. Time to rasstle!

We cut back to the ring, where Miguel is already standing by. Pure, sweet Miguel, without an ounce of entrance music to his name because who’s going to license entrance music to half of the Lasagna Boys?

Richard Parker: I have a bad feeling about what’s about to happen to the boy in the ring.

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

“Easy now, easy now
Easy now, easy now
I wake up in my bed
With monsters in my head
Easy now, easy now
Easy now, easy now
I wake up in my bed
With monsters in my head”

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

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Already in the ring, Miguel!

Richard Parker: I’ve never heard Vince so unenthusiastic to introduce someone for a match.

Vince Howard: And his opponent! He weighs in tonight at two hundred and fifty pounds! He is a former 5-Star Champion! HE IS THE MIRACLE MAN! STEEEEEEVEEEE!! HAAAAARRRRRRISSSSOOOOONNNNNN!!!

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.

Nick Stuart: I don’t imagine Steve Harrison is all that thrilled to be given Miguel as an opponent tonight.

Richard Parker: Two minutes, tops. Maybe a minute forty-five if ‘Ol Banditsbane has places to be.

DING DING

Miguel dances around the ring, and takes a short dive at Harrison’s legs. Harrison looks briefly horrified at Miguel’s attempt at wrestling. Miguel manages to wrap one arm around Harrison’s thigh and tries to lift up. Harrison pulls back and drops the sharp point of his elbow into the back of Miguel’s skull.

Richard Parker: Look at Miguel, the technical masterpiece.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, right, technical masterpiece.

Miguel stumbles away and Harrison follows it in with a huge knife edge chop that sends Miguel careening into the ropes grabbing at his chest. He stumbles back towards the center of the ring and Harrison is there with a big spinning spinebuster that plants Miguel into the canvas. The Miracle Man looks towards the camera and smirks while Miguel writhes.

Nick Stuart: Steve Harrison is playing with his food.

Richard Parker: That could cost him!

Nick Stuart: I doubt it.

Miguel slowly climbs to his feet while Harrison waits on him in the corner. Steve sprints out looking for a rising knee, but Miguel manages to fall/duck/scramble, he kind of does all three at once as he tries to get away from the oncoming Harrison. Steve flies into the ropes, and his front leg manages to slip through the top and middle rope, but the back leg doesn’t come with and he lands, straddling the middle rope.

Nick Stuart: Maybe you’re right, Richard!

Miguel slowly climbs to his feet and to his surprise finds a very sad, very hurt Steve Harrison straddling the ropes and holding his crotch. Miguel runs over and drags Harrison from the ropes to the ground. He runs to the rope and comes back looking for a big splash. It hits, Miguel hooks a leg like he’s trying to win his first world title. He pulls the leg up almost over Harrison’s head. Nixon slides in.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think a big splash was going to do it.

Richard Parker: No, you’re right Nick, and I fear Harrison is now upset with Miguel.

Harrison launches Miguel off of him and rolls to his knees. Miguel runs in trying to keep the advantage but Harrison manages to slip around the lasagna boy with a waist lock. He goes to lift Miguel who reaches out and grabs ahold of the top rope to prevent himself from going over. Nixon rushes in and starts counting Harrison who lets him go and begins backing away. Miguel pivots on a dime and slaps Harrison in the side of his bald ass head.

Nick Stuart: Oh.

Richard Parker: Oh no.

Apparently, somewhere in the wrestling bald men handbook, you’re not supposed to slap a bald man on the head and yell something about how you’re gonna dribble his bald ass like a basketball. But Miguel does, and Harrison doesn’t like it very much. He dives in and tackles Miguel all the way to the corner. He drives repeated shoulders into Miguel’s chest. Miguel flails and tries to find his way out of the corner.

Richard Parker: OH~!

Nick Stuart: Big knee from Harrison!

Steve locks the back of Miguel’s head in a muay-thai clinch and drives his face down and across Steve’s knee. Miguel stumbles out of the corner holding his recently ‘sploded face, Harrison races behind him, and, well, I’ll let Nick take it.

Nick Stuart: IT’S A HARRACLE!

Richard Parker: POOR MIGUEL’S NECK!

Nick Stuat: It deserves it!

Steve is pretty upset about that whole slapping his bald ass head thing, and he sits down on Miguel’s back, pulling up one leg and just torturing him. Miguel flails aimlessly, helplessly. Harrison beats on his knee like it’s a drum. Miguel won’t tap, probably because he doesn’t exactly know how, but Harrison just keeps yanking. Finally, Steve gets to his feet and drags Miguel up. Miguel can barely walk, he’s limping, his face is a mess of blood and gore. And Harrison ends him.

Nick Stuart: It’s a second harracle!

Richard Parker: I think he’s dead.

Nick Stuart: He might be.

Harrison flops Miguel over and hooks the leg while Nixon slides in.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING 

Vince Howard: Your winner by pinfall… STEVE HARRISON!

Harrison slides out of the ring and walks up the ramp shaking his head.

Following the conclusion of the previous match, we cut backstage. A loud eruption from the San Juan PRIMEates as we see a resplendent pirate zaddy; the Kraken, Henry Keyes. He seems to be making his way to the Vae Victis locker room, wearing a tucked-in pink paisley dress shirt and navy blue pants. Big Blue, his affectionate name for the blue-leather-strapped FIST of DEFIANCE championship belt he’s held for 267 days is slung over his shoulder. Christ, what a handsome man, even if it does look like he’s using too much Just For Men to darken his beard in relation to his salt-and-pepper undercut. It works, somehow. Blackbeard, or something.

He turns down a corner when he sees someone unexpected – someone with whom he doesn’t have much personal history, but when you’re encountering a living legend, introductions aren’t necessary.

Henry Keyes: Well, well, well…WELLLLL, well, well, well, well, well, well…is that really Jack Harmen??

It’s really Jack Harmen. Keyes extends a boisterous hand, in the process nearly smacking the head of a kid he doesn’t currently see with his elbow. Harmen is a bit somber compared to his normal manic mood, wearing an off putting and formal three piece suit. He chokes in his own tie as he tries to adjust before speaking and extending his hand for a shake.

Jack Harmen: Keyes. Pleasure. I’d love to fight you one day, that’d be swell. Anyway-so,(quickens speech) this kid’s brother is dying, and he wanted to meet me. But this kid is dying too, and he wanted to meet you, so… we’re kind of doing a make-a-wish kill two birds with one grenade scenario. His name is Gary, or Terry.

Greg: It’s Greg.

Jack Harmen: Sure. Listen, If you accidentally kill this kid with an elbow… I won’t say any-

Keyes reflexively startles as he registers the human child about a centimeter away from catching a stray.

Henry Keyes: GREG! Oh, geez, hello, Greg.

He sees that Greg is holding a permanent marker and some other object in his other hand, and not wanting to accidentally clock the kid or some shit, he sets the FIST down on a nearby table.

Greg: Will you sign my pancakes please Mr. Keyes?

We now see that the mysterious “some other object” is in fact a tupperware container with a stack of five pancakes contained within. Keyes recognizes a superfan when he sees one and immediately grabs the marker and pancakes. He begins scribbling.

Henry Keyes: To…my…friend…Gr-

CRASH!

The soundwave of a shattering ceramic startles the “Stranger Fruit” superstar. Keyes slowly turns around to see Klein standing above what appears to be a broken clay fired bird, The D covering his face in disappointment, and Elise Ares looking at her own reflection in the freshly polished FIST of DEFIANCE. She finds her good angle and flashes a smug grin before a sigh escapes her lips. Harmen meanwhile, wants none of this and just exits stage right, leaving an awkward looking Greg standing in the background half on and half off screen.

Elise Ares: Big Blu looked soooo good on me. Why’d you have to go screw that up, Hank?

Klein looks from side to side, and slowly starts to use his leg to sweep the broken pieces under a nearby table. The clay scraps loudly as he does.

Henry Keyes: You’re always trying to steal my stuff, Ares. What’s that about?

He sets down the pancakes and snatches the FIST back from her hands.

Elise Ares: You know… it’s not trying if I’m successful. I just thought it would be nice if we came by BBY to… catch up. You know it’s been a few weeks since you stole my last DEFIANCE match from me. I won at IMMORTALS. You unfortunately defeated cancer.

The D: I think you meant Cancer, with the capital C. Like Cancer Jiles.

Elise Ares: I’m not sure if I did. Did I, Klein?

The Boxman shrugs.

Henry Keyes: Listen, I get it. You couldn’t win the FIST for real, so you have to fake the fantasy.

Elise Ares: Well, it’s kind of hard when you’re constantly hiding behind something else. Lindsay. The Favoured Saints. Mark Shields. Clay Byrd. Eventually you’ll run out of excuses and when you do… I’ll be here, BBY.

Henry Keyes: It’s not an excuse if I’m successful.

Klein holds the swept up pieces of the broken clay bird. Ares looks over and can’t help herself.

Elise Ares: Who knew clay birds were so fragile, hey… wait a minute. Where is your friend anyway? Wasn’t he in DEFIANCE for like, a week?

Keyes has been growing increasingly irritated the longer this conversation has gone, and with the further realization that Jack Harmen and the so-called Make-A-Wish kid seem to have stepped away.

Henry Keyes: Don’t worry about Clay, worry about me, Ares. I’ve beaten you, I’ve beaten you, and I’ve DEFINITELY beaten you –

He points in succession to Klein, The D, and Ares.

Elise Ares: You beat The D? Are you sure I was there for real, or was it just in your mind’s eye?

Keyes has chosen to ignore this comment with an eye roll.

Henry Keyes: – AND, as I was saying… every time you and I meet, it seems like I end up taking something from you, permanently. Your SOHER record. Your shot at the FIST. Your careers in DEFIANCE. Maybe that’s why you’re so obsessed with me.

Ares scoffs.

Elise Ares: Hank, trust me when I say no one is ever going to love you as much as you. Just remember that before there were your Strange Fruit buddies and SOHERs and FISTs, we were there. So remember when your little power trippy world starts to come crashing down around you, and it’s finally your turn to lose everything…just know that we’re going to be there. Laughing. Hysterically.

Keyes’s expression is a mix of rage with a hint of genuine concern; Ares, The D, and even Klein’s eyes under the box look like they belong to assassins. He grunts and shoves off in a huff as the Phenoms look on. Elise finger waves as Jack Harmen slowly walks back into frame. Jack nudges The D.

Jack Harmen: Did it work?

The D shrugs.

The D: I guess we’ll find out tonight.

Greg tugs on Jack’s shirt while picking his nose.

Greg: Can I go home now?

Jack Harmen: Oh there, there. Shut up tiny human.

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.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… the following match is scheduled for ONE FALL. Introducing first, hailing from Montreal, Quebec, CAAAAAANNNNNAADA, standing at a metric 168 centimeters and 91 kilograms but an imperial 6-foot-1 and 211 pounds is the Montreal Main Event… LUC LABELLLLLLEE.

The chorus kicks in and out marches 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? We’ll soon find out as the living legend that is Neil Diamond, with his iconic song “Sweet Caroline”, begins.

The fans pop simultaneously with loud cheers. This is preceded by equally rapturous singing of the lyrics.

Once the song plays to its chorus, out steps the custodian of Neil’s classic song, “Fair Game” Danny Christie in a tight-fitting three-piece suit.

Christie looks downright uncomfortable as, rather than his usual shadowboxing, he begins swinging around a big, blunt object, but still makes time to flash smiles to the fans.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, hailing from Wrexham, North Wales, standing at 6-foot-1 and weighing in at 215 pounds, he is FAAAAAIR GAME DANNNNNY CHRISTIE!

Richard Parker: What in the world is he holding, Nick? A bowling trophy?

Nick Stuart: Supposedly Danny Christie had a bit of trouble getting into the YEAs and maybe that explains the suit he’s wearing — he wants to make sure everyone here knows he’s award show material.

Richard Parker: So that explains why his father isn’t down here with him this time. He’s mortified that his son is such a loser.

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 before gently placing his trophy on the desk of our announcers and then stepping out of his ill-fitting suit and pants to reveal green trunks paired with white boots and red padding.

Once he’s free of the suit, Danny slides into the ring, lightly bouncing on the canvas, basking in the moment as his opponent looks on.

DING DING

Referee Jimmy Turnbull circles the pair of international fighters as Luc Labelle is the first to make a move, going for a roundhouse kick that Christie swats away with a forearm.

But Labelle uses the spin to pivot to his other foot and goes for another kick, this time down toward Christie’s thighs and connects! The Wrexham native leaps gingerly back to create more distance.

Nick Stuart: These two are feeling each other out here early on as both have a lot to prove and- Oh! There goes Christie with a spinning backfist strike – connecting directly with Labelle’s jaw! But he’s not satisfied with just one – he lands another backfist, this time to his opponent’s head!

Richard Parker: Realest Mother Fucker.

Nick Stuart: Nice to see you complement someone for once, Richard.

Richard Parker: No, that’s what this stupid trophy says. A stupid trophy for a stupid wrestler.

Christie leaps up off his back leg and goes for a double knee drop but hits nothing but canvas as Labelle rolls out of the way!

Richard Parker: See? Stupid!

Luc Labelle rushes backwards towards the rope and propels himself forward toward the recovering Christie and the “Fair Game” fighter looks up just in time to catch a rising boot to the face!

Nick Stuart: Christie tumbles backwards but kips right up… straight into a hip toss from Labelle! But the Canadian keeps the hold locked on and SUPLEX! He’s going for the early pin.

ONE!T-

Christie kicks out as Turnbull holds up a single finger. Labelle rolls away and tries to get back into position, wrapping his arms around Christie’s waist again but this time the Wrexham native is ready, slamming right and left elbows into Labelle’s temples!

Richard Parker: Double L is getting double tapped right now, Nick. He needs to back up and regroup.

Nick Stuart: Looks like he’s going forward instead, Richard!

Richard Parker: Watch out!

Christie hooks his arms backwards, under Labelle’s shoulders, locking them in place and then runs towards the nearby ropes.

The Canadian fighter tries to escape Christie’s clutches but instead, the Welsh fighter uses his momentum to vault upward, his feet pointed toward the ceiling for a split second before he releases his hold, tumbles behind Labelle and lands a vicious kick on his way down!

Labelle tumbles up and over the ropes, landing in a heap outside as Danny Christy gestures his hands upwards, drawing cheers from the fans.

RAAAAH!

Richard Parker: Get up Luc!

Nick Stuart: The Montreal Main Event definitely felt that one, Richard! But he’s slowly making his way to his feet AND IS DOWN AGAIN as Christie just hit a massive baseball slide to send Labelle into the barricades!

RAAAAAHHHH!

A groggy Labelle looks up and Christie reaches down to grab at his hair, pulling the fighter up as Turnbull begins his count!

ONE!

Christie tries to roll Labelle back into the ring, but the Canadian instead reverses and begins to yank Christie’s arm backwards, trying to pull it out of its socket!

TWO!

Fair Game screams in pain as Labelle adds more leverage to the hold, but he manages to lock his foot around Labelle’s ankle and falls forward onto the concrete! Both men are holding their heads in pain, rolling away from each other.

THREE!

Nick Stuart: Both men may be concussed with that move.

Richard Parker: How would you even be able to tell with Danny Christie?

FOUR!

Christie is the first to his feet, grabbing at the ring mat and rolling under the ropes with Luc Labelle right behind. He swats away several reaching grabs by Labelle but one misses – SHORT ARM CLOTHESLINE FROM LABELLE!

Danny goes spinning head over heels as Luc tries to go for another running attack! He bounces off the ropes and sees Christie just as Christie sees him – but not in time!

EXPLODER SUPLEX!

Labelle goes for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Richard Parker: Come on Turnbull! Don’t be a Turn-coat!

Christie kicks out!

Nick Stuart: I’m sure he’s never heard that one before, Richard – and am pretty sure I haven’t seen this from Christie before, either. He didn’t just kick out of that last pin, but instead has his legs locked around Labelle’s waist and has dragged him down to the mat!

Fair Game is now positioned on top of the Montreal Main Event with his thighs around Labelle’s knee and his torso twisted away from the joint, which is drawing wails of pain from Monsieur Métropole.

Nick Stuart: This is definitely a different Danny Christie than we saw in his debut—he’s not just throwing hands anymore, he’s grappling.

Richard Parker: Yeah, grappling with how much of a loser he is! Let’s go Luc!

Turnbull watches closely as Christie is trying to make Labelle tap, but he refuses, even as it looks like his knee cap looks like it’s about to pop like a champagne cork.

Richard Parker: This is a war of aggression by the United Kingdom against the sovereignty of our neighbors to the north! The referee needs to stop this!

With a scream of both pain and defiance, Luc Labelle somehow manages to get a fist together and nut-checks Danny Christie, causing him to release the hold! But Luc’s reprieve doesn’t last long as a pained Christie twists his body and rolls Labelle up for a pin!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Christie can’t believe it as Luc Labelle is fighting with everything he has here and continues with forward momentum, wrapping an arm around Christie’s neck, going for a small package!

ONE!

KICKOUT BY CHRISTIE! He rolls into a reversal of his own and goes for the leg again! Twisting it like a corkscrew and leaning back for a pin of his own.

ONE!

TW-

KICKOUT by Labelle!

The Canadian uses his momentum again to try and wrap Christie in some sort of headlock, but Christie ducks and drops Labelle back to the mat! The two are scrambling around each other, trying to gain an advantage, as the crowd is loving every minute!

Christie manages to get some leverage and uses it to pull Labelle into a modified crossface before absolutely wailing on his head and neck before aching his back and putting his weight on top of Labelle’s shoulders!

ONE!

TWO!

Another kickout by Labelle! And the awkward positioning allows him a chance to claw his way away.

Nick Stuart: It looks like Labelle has just enough separation from Christie as he hobbles over to the ropes and rolls to the outside!

Richard Parker: That’s a smart strategy, Nick! See, THAT is what award-winning talent looks like.

An annoyed Danny Christie looks on, yelling at Luc Labelle to get back in the ring, but Luc waves his opponent off and begins to walk away. That’s a huge mistake as Christie takes offense and takes off after Labelle!

Sliding out of the ring, Christie quickly catches up with the hobbling Labelle, right in front of the announce table and the recently-awarded Realest Motherfucker award! Labelle grabs the award, raising it above his head – threatening to smash it to pieces on the ground, causing his opponent to stop in his tracks!

Luc Labelle: I’ll do it! Don’t think I won’t!

Christie backs away, holding up his hands, giving Labelle just the opening he needs to slam the award into his opponent’s face – BUT CHRISTIE DODGES! Labelle staggers forward, drops the award, and turns around RIGHT INTO A LOU THESZ PRESS!

400-plus pounds collapse in a heap on the unforgiving concrete as the fans crane their heads to get a look and Jimmy Turnbull raises his hands.

FOUR!

Christie reaches down and grabs for his award, seemingly trying to remove it from the blast zone, but Labelle recovers quicker than anticipated, wrapping his opponent’s head in his arms and LANDING A SICK SNAP DDT!

FIVE!

Richard Parker: Come on, Luc! Get back in the ring and pin this loser!

Nick Stuart: Labelle is lifting Christie up and dragging him toward the ring, but it looks like Christie still has the award in his hands and -OH!

Danny Christie, undetected by both Labelle and Jimmy Turnbull, SLAMS the base of his “Realest Motherfucker” award into the Montreal Main Event’s already injured kneecap!

Richard Parker: No!

Nick Stuart: Still think Christie is stupid with that move, Richard?

Richard Parker: Yes!

Luc crumples like a sack of flour into Danny’s arms as the North Wales native makes his way toward the outside corner!

SIX!

Christie rolls Labelle into the ring and is quick to follow. Double L tries, unsuccessfully, to put weight on his injured knee, but not before Fair Game kneels down like he’s goddamned Superman and leaps upward with a vicious uppercut.

Nick Stuart: LEFT HAND LARRY! And Christie just sent Luc Labelle across all six Canadian timezones with that one!

Richard Parker: This is a diplomatic disaster! A continental catastrophe! The grimmest of global actions!

Christie rolls Labelle up for the cover as the fans once again get to their feet.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

The fans roar with approval as an exhausted Danny Christie raises a fist of victory in the air and extricates himself from atop the Montreal Main Event.

Nick Stuart: A big win here tonight for Danny Christie, taking down a former Alias champion and staking his claim as the “Realest Motherfucker” in PRIME.

Richard Parker: No. Just no. It sounds even stupider when you say it.

A groggy, clearly disappointed Luc Labelle is helped up by Jimmy Turnbull as the victorious Danny Christie, already out of the ring, secures his “Realest Motherfucker” award – and his suit – before heading up the rampway to celebrate with his fans.

Steve Lemieux looks very sad, but we’ll get to that in a minute.

You know who else looks sad? Matt Mills. Do you know why Matt Mills looks sad? Because after a nice, relaxing holiday break he’s here in Puerto Rico. Backstage. With these chucklefucks. You know the ones.

There’s this guy.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: (“We ordered a supervillain from Temu are are still disappointed” noises)

And this one.

Ollie Cade: (Contemplative “no, but seriously how did I get here” sounds)

Can’t forget this prick.

Rick Hardbody: (Smug “I totally convinced a guy to try and saw another man’s dick off with a deli slicer” gum chewing)

And then, of course, we have this lump of man-shaped laundry.

Steve Lemieux: (Sad birthday noises)

So you can see why Mr. Mills would be irritated to have this as an assignment on the first ReVival of 2026. Still, he persists.

Matt Mills: Good evening, everyone. I’m Matt Mills, and I’m here tonight with our new Alias Champion and his coterie of…

Dipshits. He wants to say dipshits.

Matt Mills: His… ummm…

Just say dipshits, Matt. It’s not hard. Look, I’ll show you.

Dipshits.

Matt Mills: His entourage.

Matt, you fuckin’ coward.

Matt Mills: Steve, at Colossus you defeated Blaze Claymore in what many people around the sport are considering an upset, and with some rather controversial tactics.

Steve sighs. Whether that’s a result of being reminded of his actions a month ago or because he risks being dragged to the earth under the weight of his championship belt is up for debate. The belt, by the by, is strapped around his waist but also held in place by a pair of bungee cords over Steve’s shoulders. Look, he’s a weak-ass sack of human noodles, and belts are very heavy when you have the muscle mass of an amoeba.

Hey, remember how we opened with a line about Steve being sad?

Tonight this crew isn’t standing in front of the traditional PRIME backdrop, but rather is gathered in a room all their own. There are tables and chairs set up, but no one is sitting in them. Along the far wall is a folding table with trays of food set out on top of it, and next to those trays is a birthday cake that has yet to see the kiss of a knife.

There is a posterboard sign taped loosely to the wall with the words “STEVE’S BIRTHDAY PARTY” written on it, though “STEVE” has been crossed out and replaced with “STEFON.”

A lone balloon bobs nearby like a guest who’s too polite to leave.

But beyond Mills, the champion, and his cadre the room is empty. Well, almost empty.

Quinn Fleetwood: I was promised there would be fajita cake.

Kris Roswell: Fajita…cake?

Satan Jones: How does that work?

Quinn Fleetwood: Sour cream. It’s right in the name.

He says this as if it explains everything.

But professional wrestling’s preeminent lawyer-doctor cares not for errant partygoers.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Hello, yes!

And that’s where he’s cut off.

Rick Hardbody: Whoa, whoa. Let Big Ricky Dangerous handle this.

No one looks happy about this turn of events. No one except Steve. His expression hasn’t changed one bit.

Rick Hardbody: All you jackasses out there need to understand one thing. You’re in the Lemieux’niversal era right now, baby. You wanna talk about Colossus? You wanna call that controversial? Well get a pen and write this down, Jack, ‘cuz here’s the real scoop. The only thing controversial about it is none of you dickholes thinking that Steve had a chance. Does he have a body like this?

Rick, who is wearing a denim vest and feather boa over a bare chest, pulls on part of the vest back to reveal a set of sculpted abs.

Rick Hardbody: He sure don’t! Does Steve have an ounce of wrestling talent in his entire body?

Smirking behind his oiled mustache, he casts a quick glance over his shoulder.

Rick Hardbody: Sure as fuck doesn’t! But he found a way. He figured out how to win. He sat under the learning tree and he listened as Big Ricky D, the hardest man in professional wrestling, took him to school. And now everyone’s gonna learn real fast “Hogstomper” Steve Lemieux is on a rocket to the moon!

Matt Mills: I’m sorry, the what?

Rick Hardbody: Hogstomper. Weren’t you paying attention?

Matt Mills: Oh, no, I heard you. I just… need to make sure.

Rick Hardbody: You get it, right?

Matt Mills: Yeah, no. I get it.

Rick Hardbody: Because of what happened to Claymoron?

He’s very proud of that one. Probably thinks it’s super original, too.

Matt Mills: Right.

Rick Hardbody: Cuz Stevie Lemieux is a dirty dog who’s stompin’ hogs and droppin’ logs!

Matt Mills: Okay, please stop talking now.

It’s here that Zeke starts rapidly flicking his cane at Rick and shoos him away as though he were a flock of seagulls. Not the English new-wave band, the birds. Just so we’re all clear.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Yes, yes. Thank you for all of that, Dickman. We are all very aware of the big penis murder that Stefon attempted on Flamberge, but he has assured us that he will not be performing any more penis crimes in the future.

Satan Jones: Penis Crimes is my second favorite Radiohead album.

SUDDENLY!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhh…shit. It’s the Intruders.

A pair of masked morons SUDDENLY! burst through the wall, sending tables and chairs and God only knows what else spraying through the air. Ollie Cade barely has time to dive out of the way as the Intruders steamroll toward the cake.

Steve Lemieux does not.

Steve Lemieux: Oof!

Intruder #1: HAPPY GATHERING FOR SNEVE LEM-YUX! UNLESS THIS IS FOR HIS FUNERAL!

Intruder #2: WE ARE SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS!

Ollie Cade: What? Guys, he’s not dead. And he didn’t lose; he won.

Intruder #1: THEN WE ARE SORRY FOR YOUR WIN!

So are we, buddy.

Intruder #2: WE ARE SO SORRY THAT WE NEED ALL THIS CAKE TO COMPENSATE!

Intruder #1: AND SO WE CAN MAKE THE ICE CREAM CAKE!

That’s not…you know what, never mind.

The pair of oafs grab the cake and start hauling toward the door, pausing only long enough for Intruder #2 to grab some malformed and slightly wet roast beef sandwiches, at least one of which already has a bite taken out of it.

Intruder #1: GOOD THINKING! NOW WE CAN MAKE THE ICE CREAM SANDWICH!

Intruder #2: AND THE ICE CREAM SANDWICH CAKE!

Intruder #1: AND THE ICE CREAM CAKE SANDWICH!

Intruder #2: AND THE ICE CREAM SANDWICH CAKE SANDWICH!

Intruder #1: AND THE ICE CREAM SANDWICH CAKE SANDWICH SANDWICH!

Intruder #2: AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

Intruder #1: AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

And just as SUDDENLY! as they appeared, the Intruders are gone. So is the cake.

Quinn Fleetwood: Was that a fajita cake or a regular cake?

Kris Roswell: I’m pretty sure a regular cake because a fajita cake doesn’t exist.

Zeke pokes his head back into frame.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Yes, but they are very elusive and are only baked in secret by the gingers in hotel rooms.

Matt Mills: …what.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: I’m sorry, General, but you cannot have the recipe. It is far too long for me to recite here on television, and would take approximately nineteen thousand words to explain. Most of those would just be setup for the actual recipe, which is very disappointing. It will not be the most magical effing night of your life.

Ollie Cade: So, like an actual recipe blog then?

Rick Hardbody: The fuck is your search history like?

Ollie Cade: Less messed up than yours.

Rick nods his head to the side and makes a noise meant to convey, “Okay, that’s fair.” Meanwhile, Steve – title belt suspenders and all – has begun doing the slow Charlie Brown walk away from all of this nonsense.

Ollie Cade: Steve?

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Yes, hi. Stefon is leaving? Why is the lonely Lummox lumbering away?

Quinn Fleetwood: You can sing happy birthday to me instead if you want.

Ollie Cade: Should we maybe go get him?

Rick Hardbody: Eh.

Ollie Cade: But he didn’t even get to talk about his title idea, where every match is American Gladiators.

And he won’t, at least not tonight, because we’re using this opportunity to fade elsewhere.

We cut from our current Alias Titleholder to the man who last held the title, catching up with Blaze Claymore as he finishes his preparations for his upcoming match with the Bodhisattva himself, Sage Pontiff.

Blaze closes his eyes, hair falling over his shoulders and onto his chest as he leans down and grabs at his knees, taking a deep breath.

Blaze Claymore: “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

Voice: “Oh now I don’t know about that, Blaze. Fine is such a… subjective concept.”

Blaze’s eyes shoot open as he turns in sync with the camera as stepping into frame is Max Kael’s manager and spokescreep Snark Darkly.

The figure who somewhat resembles a man takes another step forward, his brown slacks brushing against seemingly nothing underneath. The skin on what should be his hands and neck seems to be stapled on as a gash appears that is meant to be a smile but looks more like a knot at the base of a rotted tree.

Blaze keeps his distance and speaks slowly.

Blaze Claymore: “How did you get in here? Is she here too?”

What appears to be Snark’s eyelids lift ever so slightly as a rotten gasp of air mimicking a laugh spills out.

Snark Darkly: “I’ve found doors are just… suggestions. Besides, is that really what you want to ask me, right now? Just the two of us? All alone?”

Blaze grits his teeth, but doesn’t budge.

Blaze Claymore: “What did you do with my mother, you ghoul? Where is she?”

Snark presses something looking a hand to the top of a white dress shirt in feigned shock.

Snark Darkly: “Once again, you are asking the wrong questions. How? What? Where? … Only one question should matter to you right now and that is ‘Why?’ More specifically, why am I here with you when I could quite literally be anywhere else.”

Blaze Claymore (tense and deliberate): “Fine… why?”

Snark tilts a tumor of bone, skin, and hair slightly, seemingly pleased, before a rush of air, jagged and raspy, escapes his body.

Snark Darkly: “To offer you a way out. Before it’s too late.”

Blaze Claymore hesitates, his eyes narrowing.

Blaze Claymore: “Too late for what?”

Snark holds a putty-like finger up.

Snark Darkly: “No no no. No whats. No wheres. No whos. No whens. There is nothing here to question – it is a clear offer. Walk away, or run away. Do what comes naturally to you, Blaze – forget about your mother. Forget about Sonja. Forget about your home town. Forget about all of this.”

Blaze Claymore: “If you’re trying to scare me, I’m-”

Snark cackles, choking as he laughs.

Snark Darkly: “Don’t be ignorant. Being scared is for children who think a monster lives in their closet or boring campfire stories. No, Blaze, the level of terror – of absolute dread – you should be feeling at this moment defies all categorization.”

Blaze steps forward, his eyes burning.

Blaze Claymore: “So what? You’ll kidnap me again? Torture me? Starve me? Turn the people I love against me? Or abduct them too? Turn everyone I ever knew against me?”

Snark’s mouth makes a crinkling sound, like a set of dice rolling in leather, as he tries to form a smile.

Blaze Claymore: “You have nothing. Nothing to threaten me with that you haven’t already taken away and nothing to offer me that I don’t already have. So, no… I don’t accept. And whether I have to go through you, or  Max, or Sonja, or all of the above, it is not going to stop me I am from rescuing my mother and saving Montevideo.”

Snark Darkly: “That’s… unfortunate. And, how, exactly, do you plan to do all of that?”

Blaze sneers.

Blaze Claymore: “Not how, Snark. Why?”

Snark Darkly (amused): “Okay. Why?”

Blaze Claymore: “Because it’s only in darkness that the Lighthouse can truly shine.”

Snark’s body moves so fast toward Blaze that neither he nor the camera catch it. In a flash, Max Kael’s manager is behind him, face pressed to Claymore’s cheek.

Without even laying a hand on him, we see Blaze begin to choke, grasping at his neck, face turning red as he turns his eyes to the side and looks into the oily pits of Snark Darkly’s eyes.

Snark Darkly (whispering): “You stupid, ugly bag of water. You don’t have the faintest clue what you are dealing with or what forces are at work here!”

Blaze’s eyes begin to bulge.

Snark Darkly: “I really wanted to do things the easy way…”

Blaze’s face begins to turn from red to purple.

Snark Darkly: “So much less to clean up.”

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the locker room door.

* KNOCK KNOCK *

Stage Hand: “Yo! Claymore. You’re gonna be late – get your ass down to the ring.”

With a huge “CRASH” Blaze collapses to the floor, gasping for air – eyes watering. The camera follows as he collapses, grabbing a hold of the nearby bench and trying to pull himself.

A sound like rushing wind—like air filling a vacuum—echoes against the walls. The lights in the room flicker once.

Blaze Claymore (heaving): Ahh! Ahhh! Uhhhh!

As the camera tracks up, we pan the room along with Blaze’s frantic eyes, to see only his ring gear sitting neatly on the bench in front of him.

Another knock.

Stage Hand: “Claymore! NOW!”

Blaze looks around one last time, grabs his gear, hands shaking, as he stumbles out the door.

We return to ringside, where Vince Howard and referee Ashley Barrow are standing by before we hear from Nick and Richard at commentary.

Nick Stuart: Up next we have Sage Pontiff taking on Blaze Claymore, a man looking to bounce back after losing the Alias Championship at Colossus.

Richard Parker: If you ask me, ol’ Blaze is gonna get smited for what he did to Reverend Erik Black at IMMORTALS!

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first…

“Satori Part II” by Flower Travellin’ Band begins and out comes Sage Pontiff. He widens his arms to embrace whatever it is the crowd is sending his way as he walks down the ramp, eyes on the ring as he approaches.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring from Joshua Tree, California, standing at 6’4 and weighing in at 201 pounds… SAAAAGE POOOONTIIIIIIIIIFF!

Pontiff enters the ring, focused on the arrival of his opponent as he stares down the entrance way.

Nick Stuart: Pontiff looking very determined tonight, Richard.

Richard Parker: Something tells me Sage is also a man lookin’ for a measure of redemption tonight, in whatever way best suits him!

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

The lights in the arena go pitch black.

Then the sound of waves. Deep, rumbling, almost threatening. The bass thrums through the arena like a heartbeat struggling to find its rhythm.

On the center scoreboard, a single pinpoint of white light appears. It’s small at first, but then begins to grow until it fills the screen and begins to circle from screen to screen – one rotation, then two – the second slower, flickering – then it cuts out.

A pause. A heartbeat.

CHANGE YOUR HEART OR DIE!

A singular explosion of white light and sound – every light in the arena flashing on simultaneously. It’s blinding. Overwhelming.

A boss guitar riff begins to play as, stepping out from the light is Blaze Claymore dressed in, well, BLAZING white attire. A sleeveless white duster with dark red lining and trim, and a hem just inches from the floor. The jacket frames white silk pants and a white-laced boots with red laces and soles.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Montevideo, Minnesota, standing at 6’1 and weighing 180 pounds he is THE LIGHTHOUSE … BLAAAAAAZE CLAYMORE.

FIRE! TICKING LIKE A TIMEBOMB!

A shot of red fireworks explodes behind Blaze as he locks eyes with his opponent, pausing and watching, steeling himself before making his way down toward the ring.

FIRE! BURNING LIKE NAPALM!

Another explosion, this time a set of white lights along the rampway, as Claymore begins his descent, a look of determination in his eyes as the camera follows from behind, revealing an embroidered “BLAZE” on the back of his jacket in the shape of a lighthouse with the “E” tipped on its side and looking like a crown with each point jutting outward like beams of light.

FIRE! STANDING AT THE CROSSROADS!
HOW WILL YOU SURVIVE!?

The punctuated silence of the song finally allows the roar of the crowd to be heard as Blaze removes his jacket and steps into the ring, finding his corner.

He turns to the crowd and raising a fist into the air as the song ends on a final, wailing cry.

CHANGE YOUR HEART OR DIE….

Nick Stuart: Blaze is fired up here tonight!

Richard Parker: Damn, I was really hoping we’d go all match without the fire puns. Get with the times, Nick!

With that, the bell rings to get this match underway!

DING DING

Sage immediately charges at the former Alias Champion, rushing him with a flurry of kicks to keep Blaze at bay. He sends Claymore to the corner for a few more kicks, until Barlow intervenes for a break. Pontiff backs off just enough to oblige the ref, only to go right back on the attack… until Claymore catches him with a headbutt.

This knocks Pontiff back just enough for the Lighthouse to come rushing at him with a forearm smash. Sage fires back with a forearm of his own, and the two trade blows… sending the crowd into a frenzy as they cheer Claymore on!

Blaze fires a few more forearms for good measure, sending the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience to one knee. Claymore wrenches the arm of Pontiff, trying to keep him down… but this just garners a smirk from Sage, slyly asking his opponent if that’s all he’s got.

Nick Stuart: Oh, I dunno if riling Claymore is a good idea, Sage.

Richard Parker: Pontiff knows exactly what he’s doing, Nick. I’m sure of it.

The words of Pontiff DO manage to get under the skin of Claymore, as he starts wrenching even harder… only for Sage to roll through, releasing the pressure in the process before taking the Lighthouse down with an arm drag.

Taunting his foe, Sage brings Claymore back to his feet before sending him to the ropes for a clothesline… but the former Alias Champion ducks under, building up momentum for his own clothesline on the way back! Both men are down, but Blaze is back on his feet before a standing ten count can commence.

Pontiff is up before long as well, seizing his opportunity to strike by throwing himself at the Lighthouse, the impact sending both men through the ropes and to the outside! The crowd erupts as the two men tumble to the floor, quickly rising to their feet for an exchange of strikes that Sage quickly wins.

Nick Stuart: Things are already getting ugly out here as Sage and Blaze start duking it out on the outside!

Richard Parker: This is NOT a good spot to be for Claymore, Sage is enjoying this too much!

Grabbing the arms of Claymore, Sage starts landing some headbutts to daze his opponent before sending him into the ring steps!

CLANG

Blaze crashes hard, doubled over the top of the steps as Barlow begins the count to try and get both men back in the ring.

ONE…

TWO…

Claymore starts to get his bearings as he turns around… just in time for Pontiff to leap up from the floor for a Frankensteiner, taking the Lighthouse to the floor!

THREE…

The count marches on as Sage walks onto the ring steps, setting up for a leg drop against the back of the rising Claymore, keeping him from getting any further on that ascent. With both men down on the outside, the ref presses on.

FOUR…

But it’s Pontiff who manages to make it to his feet first, a smirk on his face as he looks at the still-struggling former champ.

Nick Stuart: Sage has been firmly in the driver’s seat since this match started Richard, what does Blaze have to do to turn things around?

Richard Parker: Start prayin’ for an opening, Nick. Sage doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.

Pontiff turns his attention to the ring, the count continuing as he approaches the apron.

FIVE…

He rolls into the ring just long enough to roll back out, breaking the count. Sage pays no mind to Ashley insisting he bring Claymore back into the ring, as he decides instead to hoist the Lighthouse up for a gutwrench suplex, dropping Blaze right back onto the floor.

As he goes to bring the former champ back up, however, Sage finds an elbow colliding with his midsection. The air is taken out of him for just a second, but it’s enough for Claymore to start rallying back.

Blaze wraps things up by sending the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience into the barricade, the force of the impact sending Pontiff over into the crowd! Claymore steps over the barricade to pursue him, ignoring the new count commencing from Barlow back in the ring.

ONE…

TWO…

Nick Stuart: These two are really in the trenches now, bringing the fight right into the midst of the PRIMEates in San Juan!

Richard Parker: This is a crowd historically familiar with a brawl like this, some real combustible elements h–oh no, now I’M making the fire puns…

Sage is back on his feet, laying into Claymore with some hard right hands.

THREE…

Claymore responds with a right hand of his own followed by an uppercut, knocking Pontiff back.

FOUR…

But this just leads to Sage leaping at the Lighthouse with a forearm, forcing him to fall over the guardrail on his way back to ringside!

FIVE…

Pontiff steps onto the rail, looking for another leg drop… but Claymore rolls out of the way just in time, forcing the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience to land on nothing but the floor.

SIX…

Sage slowly recovers as Claymore tries to get him back into the ring… but Pontiff turns it around, sending the former Alias Champion in instead!

With the count now broken, Pontiff slides into the ring looking for another fight with Blaze… only for Claymore to catch him with an inside cradle instead!

ONE!

T–NO!

Sage kicks out!

Nick Stuart: Blaze nearly picking up the win here!

Richard Parker: Gonna have to fight harder than that against someone like Sage Pontiff!

Claymore doesn’t ease up, however, just as quickly going for another pin.

ONE!

NO!

Sage powers out of that one with authority, getting to his feet. Claymore is up as well, catching the approaching Pontiff with a hip toss. This is followed by a second one when Pontiff goes after him again, prompting Sage to go for a different strategy.

He starts taunting Claymore once again, waiting for the Lighthouse to approach before unleashing some hard kicks taking him off a steady base. For good measure he goes for a boot to the face… but Blaze catches the leg!

He sends Sage tumbling to the canvas with a dragon screw leg whip, rising to his feet as the crowd cheers him on. Blaze shoots the half, looking for the cover… but Pontiff counters with a cradle of his own!

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Blaze kicks out, saving the match for himself!

Nick Stuart: A close call here for the former Alias Champion!

Richard Parker: Blaze is gonna really need to turn it around here if he wants to put the brakes on the momentum Sage is building up!

There is perhaps a tinge of frustration on the part of Pontiff, though he certainly does his best to mask it as he watches the Lightouse get back to his feet.

Claymore has to use the ropes to get back up, and this gives Sage an opening as he charges toward the corner, throwing himself into the former champion once again to sandwich him against the turnbuckle!

Pontiff pulls Blaze away from the corner, looking for the win with a cover

ONE!

NO!

Once again he is denied as Claymore gets a shoulder up… but Pontiff doesn’t let up, bringing Blaze to his feet once more. He looks for a headlock driver, but is sent to the ropes by Claymore… only for Pontiff to connect with a Sling Blade on the rebound!

COSMIC RESONATOR!

Blaze drops hard to the canvas, and Sage slowly rises to his feet using the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Sage looks like he’s got a feeling coming on, Richard… an electric feeling.

Richard Parker: You can just about see the power surging through Pontiff now, Nick!

The statement comes as Pontiff starts to ascend the turnbuckle, making sure his target isn’t about to move before leaping off for a stardust press!

ELECTRIC FEEL–BUT THE POWER IS JAMMED!

Sage lands squarely on the knees of Claymore, blocking the full impact of the maneuver! Pontiff rolls out of the ring to recover as Blaze carefully makes it back to his feet. He hits the ropes for speed, catching a rising Sage with a plancha that forces him down to the floor before the former Alias Champion gets back up to a big pop from the crowd.

Picking the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience up by his hair, Claymore sends Pontiff back into the ring before stepping onto the apron. Sage is back up, intercepting the Lighthouse with a forearm smash that is reciprocated by Claymore… who follows up with a springboard DDT that drives Sage into the mat hard!

Nick Stuart: Oh my, did you see the impact on that DDT Richard!?

Richard Parker: It looks like that molar that got loosened recently is no longer going to nag Pontiff!

We see the tooth fall to the outside as Blaze crawls over, turning Pontiff over for a cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THR–NO!

Try as he might, he just can’t seem to keep Pontiff down for long! Blaze has had enough as he slowly brings his opponent to a vertical base… before unleashing a barrage of strikes!

Pontiff catches hands, elbows, a foot here and there, anything Blaze can throw at him with the might of 10,000 Lakes. Sage is staggering as Claymore picks him up, looking for a modified side slam!

LAKE EFFECT–HAS NO EFFECT!

Sage counters with a few right elbows, breaking free of the hold before catching the former champ with a thrusting mule-style kick, Namaste style. This knocks Claymore loopy, allowing Pontiff to land a wheel kick that sends Blaze down hard.

Staring down at the fallen Lighthouse, Sage rolls out of the ring and reaches underneath…

Nick Stuart: Oh no, what is Pontiff up to now?

Richard Parker: Looks like he wants to take things to another level after all he’s put Claymore through! If you thought Blaze was in a world of hurt before, just you wait!

…and sure enough, the seemingly enlightened Pontiff pulls out a steel chair! The crowd is mixed in their response, torn between the promise of more violence and wanting this match to end without the need for a disqualification.

Pontiff pays no mind to the internal conflict the fans are facing as he tosses the chair into the ring before sliding back in. Barlow argues with him as he picks the chair up, and this allows Claymore to get back on his feet to stop whatever plan Sage has in mind.

The two play tug-o’-war with the chair until it falls out of both men’s hands. Barlow takes the chair away, getting it out of the ring… and as she does, Sage lands a cheap shot on Claymore before landing a Destroyer!

SHAMANIC DREAMWEAVER!

Blaze is out of it after that, as Pontiff quickly goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner by way of pinfall… SAAAAAGE POOOONTIIIIIIIFF!

Sage gets his hand raised high by Barlow, as Claymore rolls out of the ring to reccover from the beating he’s taken.

Nick Stuart: What a win for Sage Pontiff, even if it did involve luring in Blaze with an attempt to attack him with that chair!

Richard Parker: It’s all a matter of strategy, Nick, and Sage knew exactly what he needed to do to get the win over the former Alias Champion here tonight!

Nick Stuart: With that, Sage may have found the reset he needed coming into the new year as Blaze now has to regroup. Still, what a battle this was!

Claymore retreats up the ramp, staring down Pontiff who continues to celebrate as ReVival rolls on.

The feed switches to backstage, where Simon Tillier is standing by.

Simon Tillier: Evenin’, folks…

Simon raises a brown bottle of PBR held in his non-mic holding hand and takes a swig.

Simon Tillier: Hope you’re all enjoying this first ReVival of the new year as much as I am. Given the state of things in the world right now, I think it goes without saying… we could all use a bit of a diversion, yeah? And hey, what better way to numb our minds to the harsh and painful realities of the collapse of modern society than by checking in on one of the teams set to compete in the very next match?

He gestures to the column-lined walls that surround him.

Simon Tillier: Hence, the reason I appear before you today in the veritable land of milk and honey that is known as the V-V-I-P Room…

The camera follows as he walks a few paces over, where the members of VAE VICTIS are gathered.

Clay Byrd and Henry Keyes are stoic and brooding, stretching limbs, popping joints, and adjusting gear in the waning minutes before the match. Flanking them are the vvholesome duo of VVingmen, Scott Hunter and Kerry Kuroyama, wearing offensively loud floral-pattern t-shirts.

Simon Tillier: How’s it going, fellas? Working through some pre-match jitters?

The Emerald Apex pivots and homes in on the junior reporter.

Kerry Kuroyama: Pre-match jitters? Are you drunk? I honestly hope that’s a joke, Simon. You know damn well that we take our business seriously in Vae Victis.

Simon Tillier: I literally passed a koala bear making eucalyptus pancakes from a pancake-making machine on my way in here.

Kerry Kuroyama: And I bet he was seriously making the hell out of those pancakes! But also, thanks for the heads up… I’ll need to clean that later.

Scott Hunter: Good evening, Simon. Your face is looking particularly punchable in the new year. Did Santa give you some new moisturizing cream for Christmas?

Simon Tillier: I’ve been using beef tallow.

Scott Hunter: That explains why I have become hungry for beef jerky, but it does not explain the sparkle in your cheekbones. Tell me, does this ‘beef tallow’ also cause other people to want to break your nose?

Scott Tillier: I uh… no, I don’t think so…

Scott Hunter: Apparently, there are some unintended effects, then.

Simon Tillier: Ugh… anyhow, the reason I’m here was to hear from the guys who are actually competing tonight.

Kerry Kuroyama: (gesturing to Byrd and Keyes) Oh, you want to talk to them? Why would you want to do that, Simon? Do either of these guys look like they want to talk to you?

If Keyes wasn’t already pissed off after his earlier encounter with the Pop Culture Phenoms, getting interrupted by Simon Tillier has certainly tipped things over the edge for the FIST of DEFIANCE. He looks like he might actually bite Simon’s head off for real. Clay, an even larger beast of a man, looms over everyone like a towering black obelisk of eldritch horror. Half of his face is hidden in shadow cast by the brim of his hat, though tiny glints of light reflecting off his pupils peek through like the eyes of a predator watching from the dark.

Kerry Kuroyama: These guys aren’t interested in talking, Simon. Only thing they’re interested in right now is kicking epic amounts of ass. You want them to kick your ass?

Simon Tillier: Um… I’d prefer they not?

The Emerald Apex taps the side of his head, commending the junior reporter on his wise decision.

Kerry Kuroyama: You know who likes to talk, though? Those brats, Ares and Edwards. They love talking. Can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of themselves. Believe me, I know from experience. But the great thing about Henry and Clay here is that they’re pretty adept at shutting people the fuck up.

It suddenly occurs to Simon that the biceps of both Clay Byrd and Henry Keyes are as large as his entire head. He wisely decides to scoot around to the other side of this conversation, as far as he can be from the two men competing tonight while remaining on screen. His PBR-holding hand is a little shaky.

Simon Tillier: Next time, I’m DEFINITELY scheduling an interview ahead of time, I would love to gain more insight as to how they’re going to make the Phenoms “shut the eff up” as you say–

At that moment, the bear paw of Clay Byrd snaps forward and yoinks the beer bottle away from Simon, who flinches as he looks up at the Cowboy Colossus. Clay, without a word, tilts the bottle back and consumes the bottle’s entire contents in one go. He then hands the bottle to the Kraken, who smashes the bottle over his own head. Henry hands the glass remnants of the neck of the bottle back to Simon, whose jaw has dropped. He’s been stunned into silence.

Scott Hunter: …something like that.

Simon Tillier: I see.

Kerry Kuroyama: Well, thanks for dropping by, Simon. I’ll whip up a quick shortstack for you on your way out.

Simon Tillier: Awesome… thanks. I can’t wait to eat pancakes that taste like scented candles.

Kuroyama walks out of the shot. Then, without warning…

Kerry Kuroyama: (off-camera) WHAT THE FUCK?!

The camera swivels over to Kuroyama, standing in shock as he stares at an empty table.

Kerry Kuroyama: (suddenly furious) WHAT HAPPENED TO THE PANCAKE-MAKING MACHINE?!

Our faithful junior reporter swoops in to investigate, closely followed by Keyes, Byrd, and Hunter. Kuroyama silently gestures at the table, his face taut with anger.

Simon Tillier: What the…?

The first thing Simon notices are the black handprints smudged against the table surface, along with a nondescript folded piece of paper left in the place where the pancake-maker once sat. Tillier scoops it up, opens it, and reads aloud…

Simon Tillier: It says… “Dear scum… borrowin’ your thingamajig to fight the power. Also, y’all still fuggin’ suck. ‘Specially Keyes. Hope ya get your asses kicked tonight. Signed… your friendly neighborhood dopesmoker.”

Simon’s eyes go wide.

Simon Tillier: He was… here??

Kerry Kuroyama: GODDAMN RAISIN!!

Keyes roars in anger at this and flips the table over before shoving his way out of the V-V-I-P Room. As he exits, we hear him yelling in the hallway.

Henry Keyes: I’M SICK OF ALL THESE BIMCHES WHO THINK THEY CAN SIT WITH US!!

Everyone else from Vae Victis immediately charges out of the room after the Kraken in a roaring scrum of pancake-induced berserker fury, destroying everything in their path to the ring. Watching them leave with a dumbfounded look of wonder, Simon shakes his head in confusion.

Simon Tillier: Whelp… my mind is definitely numb after all that.

Suddenly, Scott Hunter runs back into frame, slaps Simon across the face with an open palm that comes all the way from the floor like an uppercut from Super Macho Man in Mike Tyson’s Punch Out.

Simon Tiller: OWWWWW!!!

And Scott leaves.

The junior reporter holds his reddening cheek, then pulls open his sleeveless, patch-covered blazer and pulls a fresh PBR from an inner pocket. As he pops the cap and takes a swig, the feed fades back to ringside.

It’s a Friday night in Puerto Rico, but instead of being poolside surrounded by beautiful women in next to nothing sipping on mojitos, we find the Permascar Superstar standing in a hallway inside the Jose Miguel Agrelot Coliseum next to just one woman. While very attractive, the woman wearing a gray pinstriped pantsuit with a navy blue blouse, is all business as she lifts the microphone to her lips.

Angelica Brooks: Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with former tag team champion, Tony Gamble.

The boos that started when The Grin appeared on the screens inside the Coliseum get even louder.

Tony Gamble: They never disappoint, do they?

Brooks flashes a quick smile.

Tony Gamble: I’m actually surprised they know English, can you imagine the production crew having to make subtitles for all the booing if it was in Spanish…

Angelica Brooks: I don’t think…

The Grin waves a hand in Angie’s face to cut her off.

Tony Gamble: Then it’s a good thing you don’t get paid to think, so why don’t you just do what they pay you to do so I can go back to doing nothing.

Angelica Brooks: Sadly, I do get paid to deal with jerks like you, so let’s start off with what happened earlier tonight between Bryan Dawkins and The Red Army.

Tony Gamble: Bryan left, Alexei got mad, Ivan will deal with it.

Angelica Brooks: It seemed like Dawkins wasn’t happy with the lack of support in his match at Colossus. Seeing as how none of the Red Army was out there during your tag title match either, do you share his…

The Grin places his hand on the microphone, nostrils flaring slightly with each inhale.

Tony Gamble: I lost my partner at Colossus, Angie. But instead of asking about how he’s doing or when he’s coming back, you have the nerve to stand there and ask if I agree with some whiny prick that got his Pineapple boxers in a bunch because nobody helped him win a match he actually won…this is what you stopped me for?

Angelica Brooks: Hessian did sustain a major injury at Colossus, but you have to agree that The Red Army wasn’t out there when it happened. From what I remember, they weren’t out there with you when the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance either. That had to make you angry.

Tony shakes his head.

Tony Gamble: Oh, I was definitely angry, but not at The Red Army. Nah, my anger is directed toward Daytona Diamonds and his little Whoresmen.

Angelica Brooks: Do you have a partner in mind to help you go after Diamonds and the tag team titles.

Tony Gamble: This has nothing to do with the titles, so I’m not looking for a partner. They just need to be dealt with, and they will be.

Angelica Brooks: Speaking of dealing with people, how are you going to deal with Cancer Jiles now that he’s back. There has been talk about him not being very happy with you and Hessian joining Ivan and giving away the Octane.

Gamble shrugs.

Tony Gamble: Cancer spends all of his time with Vickie these days, I doubt he’ll ever be happy again. As far as the SFS Svet Fanyi goes, well he’s welcome to come and try to take it back. Maybe if he would’ve been a true captain and not abandoned the ship and us, this wouldn’t even be something to talk about.

Angelica Brooks: Well, you sure do seem to be acquiring quite a list of enemies lately. When you add that to the list of people that already disliked you…well let’s hope Ivan and the rest of The Red Army support you not than they supported Bryan Dawkins.

Frustrated that Brooks brought the conversation back full circle to what happened earlier, Tony just walks away muttering something under his breath.

“Live for the Night” by Krewella grooves across the PA system as a fog machine makes things nice and steamy. Lasers shine, change and flash across the arena. The lights strobe and pulse. One thing is for certain; the Pop Culture Phenoms are here, and they’re costing Lindsay Troy lots of money in a multitude of ways.

Richard Parker: Dear god, I can feel our accountant watching our entrance expenditures rise by the second.

Nick Stuart: It’s quite pompous.

Richard Parker: I love it!

Elise Ares and The D finally pop out from the backstage area. The Leading Lady grinds and swivels her hips while The Director mugs and poses for pictures on the other side. The two eventually start making their way to the ring after sufficiently fluffing their egos.

Vince Howard: On their way to the ring! At a combined weight of 307 pounds! Elise Ares! The D! THEY ARE THE POP! CULTURE! PHEEEEEEENOMS!

The duo climbs into the squared circle, each claiming a corner. Ares continues to make quite the spectacle of herself. The D demands attention, photos, boos, whatever attention he can afford. After enough glad handing, they make their way to their corner and pose together for one last photo-op.

“Stranger Fruit” by Zeal and Ardor haunts the coliseum. Clay Byrd and Henry Keyes step out onto the stage, flanked by Kerry Kuroyama and Scott Hunter. One thing is clear by their expressions and posture; Vae Victis ain’t in a happy mood.

Nick Stuart: Seems like Rezin’s antics have gotten the VV team more than a little agitated.

Richard Parker: Yep… Elise and The D better keep their heads tight to their shoulders. Between their shared history and the smelly hobo’s antics tonight, Byrd and Keyes will knock them off if PCP aren’t careful.

After some encouragement from their stablemates, Keyes and Byrd stalk down towards the ring. With every heavy step, their faces grew sterner. The Kraken’s usual pomp had been set aside for the big Texan’s simmering anger.

Vince Howard: Heading to the ring! Accompanied by Kerry Kuroyama and Scott Hunter! Weighing in at a total weight of 544 pounds! CLAY BYRD! HENRY KEYES! THIS IS VAAAAAAAE VICTIIIIIIIIS!

Both men climb onto the apron; Keyes enters between the ropes. Clay follows after, stepping over the top. They pose together briefly in the middle of the ring before stomping over to their corner.

DING DING

One thing is made immediately clear; Elise Ares and Henry Keyes have no intention of waiting for a showdown. The Kraken charges forward and throws a lariat! Ares ducks, kicking at Henry’s hamstrings! He throws a wild elbow, which the Leading Lady dodges again! But Keyes isn’t finished chucking bones. Another try, another miss. Another and again, no connection. Elise sways… and gets clocked by a big elbow after a feint from Keyes!

The Kraken looks to roughly yank the South Beach Starlet to her feet by her hair, but she’s quick to rake the eyes! Elvis Nixon makes his displeasure with this disregarding of the rules known. Ares? She gives him a wave that’s both dismissive while being full of disdain. A standing dropkick doesn’t drop Keyes, but certainly disrupts his sense of balance. Quickly moving behind the older gentleman, Elise blasts him with another dropkick to the back. Henry stumbles to the PCP corner, the ropes keeping him upright. The Havana Harlot makes a tag to The D.

Nick Stuart: You can already feel the hatred and scorn between these two teams, especially between Ares and Keyes!

Richard Parker: No doubt, Nick. But let’s not forget Clay Byrd and The D. You know they have their partner’s backs. They’ll be more than happy to crack each other’s skulls too!

Nick Stuart: This might end up breaking down into a regular donnybrook, partner.

Richard Parker: Donnybrook?! This aint 1953, Nick! What’re you gonna say next? It’s a hootnanny! A bloody bedlam! A trip to the gelato proprietor!

Nick Stuart: I’m not sure that last one fits, Richard.

The D hammers at Henry’s midsection with forearms. The Kraken attempts to shove The Director away and hobble out of the corner. No dice, as The D yanks him back in for more punishment. Nixon doesn’t allow that for too long, utilizing a five count. D waits till four, lifting his hands in compliance… before going right back to assaulting Keyes’ midsection. Elvis begins his count once again. The D responds in the same way; false compliance before resuming a beating. The ref doesn’t allow a third try, stepping in to give the Kraken some reprieve.

The D opts to tag out to Ares. The Leading Lady slides to the front of Keyes, clocking him with a backhand slap! He finally drops to a knee. With opportunity presenting itself, Elise takes off towards the ropes. Off she comes with Amethystation (Springboard Superman Punch)! NO! Keyes ducked his head at the last second! With the South Beach Starlet off balance, Henry quickly recovers, locking in a full nelson! There’s no intent towards garnering a submission. Instead, Ares is hoisted up and planted down with a Full Nelson Slam! But the previous damage wasn’t for naught, as Keyes drops to all four.

Nick Stuart: Seems like Elise Ares got a bit too excited there and tried to finish it early.

Richard Parker: Look Nick, when you’re a star, you do what you want when you want. Just doesn’t always work out.

Nick Stuart: Like when you try to cut in line for the hot dog vendors.

Richard Parker: Hey! It’s not my fault peons don’t respect that I’m a busy and important man!

The Kraken starts the crawl towards his very large, very angry, very Texan partner. The Queen of Sports Entertainment Style wobbles to her feet, the ropes proving to be a helping force in that. Henry inches closer. Closer. Ares jumps onto Keyes in a back mount, hammering away chaotically at the back of his head and neck! Even still, Keyes keeps moving! Only a foot away now! Byrd reaches out… and takes a D to the face. Er, The D. The wrestler. Not the other one. Elvis Nixon should be ordering The D back to his corner. Instead, he’s doing his best to keep 295 pounds of pissed off Plainview beef from ripping someone’s head off.

That doesn’t help Henry much. The knee The D drops on the back of his neck helps even less. The Pop Culture Phenoms drag the flattened Keyes back to their corner. The D steps onto the apron, only to step back in via tag from Ares that the now bull free Nixon sees. The D stomps away before moving the Kraken to the middle of the ring. His arms are kicked in towards his sides. The crowd starts to buzz. The D takes off towards the ropes, hitting them with his chest. The momentum is used to start moonwalking back towards the prone Keyes… before The D splats onto him with a moonsault! Cover!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: The Pop Culture Phenoms are making a great showing of themselves thus far. But you’re a fool if you think Henry Keyes will go down without a fight!

Richard Parker: Yeah yeah, we know. The boss’s bestie is suuuuuuch a badass. You looking for a pay raise there, Nick?

Nick Stuart: Are you looking for a pay cut, Rich?

Richard Parker: … He is a handsome man, if I’m being honest.

Another tag and the two set up opposite one another. It’s clear what’s coming… Drive-by at the Roxy (Sandwiched Crescent Kick and Superman Punch). As Keyes tries to get to a knee, he collapses back down. Another try, but he meets the canvas again. The D gets impatient, stomping over to the Kraken. He goes to pull Keyes to his knees… But Henry pops up and tosses The Director overhead with a belly to belly suplex! Ares charges but gets left in agony with a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Even still, the San Fran native drops to his knees as there has been a toll taken out on him. He pushes himself to his feet and begins to trudge towards Byrd! The PCP is trying to scramble to their feet… Too late! HOT tag to Clay Byrd! The Behemoth wastes no time, plowing over both opponents with a huge shoulder block! Elise tries to rebound quickly, but gets clobbered by a big boot! The D tries to attack but gets planted by a hard slam! Clay places a boot on the Leading Lady’s head and starts grinding! In a panic, The D points over to Keyes, still struggling to his feet on the apron. Nixon glances over and that distraction is just enough for The D to drop into a split behind Byrd and–

Nick Stuart: Oh come on! That low blow was as dirty as it gets!

Richard Parker: Show some respect and use the proper move name: DA DICK-PUNCH-AH!

Nick Stuart: You intentionally mispronounce dozens of move names and that’s the one you remember?

Richard Parker: It’s fun to say! You should try it some time!

Elvis Nixon goes to interrogate The D about what exactly happened, what with Clay swearing on one knee while clutching at his groin. The hard questioning doesn’t really get far, as Ares takes the opportunity to plant Byrd with a spike hurricanrana! She places a boot onto the big Texan’s chest and steps over him. A rhythmic hip gyration follows, along with an impressive amount of flash bulbs going off.

Elise Ares: ¿Que Tal Eso?

While the Havana Harlot does Harlot things, The D (with more than a little effort) rolls Clay onto his stomach. He calls Ares over, who locks in Miami Vice (Deathlock with a bridge)! She doesn’t hold it long; The D blasts Byrd’s face with a dropkick for the Foley Pop and Lock-a-thon! The two get the Cowboy Colossus onto his back and Elise goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

BYRD PRESSES ARES OFF!

Clay sits up and he don’t look happy. The Leading Lady quickly scurries over to the corner and tags the not exactly prepared The D. The Monster from Plainview rumbles over, grabbing The Director behind the neck before tossing him up and over the ropes and into the ring! Elise tries to escape onto the apron but Byrd isn’t having it. Grabbing her by the waistband, the Behemoth haphazardly tosses the woman across the ring. She collides with The D and the two end up in a heap! Nixon orders the flummoxed South Beach Starlet to make her way back to the apron.

Clay doesn’t get to take advantage of the damage caused, thanks to a desperation eye gouge from The D. The Cowboy Colossus retreats over to his corner, where Henry Keyes slaps his shoulder for the tag! Big European uppercut to The D! Spinning Back Elbow! Keyes grabs the Hollywood native and racks him onto his shoulders before he starts to spin. And spin. The spinning continues, with Henry putting his hands onto his hips, letting science do its thing in a very fun visual!

Nick Stuart: Airship Spin! Look at him go!

Richard Parker: Ugh… I’m getting queasy just looking at it…

Nick Stuart: Richard, I swear to god, if you puke on me…

Richard Parker: C’mon Nick, I have a stronger stomach than that. I’ve sat through Cancer Jiles matches, I can handle this!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE– ARES BREAKS IT UP!

Elise goes to get back onto the apron, but gets clattered to the area floor by an irate Henry Keyes! That turns out to be a miscalculation… As The D comes charging in and squashes the Kraken against the corner with a big splash (D In Your Face! Or back door, in this case)! The Director positions himself, ready to pounce once Keyes recovers. When he does, The D leaps forward and locks in Choke It (Guillotine Choke)! He has it clamped tight! Henry drops to a knee! Clay Byrd stomps in, pushing past Elvis Nixon like he’s a Steelers offensive lineman.

CRACK

A nasty open hand chop loosens The D’s grip on the choke. That’s just the opening Keyes needs. He powers to his feet, moving his arm across the back of The D’s neck. Henry yanks him up into a vertical suplex! The D wiggles and struggles and fights, managing to land on his feet behind Henry. No matter.

CLAP

The Bell Clap~~~ rings out across the Jose Miguel Agerlot Coliseum! The D drops to his knees, clutching at the sides of his head. The Kraken takes hold of The Director’s wrists, ripping them down. With full wrist control, Keyes propels forward, driving a knee into The D’s face! He’s not done, as a second completes Coin! Henry covers!

ONE!

TWO!

ELISE GOES TO SPRING IN WITH THE EXTREME MAKEOVER BUT GETS VIOLENTLY INTERCEPTED BY A CLAY BYRD SPEAR!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: My goodness! What a hell of a cut off by Clay Byrd! Big victory for the Vae Victis contingent!

Richard Parker: Yeah yeah. But you gotta admit it, Nick; The Pop Culture Phenoms came to fight tonight!

Nick Stuart: I won’t lie, Richard. I’m impressed with what we saw from Elise Ares and The D tonight. There’s a reason they’re as in demand as they are.

Vince Howard: The winner of the match! CLAY BYRD! HENRY KEYES! VAAAAAAAE VICTIIIIIIIIS!

Nick Stuart: Folks, we are back here live following that very entertaining match between Vae Victis and the Pop Culture Phenoms – and speaking of Vae Victis, we were informed that some time was especially reserved by our President & CEO, Lindsay Troy, but for what, I’m not quite sure.

Richard Parker: You never really know for sure. I imagine she’ll come out and let us know what’s going on, and I’m sure it’ll be super interesting.

Nick Stuart: I’m picking up on some sarcasm.

Richard Parker: Well, I should certainly hope so, because I was laying it on really thick.

The lights suddenly go out, and a low droning sound permeates the air.

Richard Parker: Whoa! Are we having technical difficulties??

Nick Stuart: I don’t know. I can hear that buzzing noise, the same as you. It sounds like the speakers are…

The droning noise is joined by flashes of light and strobe lightning effects.

Richard Parker: It’s a little bit theatrical for the usual Lindsay Troy announcement…

Then… music starts to play over the rest of the noise.

♫”Daddy’s Home” by JT Music♫

Richard Parker: Holy sh – –

Nick Stuart: That is definitely NOT Lindsay Troy’s music!!

A dual spotlight makes an encircling pattern over the entrance. The music, mixed with the lighting effects, paints a foreboding picture as a female voice sings the opening. The lights coalesce into a single spotlight as DAN RYAN steps out, wearing business casual street clothes, and pauses, looking into the roaring crowd as the strobing light reflects off his sunglasses.

Nick Stuart: It’s Dan Ryan! Dan Ryan is here!

Richard Parker: This man is an absolute monster, Nick! I know people always say it, but it’s one thing to say it and another to witness it in person. I saw him go toe to toe with Ivan Stanislav at Immortals, and I’ve never seen anyone throw Ivan Stanislav around a ring the way this man did. It was simply amazing.

Ryan steps forward slowly, coming to a pause at the top of the ramp. A slight smirk starts to spread across his face, and he gives the crowd a little nod as the music transitions, and he starts walking toward the ring.

“Hold your noses cuz we’re going for another long dive”

“Some call me father, others call me Johnny Topside”

“Long forgotten, I was swept up by the wrong tide”

“Thought my bed was made but I just woke up on the wrong side”

“Jump startin’ up my heart, I’ve hit my second wind”

“Back from the dead, subject Delta checkin’ in”

“Revving up the engine that has blended our genetics”

“Have you felt the natural selection that’s already setting in?”

“Fire at my fingertips, I won’t be told to chill”

“Stacking plasmids, like an addict, total overkill”

“I’m the one who’s gonna call the shots, time to roll the film”

“Oughtta have a splicer fill you in, because they know the drill”

“Step between me and my daughter and you’ll get bounced”

“Then any atom that you had is getting ripped out”

“Who’s your daddy now?”

“Who’s your daddy now?”

“I’m the heavyweight champ, you won’t even last a round”

“Too long your brutes abuse the juice, now you get smacked around”

“Always held the belt, so many years in rapture now”

“Baddest motherfucker in the building, who’s your daddy now?”

In the last ten feet to the ring, Ryan breaks into a sprint and slides in under the bottom rope, then runs to the nearest corner and climbs to the second turnbuckle. The crowd roars again as both arms go into the air.

Nick Stuart: This is certainly unexpected. Dan Ryan has never regularly worked for PRIME, although there have been a few appearances, even those being over 15 years ago. He is, of course, the brother-in-law of Lindsay Troy, and someone who has done pretty much all there is to do in the wrestling business, but he’s really the last person I expected to see here tonight.

After a few more moments of the music playing, Ryan hops back down to the mat, leans out over the top rope, and reaches for a microphone, which is provided in short order.

He pulls a thumb across his throat, and the music stops. Cheers again from the crowd.

Dan Ryan: SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO HOW THE HELL ARE YA?!!!

The crowd roars to life once more.

Dan Ryan: I know I’m the last person that any of you expected to see out here tonight, but I assure you all, I do have a good reason. One week ago, at PRIME x DEFIANCE: IMMORTALS, I had the opportunity to stand across the ring from someone I’ve had my eye on for a long time – Ivan Stanislav

BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Ryan smirks slightly.

Dan Ryan: I get it. I also want everyone to know that I called out Ivan Stanislav because I knew he would give me one hell of a fight. Believe me when I say he didn’t disappoint. The two of us beat the living hell out of each other. He may well be the toughest opponent I’ve ever had, and believe me, I’ve had a lot. I look around the PRIME roster, and I see so many of the absolute best this business has ever had to offer. The talent here is second to none, the competition is grueling, and I came out of Immortals with an elevated sense of respect for every single person back there in that locker room.

RAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!

Dan Ryan: All that aside, I told you there’s a good reason why I’m out here, and I meant it. So here it is. I was born in Texas, but I grew up in Japan. My father was a respected promoter and trainer in Osaka, so the only thing I ever wanted to be was a professional wrestler. The boys over there beat the hell out of me on a regular basis, they stretched me, toughened me up, and taught me everything I know. Later this year, on May 1st, I’m turning 50 years old. My very first professional wrestling match on North American soil was on April 4th, 1997. Late last year, I started doing some thinking. I looked at the calendar, spoke to one of my… connections… and realized that PRIME would be in Mexico City for Culture Shock on April 3rd and 4th of this year, exactly 30 years to the day after my North American debut.

The crowd begins to murmur, a low rumble spreading throughout. Nick and Richard stay quiet, taking it all in.

Dan Ryan: Tonight, right here in San Juan, Puerto Rico, after 30 years in the ring, I’m officially announcing my retirement.

Gasps of shock can be heard.

Nick Stuart: Whoa…

Dan Ryan: When I made this decision, beyond deciding it was the right moment, I decided I wanted four more matches before calling it a day for good. First – Henry Keyes, the FIST of DEFIANCE. Three times I held that title, and Henry Keyes honored me by letting me take one last shot at it. Ivan Stanislav, because like I said, I wanted a goddamn fight, and I got one. Conor Fuse, because he has been a revelation at the end of my career, lifting me up when I needed a lift, and there are few men I trust more. And… that leaves me with… one more match I want before I call it a day.

Nick Stuart: He wants his last match to be in PRIME? That’s pretty surprising!

Richard Parker: It’s the place to be. I don’t know what to tell ya!

Dan Ryan: As I said, April 4th is 30 years to the day, so I plan on being at Culture Shock, and I plan on having the last match of my career that night. When it came down to who should be my last match, it really wasn’t a very difficult decision. It took less than a millisecond for this name to pop into my head. There is no one on Earth who has been more important to me on both a personal and professional level than this person. Lindsay…

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

Dan Ryan: From the very first time we stepped into the ring together, I knew you were special. You beat me that night, and I had to find out just who the hell you were. You’ve always been a fierce competitor, with skill that is unmatched, fire that is unquenchable, and the sort of unwavering determination that has led you to a career without parallel. You are quite simply the best professional wrestler I have ever known. I have been so proud throughout my time in this business to have been able to watch you in the ring, as your boss, as your partner, your friend, and your family. I owe a great deal of my happiness in life to you. I would have spiraled down into a black hole years ago if it weren’t for you. You are responsible for my meeting my wife, which led to my becoming a father again and giving me another chance to be the kind of man I want to be. It hasn’t always been perfect, but family never gives up on family. And so, it is for all of these reasons that I am out here tonight, requesting… not demanding… but requesting that you agree to stand across the ring from me one more time, one last time, and help me say goodbye to in-ring competition. You don’t have to come out here right now. Think it over. You have my number.

Ryan smirks.

Dan Ryan: Culture Shock, you and me. Let’s show these motherfuckers how it’s done.

Dan flips the microphone out of his hand, and it lands with a thud on the mat. The final refrain of “Daddy’s Home” starts back up, and he climbs through the ropes and to the floor, slapping a few hands as he heads back up the ramp.

Nick Stuart: A blockbuster announcement and I guess… challenge? By Dan Ryan here tonight. Will Lindsay Troy agree to be his final match at Culture Shock?? Hopefully, we’ll find out soon.

The Whorehouse looks like a place that has never once passed a fire inspection.

Neon tubes buzz overhead, washing the cracked concrete and leather furniture in sickly pink and purple. Half-empty liquor bottles sit on scarred tables where still-burning cigarettes lay in their ashtrays. A life-sized cardboard cutout of Dale Earnhardt (not Junior, goddammit!) stands in one corner, one hand raised in a frozen wave.

And there, amongst it all, Rob Williams stands near his locker, stone-still, methodically taping his wrists while Daytona Diamonds paces in front of him like a man trying not to vibrate through the floor, mid-sentence as he tries to hype his partner up.

Daytona Diamonds: …AND THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE GONNA DO, ROBSTER! YOU’RE GONNA PUT THAT FUCKIN’ CUCK BACK IN HIS GODDANG CUCK CHAIR IN HIS GODDANG CUCK CORNER WHILE YOU FUCK HIS WIFE IN THE ASS!

Rob perks up.

A pause. Daytona stops himself.

Daytona Diamonds: …not, like, literally. I’m talkin’ metaphorically. A metaphorical ass-fuckin’.

A voice pipes up from a cell phone dangling from the ceiling with fishing wire.

Anna Daniels’ Disembodied Voice: Fuck, we hope so. We don’t think even Rob can handle all the mega-STDs that annoying bimbo contracted from Cancer Jiles. Yuck.

The phone sways in disgust.

Rob Williams: Thanks, y’all. It’s been a fucking weird year so far. I feel bad for the little shit, kind of, you know? Like I’ve taken most of his money and I keep telling him I’m gonna email him the e-book on how not to be a cuck next week. I don’t even own a computer.

Rob snorts, shaking his head whilst pulling an American Spirit from the pack by his teeth. The sight of the light blue pack causes Tone’s eyebrow to perk.

Rob Williams: Trying to be a bit healthier. You know, new year new me and all that bullshit. Say, you got a toot?

Anna Daniels’ Disembodied Voice: That sounds like a stupid question with an obvious answer. Unless Big Tone’s also on a health kick.

You can practically hear the smirk from the other side of the line before some muffled Aussie yapping attempts to bleed through.

Anna Daniels’ Disembodied Voice: We don’t think they want a case of avocado ice cream, Jacky. You bought it, you eat it!

Daytona doesn’t look at the phone. He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he winds tighter, pacing faster, a rabid animal looking for any source of stimulation to latch onto.

Daytona Diamonds: Listen to me, Robby. Y’see that cutout over there…?

He points across the room at Dale Earnhardt like it’s part of the lesson plan.

Daytona Diamonds: That man didn’t lose. He hit the wall. Fast. Sudden. No warning. One second, he’s fine. Next second, everybody’s just standin’ ‘round goin’, ‘Oh. Oh damn’.

Daytona snaps his fingers for emphasis before pulling a lighter from his pocket, flicking it once and cupping the flame with his hand before bringing it to the still-waiting cigarette hanging from Rob’s lips.

Daytona Diamonds: JCH, he thinks he’s drivin’ the safest little car on the track. Thinks he’s protected. Thinks he’s got a pit crew, got the caution flag comin’ if things get scary, thinks he’s Jeff fuckin’ Gordon!

He pulls the lighter away and pockets it, eyes never leaving Rob.

Daytona Diamonds: But there ain’t no slow-mo replay. There ain’t no inspirational montage. There’s just the wall. And the sound it makes when somebody hits it harder’n they ever thought possible.

Daytona’s standing close now, voice dropping low as he puts a hand on his tag partner’s shoulder.

Daytona Diamonds: That’s you tonight, Robby. You ain’t racin’ him. You ain’t provin’ nothin’. You? You’re the fuckin’ wall.

A grin creeps across his face, sharp and ugly.

Daytona Diamonds: One bad decision. One wrong angle. One real good impact.

He snaps his fingers again.

Daytona Diamonds: And then everybody’s talkin’ ‘bout where they were when it happened.

The phone gently sways on the fishing wire.

Anna Daniels’ Disembodied Voice: For legal reasons, we’d like to clarify–

Daytona Diamonds: –A METAPHORICAL WALL, ANNA! WE AIN’T GONNA KILL THE BOY! Jesus Christ!

A pause. A grin. A little wink.

Daytona Diamonds: Right, Robby?

He claps Rob once on the shoulder, solid and grounding.

Daytona Diamonds: You don’t gotta hate him. You don’t gotta pity him. You don’t even gotta think ‘bout him. You just go out there and you do what you do.

Daytona pulls his hand away, crossing his arms across his chest, satisfied.

Daytona Diamonds: Go hit the gas, champ.

The phone…floats?

Anna Daniels’ Disembodied Voice: Walls can’t hit the gas, shithead. They don’t have limbs.

Daytona Diamonds: GODDANG IT, ANNA! IT’S A METAPHOR! I’M TALKING IN METAPHORS!

Daytona is getting so riled, he snatches the hat off of his head and almost throws it on the ground. From the other end of the world (give or take a multiverse), Anna cackles.

Anna Daniels’ Disembodied Voice: Buddy, we’re just fucking with you. But he’s not wrong, Rob. Hit the poor bastard like he owes you money! …oh wait. He does!

Another cackle.

The neon buzzes.

The fan rattles.

The cardboard cutout of Dale Earnhardt keeps smiling and waving, forever locked in time.

And somewhere down the hall, Jonathan-Christopher Hall is about to learn how fast things can end.

The opening riff of “Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains rips through the silent arena. Fire lights up the entrance ramp and Rob Williams steps out from behind the curtains. His head hangs down, hair in his eyes as he moves down the ramp, not making eye contact with any of the fans. At a few points along the way he stops in his tracks. He looks out into the crowd as if something catches his attention, but he doesn’t directly look at anyone. Almost like he’s looking for a ghost.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and has a thirty minute time limit… introducing first…from Decatur, Georgia! He weighs in tonight at two hundred and forty pounds! Representing the Poor Whoresmen! A former 5 Star Champion…he is…ROOOOOOOOBBBBB WILLLLLLLLLIIIIIIAAAAAMMMMMSSSS!!!

When the vocals hit “I’m the dog who gets beat,” Williams climbs into the ring. He’s showered with a mixed reaction from the crowd.

Only to be followed by…

“The Best” by AWOLNATION

The fans give an interesting reaction to say the least. For the first time in more than six months Jonathan-Christopher Hall emerges to come to a PRIME ring. sporting baby blue board shorts with tiny initials on the left side of them, but the camera can’t quite make out what it is. Otherwise, JCH is freshly shaved, his body looks to be in great shape – perhaps the best it’s ever been – as he stands at the top of the rampway smiling at the fans who gave him such a warm reaction.

There’s something significantly different about Jonathan-Christopher. Typically meek and nervous, tonight he stands tall and proud. His shoulders are upright, he seems a few inches taller than before, which is likely just posture.

Hall marches down the rampway, his theme song still playing as some in the crowd chant him on. Halfway down the ramp, JC even stops to pump up the fans by swinging his arms up and down, asking for MORE support. Hall pulls himself up and onto the apron. He slips between the top and middle rope and power walks to Rob Williams.

Vince Howard: …And his opponent… from Folsom, Louisiana… weighing two-hundred-thirty pounds…a former Universal Champion…the winner of the 2023 Almasy Invitational… he is THE ALPHA MALE…JONATHAN. CHRISTOPHER. HALL!!

JCH’s theme closes as the crowd cheers on. Referee Jimmy Turnbull separates the two, and then quickly checks both competitors before taking his place in the middle of the ring and calls for the bell.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: And here we go! After six months, Jonathan-Christopher Hall makes his in-ring return. For the first time losing to Max Kael in the first round of the 2025 Almasy Invitational. And if one is expecting an easy return, then they are sorely mistaken, as Rob Williams, one half of the PRIME Tag Team Champions, and a man rough as they come, is the one here to welcome him.

Richard Parker: This is true, but, there’s…a little different air to JCH. Especially with what we all saw at Immortals.

Nick Stuart: I think the same can be said of Williams, at least as far as it comes to finally capturing Tag Team Gold, something he had quested for with Anna Daniels, only to be turned away at every opportunity.

Rob Williams looks to start deliberately, stalking forward, and surprisingly, it is Hall who strikes from the starting gate, taking advantage of the slighty larger man’s attempt to lock up by going low with a dropkick to the left knee. This drops The Legend to a knee, and JCH responds with a snapmare that sends the Tag Team Champion the rest of the way to the canvas.

Nick Stuart: Interesting start. And a quick cover!

ONE

TWO

Rob Williams kicks out resolutely. The former 5 Star Champion got stunned at the start from the man he had been charging some three thousand dollars a week for lessons on what it meant to be a ‘real man’, or some such nonsense. Taking the bull by the horns? I mean, Rob was bilking this dipshit for his money.

Not like any lessons were truly given.

Hall, for his part, waits a moment for Rob Williams to get to his feet, but pounces quickly after by grabbing hold of him with a side headlock, then jerking him to the canvas. Williams forces the pair up, but Jonathan-Christopher manages to use they raw unfettered power to his advantage, and wrestles his opponent right back to the canvas.

A meaty taped paw smashes into the mat, The Legend showing his frustration. It’s at this point that Williams works to get the two back to a standing base, and when he does, he throws a sharp elbow into the kidney of the former Almasy Winner, ripping him around and firing a heavy barrage of chops to his chest.

And Jonathan-Christopher is…smiling?

Egging him on?

Perplexed, Williams smashes his hand against his chest again.

The former Universal Champion…smiles. Wide eyed smile. Williams just stares through him. What the fuck? JCH nods his head. The former 5 Star Champion shoves him. Hall hits the ropes. Bounces back. And then?

Clothesline. And The Legend is going to take his head off. Except…Rob fans on a clothesline, and as JCH ducks under, hitting the ropes again, and upon arrival, nails Williams in the face with a spinning heel kick. It connects. Not the cleanest blow,  but significantly more crisp than any he has thrown in the past. Williams stumbles from the point of impact. Hall sees the opportunity, and pulling The Legend to the mat in a crucifix.

ONE

TWO

NO!

Nick Stuart: Jonathan-Christopher Hall is showing greater wrestling acumen than I think we have witnessed from him at any point truly in PRIME competition. It’s usually either blatant cheating–

Richard Parker: –Or getting absolutely smashed–

Nick Stuart: –Or showcasing the wild mean streak we saw against Rose.

Richard Parker: It’s Rose. That doesn’t count. She’s not even people.

Hall tries to follow up after the pinning combination with another dropkick to the body, but Williams swats it away. Jonathan-Christopher shoots to his feet almost immediately, but is quickly spun around, The Legend clobbering him with a close elbow smash, and then, grabbing the former Almasy Winner around the back, lifting him up for a suplex. Hall, however, hits a few elbows in the throw back, allowing him to slip free, and once he does, to hit the ropes and spring off with a flying forearm that sends The Legend stumbling backwards. Keeping the pressure on, Hall connects with a seated dropkick to his doubled-over foe, sending Rob Williams stumbling to the outside of the ring.

Williams pulls himself to his feet on the outside, but once again, JCH is ready to go, this time hitting the ropes and launching himself to the outside with a crossbody.

It’s here that Rob Williams does the unselfish thing and catch Hall. Well, catch is one way to put it. What it really is, is him managing to catch Hall, then force him up onto his shoulder, and then launching him into the corner post. The hellacious blow is quickly followed up by Williams yanking Hall off the mats and whipping him into the barricade.

Hall, stuck against the barricade, however, begins waving his arms to implore the crowd. And they…start going with him? Do they…know who this is? Rob Williams shakes his head, and charges, looking to throw his entire body into The Forever Man.

No dice.

Hall moves. The Legend smashes into the  barricade. JCH immediately clutches body and winces, but then, grabs Williams by the hair, and rolls him back into the ring, ending Jimmy Turnbull’s count.

It’s here that Williams, groggy, clutching his body, tries to ready himself. And Jonathan-Christopher? He is ascending the near corner.

He measures his opponent, but not before giving a pump of the fist to the crowd.

Williams gets up.

Flying axe handle smash.

He goes down.

And Jonathan-Christopher Hall, yes, Jonathan-Christopher Hall, is showing an aptitude and ability. He is showing a love of the wrestling game. And he doing it without the spectre of Vickie Hall. Sure, when gold was on the line at Immortals, it was one thing.

But this…this feels different.

No…

It IS different.

It’s not perfect. It’s not…not pretty. There’s crispness to the moves. There’s been no backing down. No cowering. No taking the low road.

Hall brings the former 5 Star Champion and locks him up with a front face lock. A grab at the waist. He drives his heels into the canvas, and lifts. And he holds. JCH holds. He’s holding a damn vertical suplex. Five seconds. Seven. Eight. The crowd starts counting. The blood rushes to The Legend’s head. And then, it all drops.

Delayed vertical suplex.

Hall hooks the near leg.

ONE

TWO

THR–

JUUUUUST in the nick of time.

As Williams struggles to try and get up, Hall wraps his arms around him in a headlock, trying to keep him grounded. This is working. Williams tries to reach and claw at the arms around his neck, but find them less giving than he might have anticipated going in. With a sudden urgency, he gets to his feet, and throws wild elbows backward, trying to catch Hall in the rib cage. The moment he is free?

He SMASHES Jonathan-Christopher Hall smack dab in the jaw with a vicious right hand. The blow leaves Hall in dazed state, giving Rob a chance to fold his opponent up, swinging him upwards and tossing him violently to the canvas with a side suplex.

The high impact makes the fact that Hall manages to roll to his feet despite the impact all the more impressive, but that doesn’t make him any less susceptible the former 5 Star Champion, as The Legend takes the groggy Hall, lifts him into the air, and drops him to the canvas with a gorilla press slam.

Williams refuses to give an inch, elevating Hall back up to his feet, and as he does so, he goes to maneuver him around for a back suplex…

Only for Hall to leverage Rob Williams over and down to the canvas with a backslide!

ONE

TWO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEKICKOUT!

Rob Williams barely up and he is discombobulated and furious and JCH WITH THE OKLAHOMA ROLL!

ONE

TWO

THRRRRRRRRNOOOOOO

WHAT THE HELL HAS GOTTEN INTO JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HALL?!

Taken COMPLETELY off his game, Rob Williams pulls himself to his knees, but Hall is sharp enough to strike while the iron is hot, drilling The Legend with a german suplex. Rob Williams tries to block it, but is unable, crumbling to the canvas. But he isn’t going into that cold dead night. He’s back up…only to be waylayed by a JCH european uppercut. The tremendous force is enough to have Rob Williams on the absolute brink.

Now is the time.

Now is the time!

Hall goes and grabs hold of Williams, looking to lock in the chicken wing–

Oh no…

Oh HELL no!

Rob Williams throws his head back with everything he has, and blasts Hall in the nose. Fight or flight. The Legend charges to the ropes, caroming off them, and launching himself into Hall with a hellacious lariat.

Hall is back to his feet.

Williams is there to meet him WITH ANOTHER LARIAT!

Hall smacks the canvas and rises with a roar

WILLIAM DETONATES ALL ACROSS HIS FACE WITH A LARIAT FROM HELL!

A blow so hard you can still see the imprint of JCH’s face in his arm.

Hall, however, like a damn zombie, stumbles to get himself up. No quit. No quit at all.

Williams buries his boot right into his guts.

OLD

TIME

ROCK

AND

ROLL

The cover is there. Right there. But The Forever Man has a spark. Rob can sense it. He can sense the hope still lingering in his opponent. He knows that if there’s any bit of oxygen left in this, then a spark could turn into an inferno. No pin. Yank him back up.

Suddenly, it dawns on him. Everything his opponent has done in PRIME. All he has managed. The rarefied air he is in. What winning this match would mean.

That kind of thing just soothes the soul

Something to reminisce about when these become the days of old.

With that OLD

TIME

ROCK

AND

ROLL

Both legs hooked.

ONE

TWO

THREE

DING DING DING DING DING

Richard Parker: Wooooooah!

Nick Stuart: Ladies and gentleman…what a showing by Jonathan-Christopher Hall…but WHAT a STATEMENT by Rob Williams!

Vince Howard: THE WINNER OF THIS MATCH…ROOOOOOOOB! WIIIIIIIIIIILLIAMS!

Rob Williams rolls out of the ring, a knee hitting the mats, before rocketing back to his feet. He stumbles forward to the ring bell table, grabbing his PRIME Tag Team Championship and slinging it over his shoulder before throwing his taped hand in the air.

Meanwhile, in the ring, Jonathan-Christopher Hall sits up. He shakes his head. In the past, this would be a meltdown. A freakout. Instead, he gets up, dusts himself off, and rests against the corner. And as he looks at the crowd…applause.

And from him…

A nod.

Work in progress.

Rome wasn’t built in a day.

But it appears that some people appreciate the process.

We go elsewhere.

An inhale.

hunnnnkhhhh.

An exhale.

hmmmmmmimimimimimi.

An inhale.

hunnnnkhhhh.

An exhale.

hmmmmmmimimimimimi.

The Anglo Luchador, never one to refuse the opportunity to turn a work into a shoot, has fallen asleep in the very Comfy Lad recliner he was selling in an earlier commercial.

And his snores.

hunnnnkhhhh.

His god forsaken snores.

hmmmmmmimimimimimi.

They echo through the back of the arena like a mountain, warning of avalanches soon to come.

Most of the roster have, rightly, avoided the area as though an avalanche was indeed imminent.

But Big John Pepper?

🤙 🌞 🌈

He finds it very chill, and more importantly, very familiar. Hovering over TAL’s snoring body, Big John combs a hand through his mustache, scratches his chin.

Big John Pepper: I’d recognize that snore from anywhere.

With a smile, he slaps the god damn shit out of TAL’s chest.

Big John Pepper: Wake up, Rip!

The Luchador flies two feet in the air from the recoil from Big John’s big slap. Upon landing, he stiffens in shock for a moment before looking around and finding the big ol’ galoot who just woke him up incredibly violently.

TAL: GODDAMMIT, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?

Big John Pepper: (absolutely ignoring The Luchador’s bad mood) Long time no see, my old friend! How’s the kids? Sleep through their graduation? Ha!

He slaps TAL’s chest again.

Big John Pepper: Just joshing, Rip. Just joshing. What’s with the mask, though?

The Luchador gets up out of the recliner with an expression radiating through his mask of pure, unadulterated grumpiness. Just every Japanese wrestler over the age of 50, Samuel L. Jackson in Snakes on a Plane, and that cat from the memes, all rolled up into one.

TAL: Who the fuck is Rip?

Just as he asks Big John that question, The Luchador realizes that he’s never actually met Big John Pepper, and he has no idea who the jovial hayseed of a man actually is.

TAL: Who are you?

Big John Pepper offers a genuine smile in response.

Big John Pepper: Oh, come now. Has it been so long that you don’t recognize your best and oldest friend? The man who once stood guard and fought chaos gremlins trying to disturb your sleep while you napped for two decades?

TAL: Chaos gremlins? I wasn’t in the Chaos Gremlin Scramble at Fiesta del Maya 2006; I was in the sub-main event in a trios match.

Big John looks annoyed at what he thinks is a clear misdirection and pokes his massive finger into TAL’s chest.

Big John Pepper: You, my old friend, are suffering from amnesia. But fear not, I’m here to remind you that just because you’re wearing a fancy wrestling mask, it doesn’t change who you are.

🤙

Big John Pepper: You’re Rip Van Winkle.

The Luchador looks at Pepper incredulously. Just like the man has a thousand heads and none of them were making sense. He has not been this out of his mind since that time he took drugs in the desert, and hoo boy if you remember that, thank you for helping get PRIME back off the ground in 2022.

TAL: I am… who? Number one, I’ve never been to the Catskills, true story, only part of New York I’ve never been to. Two, do you think everyone who sleeps deeply on a recliner is your old long lost friend?!?!

Big John looks TAL over. Could it be that he’s mistaken? Could it be that this isn’t his old, legendary friend?

But then, Big John remembers:

He doesn’t make mistakes.

Big John Pepper: I know it’s been a long time. God knows how long you’ve been living this lie, Rip. The mask makes sense now — you’re hiding from the truth.

Big John wipes a tear from his eyes.

Big John Pepper: But I’m here for you now, Rip. And everything’s going to be A-OK!

The Luchador’s expression goes from befuddled to bamboozled. How you can tell that from behind his mask is a testament to how lightweight and form-fitting lucha masks are these days. These gear-makers really have upped their game.

BUT GETTING BACK TO THE BUSINESS AT HAND.

The Luchador looks Big John up and down again, wondering if he really was awake or was in some lucid dream. For a moment, he thinks about giving up drinking. For real this time, not like when his kids were born or when he had those health scares. But he snaps out of hit and slaps himself across the face.

Ouch.

Nope he’s awake. And he thinks to himself that it’s time to fix that mistake.

TAL: You’re right, everything is going to be A-OK, because I am going back to bed, and I swear to Huitzilopochli, if you slap my chest again…

He trails off, only shaking his fist at the gregarious anachronism as he sits back down on the Comfy Lad 3000-X, and turns the vibrate up to medium this time. Within seconds, he’s back to snoring again.

Big John Pepper: Classic Rip.

He grins and clears his throat. With a butter baritone, Big John sings Rip a lullaby.

The only lullaby he knows:

Big John Pepper: (singing) I don’t listen all that much… there’s just so many things… nothing’s fine I’m torn… I’m all out of faith… this is how I feel…

We cut elsewhere.

The cameras return to ringside inside the sold-out José Miguel Agrelot Coliseum and the instant the Puerto Rican crowd sees itself splashed across the PRIMEView, the building erupts.

A sweeping shot catches a sea of faces, raised arms, flags and signs, not an empty seat in sight, as we settle back in on the desk.

Nick Stuart: We’re back at ringside and coming up next, Richard, we’ve got something… unorthodox.

Richard Parker: That’s one way to put it, Nick. Cancer Jiles is back, for better or worse, and that’s not the surprise. The surprise is who’s waiting for him.

Nick Stuart: Because Alexei Ruslan, manager of Ivan Stanislav, has been booked for singles competition. People have been speculating all day. Was it a rumored altercation with Lindsay Troy at Colossus? Was it unpaid fines? Was it simply because Alexei Ruslan is, in every measurable way, a walking jerk?

Richard Parker: Nick, even for you, that’s a little… prejudiced.

Nick Stuart: Would you say I’m wrong?

Richard opens his mouth, thinks better of it and the moment is taken by Vince Howard, standing center-ring.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is scheduled for ONLY. ONE. FALL!!!!

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAHHHHH just ONE fall this time!

Richard Parker: (Groan from hell).

Vince Howard: Introducing first… representing The Red Army… and accompanied by IVAN STANISLAV….

The lights plunge into deep scarlet.

The opening swell of the “Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir rolls through the sound system and the crowd answers it with a wall of boos.

Vince Howard: Hailing from MOSCOW, RUSSIA… standing six-feet-one-inch tall… weighing two-hundred-pounds… ALEXXXEEEIII… RUUUUSLAAAAAAN!

Pyro detonates in disciplined columns at the entranceway, sparks and fire framing the stage in red.

Nick Stuart: This is a big moment, Richard. Alexei Ruslan doesn’t do this. He’s always the man behind the man.

Richard Parker: And no one can deny he’s dangerous. Especially with that man beside him.

The curtain parts.

First comes Ivan Stanislav, a mountain in ring gear, pushing through the lingering smoke like it has the sense to get out of his way. He throws his arms wide, bellowing into the hatred as if the boos are oxygen.

Then Alexei Ruslan steps out.

Brown overcoat. Brown trousers. Combat boots. Yellow short-sleeved dress shirt under rigid red suspenders, red tie knifed straight down the center. Officer’s cap set square.

Ivan performs for the crowd.

Ruslan does not.

He lifts one arm, not to rally them, but as if acknowledging that the atmosphere has been properly hostile. Then, Alexei falls beside the Bear and begins the march down the ramp.

They reach ringside, with Ivan stepping onto the apron and over the top rope with practiced ease as the anthem fades. Ruslan climbs the stairs and slides between the ropes. Vince Howard raises the microphone again, but Ivan is already there to snatch it away.

Ivan Stanislav: Nyet. Nyet. Nyet. I will not tolerate half-hearted introduction from second-rate ring announcer!

Nick Stuart: That is Hall of Famer Vince Howard, Ivan. He’s your peer!

He sweeps an arm across the crowd, then turns to face the hard camera.

Ivan Stanislav: Lindsay Troy wants to book Alexei in match? So be it. This man has been my brother in arms my entire life. From Afghanistan to this ring. This man has always been there for me. He has saved my life!

Ivan plants a massive hand on Ruslan’s shoulder.

Ivan Stanislav: And tonight you will see Cancer Jiles get put down like the joke he is.

A strange ripple runs through the crowd, a few cheers rising purely because they hate Cancer too.

Ivan sneers.

Ivan Stanislav: What Vince Howard failed to say is this: Podpolkovnik Alexei Ruslan! Lieutenant-Colonel! Former PCW World Champion. Two-time Manager of the Year. Proud member of the Red Army.

Ruslan almost looks embarrassed. Ivan’s voice rises into a bark.

Ivan Stanislav: Brother. Comrade. Friend. Let us hear it for Alexei! URRRAAAH!

The crowd gives him nothing but noise.

Ivan does not care.

He drops the microphone, and the two men step in close. Ivan grips Ruslan’s shoulder, speaking low in their mother tongue, brief and intimate, the kind of words you only share before violence.

Ruslan nods once. He removes his cap and hands it to Ivan. Then the overcoat. Then the red tie. Ivan takes them all without a word, holding them like regalia, while Alexei stands revealed in yellow shirt and red suspenders, boots planted, jaw set.

Two men, side by side. One a monument. One a blade.

The lights return to neutral as Ruslan rolls his shoulders once. He and Ivan step to the side, with Ivan tossing the microphone back to Howard. Together, they talk strategy.

Richard Parker: Well here we go… (grumble).

The lights slowly draw to a dim.

Smoke begins to billow at the top of the entrance ramp.

BLACK.

The temperature drops. The air chills. The mood changes.

Up on the Crumbotron a montage of superkicks that seemingly never ends begins to play. While the video unfolds, a spotlight shines down upon the fogged up entrance way.

The spotlight is, of course, in the shape of an egg.

Next, an invigorating, pulsating, reverberating, electric guitar raucously riffs its way throughout space and time.

Nick Stuart: Can it be? Is he really back?

Richard Parker: It’s going to be a long year, isn’t it?

Then, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, singer and songwriter of “I am the Cool” begins his serenade…

“I’m the one your mama warned you about,”
“When you see me, I will leave you no doubt.”
“I’m the coolest man that ever walked this earth,”
“I’ve been the coolest since the day of my birth…”

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!! BOOM-BOOM!!

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!

…………..BOOM!

“…I AM THE COOL!”

The smoke clears….

BOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Richard Parker: BOOO!

At the top of the ramp, with a Valkyrie on his arm, salt-white wrestling boots on his feet, electric-blue wrestling tights covering his ass, T-shades capable of blotting out ten suns on his face, and still the best Alfredo simmer in the business is none other than…

Nick Stuart: There he is, Rich! Cancer Jiles! I know I’ve said it a lot, but love him, HATE him, hope he suffers a miserable slow death, whatever the case may be, there is no denying the spectacle that follows The King of COOL, Cancer Jiles.

Nick isn’t wrong. It is a spectacle. The place is on their feet, showering Jiles with exponentially dubious adoration.

BOOOshitbagcrumbbumeggloserOOO!!!!!!!!!!

King COOL and Vickie share a kiss, hit a pose, and then separate for a moment so that Jiles can release a short burst of his poison mist into the air.

Richard Parker: I hate that stupid mist.

Nick Stuart: Has he ever blinded you before? I can’t remember.

Richard Parker: No.

Nick Stuart: First time for everything I suppose.

Richard Parker: Yeah, maybe you’ll get lucky later on tonight then.

PRIME’s returning IT couple cozily makes their way down to the ring, exchanging words with a few of the faithful along the way. Once they reach ringside Jiles passes off the T-shades to his favorite gal, gets a lovely smooch on the cheek for good luck, and then slides under the bottom rope.

Nick Stuart: ReVival 73 was the last time Cancer Jiles was inside that ring, Rich. On that night, as The Golden Ticket, in the Third Round of the Almasy Invitational, in the MAIN EVENT against Chandler Tsonda, Jiles was disqualified for a low blow.

Richard Parker: One of the best nights in PRIME’s history if you ask me.

Nick Stuart: Since prior to the tournament he put his career on the line and said he would retire if he did not win the whole thing and run the gauntlet as The Golden Ticket, well, it was all over. Now, he is back.

Richard Parker: Uninvited. Unwanted. Unappreciated. That’s how I view this comeback of his. I hope it falls flat just like most things he does.

Without hesitation or fear, Jiles snubs his competition and walks right up to his former MAIN EVENT teddy bear. He looks him up and down, raised T-shades and all, and of course, remains forever unimpressed.

Nick Stuart: Jiles and Stanislav! Round three!

The Russian Bear growls.

His intent is clear.

Murder.

However, Ashley Barlow is able to wiggle her way between the two adversaries, and a COOLer head prevails.

For now.

Richard Parker: We were seconds away from THE RED SCARE and I would have shit right here, Nick. Right here if it would have happened. Would have called the main event still, too. Hand of God.

Nick Stuart: As much as it pains me to say this, good thing it didn’t then.

Ha.

Barlow then tries to go over the rules with Jiles. It does not go well. Plus, King COOL is too busy chiding Alexei Ruslan to have his boots properly checked.

DING DING

Cancer Jiles remains leaning against his corner of the ring, looking in the direction of Alexei Ruslan, whose dukes are up and ready for a fight.

Nick Stuart: It’s almost like Jiles isn’t taking this match seriously.

Richard Parker: Of course the guy wouldn’t. Not only his first match back in a long time, but no doubt it’s also who he’s wrestling. However, the idiot better realize he’s on the straight-path to getting the good ol’ jobber entrance again if he doesn’t pull off the victory. There’s A LOT of pressure on Cancer to perform against a non-wrestler.

Nick Stuart: You’re really hoping he loses, don’t you?

Richard Parker: I have my gripes with everyone involved. But seeing Cancer squirm and whimper after a first Hard L back and then receive the jobber entrance? Don’t threaten me with a good time!

Nick Stuart: Duly noted.

Needless to say, as the announcers quibble back and forth, Jiles slides a couple of steps closer to the center of the ring. Alexei is standing there, again, dukes up and a serious complexion on his face. He looks like he came to fight and the C man came to run his mouth. Ruslan takes one moment to look down at ringside, seeing Ivan Stanislav standing there in support. Alexei gives the ever-so-slight nod while Stanislav remains deadpan and locked in.

Unfortunately for Ruslan, that millisecond glance over to his counterpart, and Jiles is ASAP on the attack!

Richard Parker: SIGH!

Nick Stuart: You said SIGH!?

Alexei sees Cancer coming, throws out a right strike, but it’s too late because The King of COOL ducks it and tackles Ruslan to the mat. Jiles starts unloading on the Russian with rights and lefts. Cancer pulls himself up, backtracks into the ropes and then lands an elbow all while looking at Ivan with a cocky ass grin, trying to rally the big man up.

Not working. Not yet, anyway. Jiles peels Ruslan off the mat, holds onto him and nails a suplex. Jiles still holds on, drags Alexei to his feet and with a look on his face almost suggesting this match is beneath him, does Jiles hoist Ruslan up for another suplex. This time, however, Cancer has Alexei high in the hair and holds him.

Holds him.

Holds him!

SLAM!

Delayed vertical suplex!

Nick Stuart: That’s a great way to get the blood flow going one way and immediately stun your opponent thereafter! I don’t care if you’re a twenty year wrestling vet or not, it’s bound to do damage.

Jiles slithers over and makes a pin, all while staring down Ivan who simply stares back. Ashley Barlow slides into position and makes the count.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: Ya. He wants this thing over with pronto. Jiles came to show off, but I think Alexei is going to give more than bargained for!

Surprised but not shocked, Jiles goes right back to work. He locks Alexei’s head into a sleeper hold and tries to stay down on the mat with him… but upon just ONE slam of the mat with Ivan’s tree trunk arms and Alexei is onto a knee.

Then a foot.

Then both feet!

Richard Parker: Like I said…

Nick Stuart: Look, Alexei isn’t a trained wrestler but it doesn’t take an idiot to know he’s not just going to lay down for this one. He’s got fight! I’m sure he’s had to defend himself a lot in Russia.

And right now, Ruslan is fighting. He fires an elbow into Cancer’s stomach. Another. Another. Another. Alexei breaks free! Alexei goes into the ropes-

KNEE TO THE CHEST, Jiles to Ruslan!

Alexei goes down like he’s been shot out of a cannon. Meanwhile on the other side of the ring, Vickie Hall jumps up and down TWICE until she sees Ivan Stanislav’s stone face remaining across the way. The Russian Bear leans on the apron, his forearms engulf nearly 30% of the mat, and while Ivan hasn’t even acknowledged Vickie, she stops celebrating for the fear of god struck into her.

Jiles is back on the attack, with boot after boot after boot into Alexei. The manager is trying to cover up. He’s dragging his old ass into the ropes as quickly as possible and Barlow is on it. The second Alexei gets in there, both he and Ivan shout for the referee to do something and she does. She starts the FIVE count and demands The Main Event back away entirely.

Jiles doesn’t want to, but Ivan swats his arms forward so Jiles kinda has to.

Nick Stuart: See, this is a smart play by Ruslan. Get into the ropes but also make sure it’s your side of the squared circle. With Ivan Stanislav right there, how much is Cancer Jiles really going to try?

Ruslan pulls himself up as Cancer backs into the middle of the ring. With additional approval from Stanislav (or at least Alexei feels like he got approval via the emotionless, serious stance Ivan remains in) does Ruslan shoot forward and this time he ducks a jab from Jiles.

Hard kick into the stomach by Alexei! It doubles Jiles over.

Richard Parker: Those have to be steel-toed boots! I can hear them connect to flesh from here!

Nick Staurt: First of all, you’re sticking up for Jiles? Second of all, I saw Ashley pat down both parties and go over the RULES exclusively with each man. She’s a pro. If they are “steel-toed”… well, I’d doubt that. They’re combat boots. It’s heavy artillery but that’s where it stops.

Richard Parker: First of all, I’d NEVER stick up for Jiles!

Nick Stuart: Case closed.

Meanwhile, Alexei remains stomping the piss outta Jiles as this time, it’s the former Universal Champion who’s trying to creep his way over to the ropes. It’s the opposite side of the ring, of course, because by no means would he be working his way towards Ivan Stanislav for safety. He’s not a RED Russian kinda guy.

He’s PRETTY PINK©.

Jiles is in the ropes and he immediately looks up at Barlow as if to ask why she isn’t demanding the stomping come to a complete halt ASAP like she did earlier.

Like Stuart said, Barlow’s a pro. She’s already telling Alexei to back away and she’s started the FIVE count.

Ruslan does move back, dukes still in the air even though Jiles remains on the mat quite a few feet away from him. As The Terminal One pulls himself up with use of the ropes, Alexei races in, arms up and ready to throw.

Drop toe hold by Jiles, hanging the Manager of the Year’s neck up on the second rope. Cancer takes a couple of steps back, then kicks the second rope into Alexei’s neck, choking him in the process.

Nick Stuart: I hate to say it, but that’s a smooth move from Jiles.

Richard Parker: I’m NOT giving praise, this is simply a color commentary statement because I am doing my JOB. Of course Jiles is going to know the ins and outs of the ring and work that to his advantage. Alexei is the brains. Alexei needs to use his head if he’s going to pull this one out and one look over at that idiot, it shouldn’t be hard!

Jiles kicks the ropes a second time as Alexei falls off them, holding onto his neck. It’s an opening that Cancer will clearly exploit as he leans down and plucks his opponent off the mat, whipping him into a modified powerslam to get Alexei in the center of the ring.

Jiles drops an elbow into Ruslan’s neck. Then he wraps his right forearm around Alexei’s neck and starts choking him in another sleeper attempt…

Alexei tries fighting out of it again, and again, he’s successful. The manager is on a knee, then a leg… then both. He fires a couple of elbows into Jiles’ chest before breaking free, hitting the ropes and looking for a clothesline.

No! Cancer ducks, grabs Ruslan as he was flying by and whips Alexei into a swinging neckbreaker!

Nick Stuart: If Ruslan could refine his motion a little… I loved the breakout from the sleeper. However, I didn’t love how recklessly he hit the ropes and went for that clothesline. He left his entire body exposed as he stumbled past Cancer when it didn’t connect.

Richard Parker: Hey, I’m the colour guy. Yes, I didn’t love it either. You can see Alexei isn’t an idiot in the ring, he’s holding himself rather well if I’d say so. But even a man like Jiles is going to make you pay for leaving yourself open.

Jiles is on one knee, using his other knee to drive straight into Alexei’s neck. Ruslan is trying to get into the ropes towards Stanislav…

When Alexei kicks Jiles’ legs out from under him, gets into the ropes and then falls out of the ring.

Stanislav is there, standing over his manager. Alexei puts his arms up as if to tell Ivan he’s okay and doesn’t need a hand. Ruslan slides right back to the ring but remains beside the ropes as Jiles locates his opponent and then goes racing in…

Ruslan with a low bridge as Cancer fumbles out of the ring and stands on the apron. Alexei shoots forward, into Ashley Barlow’s direction, blocking the ref’s view as the BIG man below finally removes his tree trunk forearms off the apron.

WHAM!

And slams them into Cancer Jiles’ knees!

Nick Stuart: Hey now!

Richard Parker: Hold on a second… YOU’RE sticking up for Jiles!?

Nick Stuart: Not a chance. I just want this match to happen one-on-one with no interference!

Richard Parker: That’s like saying you want Rob Williams to show up sober.

Jiles falls knee-first onto the apron as Ruslan finishes his “getting in the referee’s face” nonsense. Ivan goes back to the same position he was beforehand, forearms resting on the apron and staring directly into the ring, while his companion marches over and drags Cancer Jiles halfway into the ring, leaving the lower-half of the former Universal Champion hanging on the second rope.

SLAM!

Hard DDT!

Nick Stuart: We might have a cover! I think Jiles’ lights are out!

Alexei is trying to roll Cancer over…

…

…

…

HE DOES!

Vickie’s eyes go wide and Ivan remains in the exact same motionless pose!

Nick Stuart: COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Alexei looks up in the heavens, as if to question his communist god’s decision.

Richard Parker: Almost celebrated. ALMOST.

Despite the few seconds of questioning, Alexei is back to work. He’s kneeing Jiles in the side of the head, over and over again while they’re both on their knees. Ruslan tosses Jiles upright and shows off some significant power by Irish whipping Jiles chest-first into a corner.

Cancer hits and sticks. It’s a hard throw as Alexei comes racing in, dukes once again straight up.

WHAM!

Hard elbow smashes into the back of Jiles’ head. Ruslan throws a fury of punches, lefts and rights and forearms and there might even be a flash headbutt in there. The moves look a little shotty, choppy and definitely unorganized but, nonetheless, they hit their mark. It’s a sign of a fighter who used to fight, and may not be as 100% coordinated as they’d like. Chalk it up to age, inexperience and, typically, having to fight with his brain and not his muscle. Nevertheless, everything Alexei is hitting connects. He even stops and removes himself from the corner before Ashley Barlow gets to FOUR.

…

But Ruslan is right back in there.

WHAM!

The hardest running forearm blast yet. Cancer Jiles looks like a ragdoll!

The camera changes to outside the ring. First, a glance at Ivan Stanislav. Is he pleased? Is he feeling it? No clue. The guy literally remains in the same pose, as if he’s in this intense trance and the job NEEDS TO BE DONE before anything further can transpire. And then the other side. Vickie Hall. Is she stressed? Fuming? Concerned? In some strange and twisted way, she’s kinda just standing there, too. Although the look in her face is more of what could be described as dumbfounded.

Richard Parker: You know, I heard Vickie was FURIOUS with Cancer after he lost the FIST of DEFIANCE match at IMMORTALS.

Nick Stuart: (Sarcastic) You did? You found that out all by yourself?

Richard Parker: (Not catching on) Yep!

Alexei Ruslan drags Cancer Jiles to the center of the ring. To everyone’s surprise (except Ivan, you know what he’s doing), Alexei hoists Cancer in the air. He’s holding Jiles sideways and then drops him into a pendulum backbreaker.

Textbook performed!

Nick Stuart: We have a cover!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Alexei continues on the attack, throwing rights and lefts and lefts and rights while Jiles is ‘WTF overwhelmed’ and trying to get to his side of the ring. Alexei drags Cancer off the mat before The COOL can get into the ropes. Ruslan looks for a discus forearm smash but Jiles ducks, snatches Ashley Barlow and spins her around and then in one fluent motion, Jiles pokes Alexei in the eyes!

Barlow didn’t see shit.

And now Ivan is mad!

Stanislav BOOMS on the outside, slamming his arms against the apron and demanding Ashley call for the bell! However, Barlow was spun around, as previously mentioned. In fact, she’s now looking right at Ivan so she marches over to him and tells The Russian Bear to calm the hell down!

Cancer cackles. Check and mate.

Richard Parker: (Unimpressed) Here we go.

Another poke to the eyes.

Now a rake to the back.

Jiles smacks the shit outta the manager with an open hand bitch slap.

Then spits on Alexei’s combat boots.

With Ruslan reeling, Jiles is still all smiles as the white haired idiot bounces into the ropes and aims for Terminal Cancer.

WHA-

SWOOSH!

Nick Stuart: I don’t know if that was planned or not but Alexei collapsed to the ground the second that boot came shooting in!

By now, Ashley has told Ivan she needs to call the match and goes back to the action. It takes Jiles a moment to calibrate himself before he peels the fallen manager off the mat and delivers a German suplex into a bridge and a pin!

ONE!

TWO!

SHOULDER UP!

Jiles holds onto the waist. He’s got Alexei up again…

Another German! Another pin!

ONE!

TWO!

SHOULDER UP!

Jiles still doesn’t release Ruslan by the waist. He’s got the manager upright once more. This time he throws a RELEASE GERMAN-

AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!

The crowd is STUNNED! Totally shocked! Call it sheer luck but Alexei Ruslan LANDS ON HIS FEET.

Nick Stuart: Jiles, better look behind you!

Alexei has a second wind, as Cancer does just that. He spins around and sees Ruslan charging at him… BOOM, a hard clothesline follows! Alexei stomps the piss outta Cancer some more before pulling Jiles to a vertical base-

Double knee facebuster smash by Cancer!

Alexei shoots in the air, arms flailing in all directions before he lands on the mat. Jiles leans on the ropes and takes a minute to knock the pain outta his head. He looks down at Vickie… and then glances back at the man who’s seemingly given him too many problems. Cancer marches over, grabs Ruslan by the head and then drops the manager into an ugly looking brainbuster slam!

Nick Stuart: Ruslan’s head flooded like an accordion on that one!

Richard Parker: He’s shown ability. He just can’t sustain.

With Alexei seemingly DOA, Jiles cranks his neck to the side and figures it’s serious business. He’s setting up to deliver Terminal Cancer the second Alexei is able to rise…

Alexei on a knee.

Now two knees.

Now a foot.

Now both feet!

Nick Stuart: It’s time to strike!

Ivan Stanislav is on the apron so Ashley Barlow DEMANDS the big man get down! Cancer Jiles looks over, meanwhile this gives Alexei Ruslan the slightest opening to throw his entire body at Jiles. Alexei connects with Cancer and sends the former champion back. Now furiously digging into his right pocket, Alexei emerges with a collapsible baton.

He clicks it into position but this is right before Barlow brings her attention back to the center of the ring, so the crafty manager has the baton hidden behind his back…

Unfortunately for Alexei, he’s given too much time for Jiles to recover. Cancer springs forward and dropkicks Ruslan in the chest, the baton falling from his hands and completely out of the ring. Jiles with a hip toss, placing Alexei into the center of the squared circle.

Cancer drops an elbow against the Russian’s neck!

Nick Stuart: I will begrudgingly give Alexei all the credit in the world, he’s still trying to fight!

And fight, Alexei is. Ruslan is throwing so many wild haymakers, some of them are landing, some of them aren’t. It’s clearly a desperate, almost last-resort attempt to get the momentum back in his favor. Having enough of it, Cancer hooks his arm around his opponent and slings Alexei into the ropes… but it’s reversed! Jiles goes into the ropes instead and upon his return to the center of the ring, Alexei drops his shoulders and sends the former champion flying high, high, HIGHHHHHH into the air with a backdrop where Jiles lands right beside the ring ropes near his valet.

Cancer rolls out of the ring, into the arms of Vickie! At first, Hall remains reluctant to hug her man. However, she stares straight ahead and towards Ivan Stanislav. Then her face lights up with glee!

Vickie Hall: (Talking to Cancer Jiles with excitement!) That’s Ivon StanSilLovf! HI IVON!!!!111

Vickie starts jumping up and down with giggles and mischief, still with Jiles in her arms.

Vickie Hall: LUV U IVON! DYAAHAAHAA!!!!

Meanwhile as the cameras pan across…

Well, you guessed it. Ivan remains deadpan and serious as fuck. He is burning a hole through Jiles’ and Vickie’s temples.

Regardless, Cancer Jiles is helped back into the ring by his woman, as Alexei races towards him-

Nick Stuart: Hold on a second, how in the hell does Cancer Jiles have BRASS KNUCKLES!?

WHAM!

Except there is no WHAM.

Because it’s been mentioned a few times but Ashley Barlow is no idiot. She sees the brass knuckles and she grabs Cancer’s hand just before it was going to meet the crown of Alexei Ruslan. Barlow literally starts dragging the knuckles off Jiles’ fingers, while he looks at her all wide-eyed with a face suggesting “what the fuck are you doing!?”

The SECOND the knuckles are removed and Barlow goes to discard them, Alexei emerges with a little fun thing of his own.

A wire!

Richard Parker: I believe it’s some kind of piano wire! I saw Alexei take it from inside one of his suspenders during this whole moronic situation!

The wire is now wrapped around Jiles’ neck, while Ruslan remains crafty himself and places his other arm over the wire so when Ashley Barlow finally gets back to looking in close, she won’t be able to see shit!

Richard Parker: Choke him to DEATH!

Amidst the crowd screaming in all kinds of directions, we go to a replay of the events which just unfolded. Did Vickie slip Cancer Jiles the brass knuckles while they were hugging each other and she was going batshit banana bread for “Ivon”? Unsure. There’s no real angle that shows this is indeed the case. Meanwhile, a much more clear as day result: you can see Alexei Ruslan slowly taking the wire off the back of his right suspender.

In fairness, he was in the middle of the ring to begin with.

Richard Parker: Cancer’s face is going PURPLE!

Anyway, here we are. Middle of the ring. Cancer Jiles is being choked out! As Richard mentioned, his face is going purple… he barely has any room to breathe…

Jiles has one last shot to get onto his feet, which he does, and then he kicks his right leg back and connects with a low blow that Ashley couldn’t have seen!

Ivan BOOMS on the outside, as Cancer Jiles would love to capitalize but the man is back down on his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath. The wire no doubt took so much out of him.

From purple to pale, pale to ghost white, Cancer Jiles might be back to his OG complexion.

Nick Stuart: It’s anyone’s game!

Ruslan has to discard the wire before he tries to get back on his feet. However, Alexei is digging into his boot and seems to have removed… some type of small impact taser.

Vickie Hall HOPS onto the apron and goes insane! She’s screaming and yelling at Barlow about something but even she’s not in position to see what Alexei has hold of.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ring, Cancer Jiles stands upright. Nothing in his hands or on his body whatsoever.

Weaponless.

Alexei charges forward with the taser and the ref distracted! It’s the perfect mix for tomfoolery, or, better yet, a path to sweet ass victory.

SPPPPPPPEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Nick Stuart: Coolympian Yoljk!

All over Alexei’s face!

Richard Parker: Easy cheat. TOO easy!

The Russian drops the taser, as a shit eating grin crosses Cancer Jiles’ face. He bends down, snatches the taser and stares across at Ivan Stanislav with that typical Jiles demeanor.

Stanislav is now trying to pull himself up and onto the apron but he’s slow. Of course he’s not going to make it in time!

Cancer raises the taser in his hands. He’s going to tag Ruslan with it. He’s going to tag him, good. Forget the chest, or the neck, Jiles is going full Hangover movie on Alexei. In the face. IN THE FACE.

IN.

THE.

FAAAAAAACE!

ZAP-

FIZZZZzzzZZZzZZZZZzzzZZZ.

Ashley Barlow is there to snatch it out of Cancer’s hand!! At first, Jiles clearly isn’t pleased but as Ivan is now on the apron, Ashley has her hands full once again so she’s over there next! She’s in Stanislav’s face as Jiles moves onto Plan B.

Low blow to Alexei.

Couple steps back.

WHAP!

Terminal Cancer.

He falls on top of the manager and hooks both legs!

Barlow slides into the center of the ring while Ivan tries to move into it…

ONE.

TWO.

THREE!

DING DING DING

But Stanislav doesn’t make it in time! The three is counted and Cancer Jiles is already slithering his way out of the ring and towards his woman!

Vince Howard: The winner of the match… CANCER JILES!

Richard Parker: Vomit. All of this was vomit!

Nick Stuart: Well the crowd gets their wish. They just wanted one man to lose, so one man did.

Jiles puts an arm around Vickie, while looking back and snickering at Ivan Stanislav, who’s now down on a knee in the middle of the ring to check on Alexei. It’s clear Jiles is trying to get a rise out of the big man and it’s working, to some extent anyway.

Jiles is halfway up the ramp, continuing to stare back at them. Vickie, on the other hand, keeps her eyes and body working towards the exit. She doesn’t want to face Ivan’s wrath.

Richard Parker: I need to cry myself to sleep at night, knowing this idiot isn’t only back, but he won.

Nick Stuart: Alexei held his own. He wrestled pretty well until the end of the match where it all fell apart.

Richard Parker: Whatever.

ReVival goes to break.

The broadcast returns to ringside with a sweeping shot of the Jose Miguel Agrelot Coliseum in Puerto Rico. The crowd is still buzzing from the Alexei Ruslan vs. Cancer Jiles match. They’re loud in a restless way as the building prepares for the Main Event.

But as we cut to Nick and Richard, the two commentators look slightly off balance. Nick in particular, as he’s the one who has to speak first.

Nick Stuart: Folks, welcome back to ReVival 80! The first ReVival of the new year, and, well…

Nick looks down at his format and purses his lips.

Nick Stuart: We’re slated to start our main event, Bryan Dawkins challenging for the Intense title against Wade Elliott, but we have a problem.

Richard chimes in.

Richard Parker: Yeah. A problem that’s over seven feet tall and four hundred pounds.

Nick glances past the camera to the ring, then back.

Nick Stuart: It appears that since Ivan Stanislav was at ringside for the previous match… he’s just decided to stay.

We cut to the hard cam, where Ivan stands in the middle of the ring, and the restlessness in the building begins to grow. The Russian Bear stomps once, hard, like he’s trying to shake the canvas awake beneath him.

Then again.

His shoulders rise, his chest expands, and he roars down at ringside towards the timekeeper’s position where Vince Howard sits with a microphone and his notecards. Vince’s eyes go wide. Ivan points at him, jabbing the air with his finger.

Richard Parker: Looks like Ivan is trying to get Vince Howard to start the match?

Ivan paces to the ropes, then to the opposite side, then back again like a caged animal. He roars again, definitively at Vince.

Ivan Stanislav: CALL HIM DOWN!

Vince Howard doesn’t speak into his microphone. He shakes his head, quick and tight, and raises both hands in a helpless gesture that screams ‘I can’t do this until you leave.’

Nick Stuart: Vince Howard can’t even begin introductions with Ivan Stanislav doing this.

Richard Parker: You think Vince Howard wants to be the guy who says “Bryan Dawkins” while Ivan is standing in the ring like that? No chance.

Nick Stuart: Even if Bryan wants to have it out with Ivan, he can’t risk blowing a match against Wade Elliott. Not for a title.

Ivan’s face twists in disbelief, like the refusal is insulting in a way he cannot accept. He strides over to the ropes, glaring down at Vince, and when Vince shakes his head again, Ivan snaps. He steps over the top rope and drops to the floor with a seismic thud. He surges over to the timekeeper’s area while the fans boo loudly.

BOOOO!!!!

He closes the distance fast, looming over the Hall of Fame ring announcer. The crowd surges, phones up, catching every bellow from The Russian Bear. Vince rises halfway out of his chair, shrinking back from the table.

Ivan Stanislav: DO YOUR JOB!

Ivan slams his fist on the timekeeper’s table, flattening it. Richard and Nick both get up from their table and take a step back, speaking into their headsets.

Richard Parker: This is getting bad fast.

Three Enemigos jog down the ramp and round the ring with coordinated motion. They push themselves in front of Howard, creating space between him and Stanislav. Ivan roars again.

Ivan Stanislav: I WANT DAWKINS DOWN HERE NOW!

Nick Stuart: Stanislav didn’t explode earlier in the broadcast because he knew he’d be at ringside for Alexei’s match. And he just stayed!

The first three Enemigos hold their ground, still trying to keep the Russian Bear at bay. Ivan points over them, trying to get back to Vince, nearly pushing them over as they brace against him. Four more Enemigos sprint down, a second wave, faster and more urgent. The volume in the arena gets louder as they close around Stanislav, pushing him back away from the timekeeper’s position. Stanislav shoves one away, still glaring daggers at Howard.

Nick Stuart: There’s seven Enemigos down here now!

Ivan roars as they push him backward. Ivan palms the head of one Enemigo and shoves him to the floor, while PRIME’s Head of Security, Dametreyus, storms down the ramp with a face of stone and purpose like a hammer. He gets on the other side of Ivan and hollers at him. The Russian Bear turns, swarmed on both sides.

Dametreyus: Get your ass backstage, Stanislav! We’re done with this!

Dametreyus plants his feet and doesn’t give an inch. The Enemigos tighten their circle, bodies angled, hands up, trying to keep Ivan’s fury from spilling back toward Vince Howard.

Stanislav’s chest heaves. He leans down into Dametreyus’ space, roaring again, spittle flying, words scrambled between English and Russian. Dametreyus barks something back and points hard toward the entrance, commanding Ivan to move.

Then, the crowd volume shifts. Not boos. It’s a sudden pop, sharp and loud, as the camera snaps to the ramp.

The Queen has arrived.

She storms to the ring, jaw tight, eyes locked, moving with the kind of anger that makes people get out of the way.

Nick Stuart: Lindsay Troy is on her way down, and she’s not happy!

Richard Parker: She’s never happy when someone tries to hijack her show, Nick. Especially her main event!

Troy reaches ringside and doesn’t even hesitate. She barrels past the gathered Enemigos and Dam, right into the pocket of bodies. Ivan roars at her as his expression becomes more focused. He lifts his chin, as if his size can somehow win the argument.

It doesn’t. Not with Lindsay Troy. She barges right into his space while the camera moves in tight.

Lindsay Troy: This temper tantrum’s gone on long enough. Get backstage. Now.

Ivan’s eyes flare as he points up towards the entrance.

Ivan Stanislav: Get this match started. Call that vermin, Dawkins, out now!

Lindsay bares her teeth.

Lindsay Troy: Not happening, and you know it. Now get back there and don’t make me tell you a third time.

Ivan gestures broadly with his arms, furious.

Ivan Stanislav: It will be quick. I promise you, Wade will certainly keep his belt when I am done with him!

Nick Stuart: Ivan is asking for a public execution.

Richard Parker: He’s offering her a favor, Nick. That is the crazy part. He thinks this is reasonable. Call down Dawkins, let Ivan maul him, then Wade gets the win. Hmm… come to think of it, it might be genius.

Lindsay Troy shakes her head once, slow and absolute.

Lindsay Troy: No.

She doesn’t raise her voice. She doesn’t need to.

Lindsay Troy: You don’t call shots on my show. You don’t threaten my staff. You don’t menace my ring announcer. And you don’t hold my main event hostage because the Red Army’s in disarray and that’s got you up in your feelings.

Ivan takes a step forward, furious, but the Enemigos immediately shift with him. Bodies tighten. Dam plants his back foot, ready.

Troy doesn’t flinch. Not once.

Richard Parker: Isn’t it something with a Bear, you want to stand your ground? Or is it urinate and lay down in it, I can’t remember…

Nick Stuart: Shut up, Richard.

Ivan snarls, still towering down at Troy, but she looks up at him with the same expression she gives anyone who would try to strong-arm her. Flat, disgusted, and done with it. The Queen closes the gap, lifting on her toes so she’s as close to nose to nose as Ivan as she can be. Dam pushes the camera away. What Lindsay says next is low and private.

Ivan’s face tightens.

For the first time, there’s hesitation on Ivan’s part, and calculation. His jaw works. His eyes flick briefly over at Howard, standing and pale, then back to the ramp, then back to Troy. The crowd senses it, and the noise builds again.

Richard Parker: Look at his face.

Nick Stuart: Whatever The Queen said, he at least listened.

Ivan leans down, growling something back in a voice too low to be heard. Troy doesn’t respond with words. She just stares at him, daring him to make her repeat herself.

A long beat passes.

Then Ivan huffs an angry, frustrated breath. The Enemigos move with him immediately, swarming, pushing, guiding, containing, escorting him away from ringside. Dametreyus stays close, making sure Ivan doesn’t have second thoughts, and Lindsay follows behind them for a few steps, eyes locked on Stanislav until she’s certain he’s actually moving.

The crowd loves it.

They roar as Ivan is forced step by step up the ramp, still raging, turning to walk backwards for a moment, staring at Troy as he retreats like he wants her to know this is not finished.

Nick Stuart: Lindsay Troy just restored order here, but Ivan Stanislav is not leaving happy.

Richard Parker: He never leaves happy, Nick. He also never forgets. That might be worse.

Ivan finally disappears behind the curtain, swallowed by the tunnel and the swarm of masks.

The tension at ringside breaks all at once. Vince Howard exhales like he’s been holding his breath for two minutes straight, one hand still braced on the timekeeper’s table. Officials rush to reset, checking cables, straightening monitors, making sure the area is stable again.

Lindsay Troy turns back immediately and strides to the timekeeper’s position. Her anger doesn’t leave her face, but it shifts, redirected, protective. She leans in toward Vince, says something quick that the camera doesn’t catch, and he nods, still pale, but steady enough to sit back down.

Troy gives him one last look, a silent confirmation, then turns and heads back up the ramp, following the others backstage.

The Intense Title match can finally begin.

The ring remains empty, the echoes of Ivan Stanislav’s earlier protest still hanging in the air like unfinished business. Officials have cleared the area, but the tension hasn’t gone anywhere.

Then—

WOO HOO

Blur’s “Song 2” hits hard and fast, the opening riff cutting through the arena without warning.

The reaction is immediate.

Nick Stuart: Now that’s a theme we haven’t heard in a very long time!

The camera snaps to the entrance as Bryan Dawkins steps through the curtain.

No Red Army fatigues.

No borrowed colors.

No symbols that don’t belong to him.

He’s dressed in white wrestling tights, accented with orange and teal floral patterns, pineapple skulls catching the light as he moves. White boots. White wrist tape. Clean. Intentional. Unmistakably him. The crimson-and-gold sunglasses are gone, replaced by white frames with orange and teal lenses, a not-so-subtle nod to the past.

Dawkins stops at the top of the ramp.

Not to pose.

Not to play it up.

Just long enough to take one steady breath as the crowd swells—cheers rising with recognition more than spectacle. This isn’t a triumphant return. It’s a reclamation.

Richard Parker: No Red Army colors. No backup. No Ivan Stanislav. And no chance against Wade Elliott! Ha!

Dawkins nods once to himself and starts down the ramp.

He slaps a few outstretched hands along the way, casual, natural—no rush, no hesitation. His expression stays focused. Calm. He understands exactly what kind of match this is going to be, and who’s waiting on the other side of it.

At ringside, he reaches up and removes the sunglasses, tossing them into the crowd before sliding under the bottom rope.

He rises to his feet, pacing once around the ring, then climbs the nearest turnbuckle.

Instead of a raised fist, Dawkins flashes the shaka, thumb and pinky extended toward the crowd.

Not cocky.

Not playful.

Just familiar.

The reaction spikes again.

Nick Stuart: That’s a sight for sore eyes!

Dawkins hops down, rolling his shoulders, shaking out his arms. The music fades, leaving only the noise of the crowd and the quiet certainty in his posture.

No army.

No ideology.

No one standing behind him.

But somewhere backstage, Ivan Stanislav is watching.

Dawkins backs into his corner and rests his arms on the ropes, eyes fixed on the entranceway now.

Richard Parker: Dawkins may look like his old self—but you know, Nick…I never really liked Dawkins.

The camera lingers on Dawkins’ face—focused, grounded, unflinching.

Nick Stuart: (sighing) …that hasn’t changed in eighteen years.

The past has been shed.

The work is still ahead.

And Wade Elliott is about to walk through that curtain.

Southern twang, and a steady drum. The crowd begins to rise as the music picks up The PRIME*View snaps to life with an aerial view, following a large, black pickup barreling down a dirt road, throwing up a cloud of dust in its wake.

The entrance strobes as “Step Up (I’m On It) by Maylene and the Sons of Disaster wails away, the camera panning to the front of the pickup, zooming in close on an Alabama license plate, and revealing just two words:

BAD DOG

“Too long, and too little,
Tell me when you gonna bring it on.
Small fights, and big stages,
Never terrified enough to run.”

Vince Howard: From Pine Ridge, Alabama!!

A big frame in a wide-brimmed drifter’s hat hides in the strobe lights, that hat tilted down a touch, the fans bellowing in the arena.

Vince Howard: Standing six feet! Four inches tall! Weighing in at two-hundred and fifty-four pounds!

The smoke starts settling, the lights start trailing.

Vince Howard: HE IS! THE CURRENT PRIME INTENSE CHAMPION!!

The chorus hits, and the Son of a Bitch himself strolls out to the top of the ramp, one fist in the air holding up the Intense Championship.

Vince Howard: THE BAD DOG!!!!! WADE!!! ELLLIOTTTT!!!!!

RUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

The Blue Collar Brawler takes it in for a moment before making his way to the ring dragging the Intense title with him, the arena going absolutely ape-shit for the Southern Sparkplug’s arrival. Meanwhile, the music rises as Wade climbs the far turnbuckle. He removes his hat, holding it high in the air as the chorus hits heavy.

“ALLLL LIIIINED UP AND BUILT FOR PRESSURE!
(STEP UP! I’M ON IT!)
SAAYY YOOOUUUR PEACE LIKE IT’S THE END!!
(STAND BACK! WE’RE MOVIN’!!)”

He drops to the floor, tossing his hat ringside. Next to go is his gray t-shirt, revealing the tattoo of Angus the Bluetick Hound on his left pec. The music trails, and he takes place in his corner.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Dawkins is out here for the first time in a long time, missing the entire Red Army support system.

Richard Parker: It’s an INTENSE TITLE MATCH! THAT WAS THE DUMBEST MOVE DAWKINS COULD MAKE!

The bad dog takes it slow, he steps towards the center of the ring deliberately. Dawkins begins to pace to Wade’s left. The fifty-two year old Intense champion tries to keep up, but only momentarily. He slams a solid right hand into Dawkins’ face. The Purveyor of Pineapples takes the shot and tries to slide for Wade’s leg. Wade manages to one-legged hop his way to the ropes, but this is an Intense Title match and rope breaks are very non-existant. Dawkins tries to push the single-leg takedown through the ropes but Wade manages to blast Dawkins in the kidney with a big left hand.

Richard Parker: Right now Alexei could be hitting him with a stun baton, or handcuffing him to the ropes, or swatting him like a fly. Instead Dawkins chose the almighty dollar. Capitalist pig.

Nick Stuart: Are you gaslighting all of us…?

Richard Parker: I would never.

Dawkins grits through with the single leg and manages to whip Wade to the canvas with a vicious dragonscrew legwhip. Wade spins and rolls to his feet, he adjusts a kneepad under his jeans and springs forward with a slight limp. Dawkins is locked in on a weakness and dives in looking for another single leg. This time Wade manages to hide the leg back, but the force causes the knee to shift and Dawkins is able to stay low and place his head on the outside of Wade’s thigh.

Nick Stuart: Wade is in a tough spot here.

Richard Parker: Dawkins with a very ‘tick’ like offense. Just hanging onto Wade Elliot like he hung onto The Red Army. CAPITALIST PIG!

Dawkins manages to slide a leg behind Wade, and turn him over with a whipping judo-throw. Wade smashes into the canvas and in one motion rolls to his feet, hits the ropes and comes back with a wicked lariat that surprises Dawkins. Bruh’s turned inside out and Wade is on the prowl.

Nick Stuart: SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY FROM WADE!

Richard Parker: Ivan taught Wade that.

Nick Stuart: You think I’m an actual idiot don’t you?

Richard Parker: Not you, them.

Nick Stuart: Dammit…

Wade stomps in at Dawkins, rather literally. Two big boots to Dawkins’ prone body sends him scurrying towards the ropes. Wade’s absolutely had enough and pounces on Dawkins with another boot, he reaches down and drags Dawkins to his feet by the back of his pants. The former flyin’ hawaiian obliges and eats a stiff left jab from Wade as he gets there. Wade sends another jab, then another. He drives Dawkins back to the ropes and sends him careening off and to the opposite side. Wade rushes forward looking to end Dawkins’ night early with a second lariat, but bruh, the Bruh ducks under. Wade catches air, he rotates, but Dawkins is a step ahead of the fifty-two year old Intense Champion.

Nick Stuart: Ouch.

Dawkins shoots for that single leg takedown again and manages to hit a second dragonscrew leg whip. This time Wade doesn’t get the chance to roll back to his feet. Dawkins lands himself between Wade’s legs and starts looking for some ground and pound. Wade is quick to coverup, he tries to kick at Dawkins, but Bryan intwines his left leg with Wade’s right leg. Wade tries to rotate to his hip but Dawkins shoves his weight onto Wade’s chest. He twists the entwined leg underneath him and grabs Wade’s free left leg. Wade tries to rotate and this time Dawkins goes with him, attempting to lock in a knee bar.

Richard Parker: He calls this the big money clutch. He told me.

Nick Stuart: No he doesn’t. That’s a stupid name.

Richard Parker: That’s what I told him.

Wade’s face turns to absolute anguish as his left knee hyperextends, luckily for the bad dog he’s not in the middle of the ring. Unluckily for the bad dog, simply getting to the ropes doesn’t guarantee safety. He reaches out and grabs the ropes and pulls as hard as he can. Dawkins and Wade both slide across the ring, Dawkins manages to lock his legs underneath Wade and pulls back again as hard as he can. Wade lets out a roar, but manages to yank himself and Dawkins out of the ring and to the arena floor.

Nick Stuart: That leg bar was dangerous! Wade was in big trouble!

Richard Parker: Big money clutch.

Nick Stuart: I hate you.

The two crash to the padded floor, Wade goes first and Dawkins comes after. Wade uses the fall as a lever to send Dawkins careening and he smashes into the canvas back first. Wade reaches down clutching at his knee, he grimaces in pain and rolls around on the floor.

Nick Stuart: I think Dawkins is out…

Richard Parker: Oh… I think you’re right.

Nick Stuart: And I don’t think Wade is in any shape to do anything about it.

Wade drags himself across the floor on his hands and knees while Dawkins lays on the mat spread eagle. Wade slowly drags himself up using the steps, on the screen you can see an instant replay that shows the back of Dawkins’ head bouncing off the mat.

Richard Parker: BONK!

Nick Stuart: Big blow to the head on Dawkins, he’s seeing stars for sure.

Richard Parker: He left the Red Army and their socialized healthcare behind. He’s seeing dollar signs.

Dawkins finally begins to move, as Wade crawls up the steps and tries to put weight on his left knee. It’s touch and go for a second, it begins to wobble, but Wade punches himself in the side of the knee a few times and gets some adrenaline going. He limps across the aisle to Dawkins, who is groggily pulling himself up the barricade. Wade reaches down and smashes Dawkins’ face off the PRIME logo and drags him to the apron. Another smashing of Dawkins’ head, this time off of the apron.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins is out on his feet.

Richard Parker: Good. That’s what he deserves for breaking Ivan’s heart like that.

Wade tries to whip Dawkins into the steel steps, but his leg gives out and he falls to the padded floor. Luckily for him, Dawkins just collapses into his own arms on the edge of the apron. Wade shakes his head as he gingerly gets to his feet. On his way up, he had apparently decided the padding above the concrete was overrated and he should just remove that. So he did. Wade throws the padding half-hazardly across the outside and pulls Dawkins over to the revealed floor.

Nick Stuart: Oh no.

Richard Parker: YES! SPLAT THE PINEAPPLE! OPEN HIM UP! SHATTER HIM!

Wade needs this match over now, his knee is held together with twine and bubblegum on a good day, and today isn’t very good. He pulls Dawkins over above the concrete and starts to lift him.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins is up!

Richard Parker: SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

Wade wobbles, it’s only for a moment but Dawkins pounces. He smashes Wade with a right hand across the face, then another, then another and Wade stumbles back into the apron. Dawkins lands on his feet, and is still holding his head. He yanks Wade over to the concrete and yanks him over for a snap suplex. Wade’s back smashes the concrete, and his legs smash off as well.

Nick Stuart: OH!

Richard Parker: NO! NO!

Dawkins flips all the way over with Wade and tries for a quick guillotine, but Wade is having none of it and drops to his knees. The Bruh is on him in an instance and locks in the D’Arce choke. Wade begins to flail, trying to roll, but Dawkins holds firm as Wade scrambles and kicks. Finally the kicking stops and Dawkins lets the choke go, and rolls Wade over on the concrete floor and falls on top of him. Elvis, his first appearance of this match comes over and falls to the padded part of the floor counting.

Richard Parker: NO!

ONE!

TWO!

….

………

…………

……………..

THREE!

Nick Stuart: DAWKINS DID IT! DAWKINS DID IT!

Richard Parker: NO! THIS IS A TRAVESTY! HOW COULD THAT PINEAPPLE LOVING IDIOT! THAT RED ARMY LEAVING MORON DO THIS? HOW?

Nick Stuart: HE CHOKED OUT WADE ELLIOT!

Vince Howard: Your winner by pinfall, and NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW INTENSE CHAMPION…

Dawkins has slowly gotten to his feet and Nixon hands him the Intense Championship. Dawkins clutches the belt and his skull with equal concern as Nixon raises the belt hand.

Vince Howard: THE BRUH! BRYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN DAAAAAAAAAAAAWKINS!

RUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH~!

Dawkins drops to his knees while medical personnel comes to check on Wade. Bryan points towards the ring and gestures to Nixon who helps him over, Dawkins rolls in and falls to his knees in the center of the ring. He raises the silver championship above his head.

RUAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH~!

Dawkins looks up to the sky and smiles, and then he notices the shadow at the top of the ramp.

Richard Parker: KILL HIM IVAN! GET HIM! MURDER HIM!

The camera focuses on Ivan, grimacing into the camera and back at Dawkins. Enemigos swarm Ivan, it’s not like they could stop him if he wanted to kill Bryan Dawkins, but at least it would buy Dawkins time.

Nick Stuart: Get him out of here!

Ivan points, and you can hear the laugh echo through the building.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAA-HAA-HAA!

The scene shifts back to Dawkins, shaking his head, he gets to his feet and holds his belt out towards Ivan in defiance, slapping the belt and shouting ‘I DID THIS!’ Ivan nods and the scene fades with Ivan walking away, one more laugh ringing through the building as Dawkins exits the ring.

DYAA-

HAA-

HAA!

Vengeance fulfilled. The current longest winning streak in PRIME. A new Intense Champion. Everything is coming up Bryan Dawkins. And while the show ending chyron for ReVival 80 has been shown, while the show had faded to black…

Suddenly…

I’m the one your mama warned you about

When you see me, I will leave you no doubt

I’m the coolest man that ever walked this earth

I’ve been the coolest since the day of my birth

I am the cool

Screamin’ Jay.

Insert. The background track.

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Oh yeah. That’s it.

That’s the stuff.

For a second time, The COOLYmpian, The Manhunter, The Night Two Main Event, Hall of Famer, Always And Forever The Hardest Working Man In PRIME (top three and he was RETIRED for months), The Greek God of COOL, Cancer Jiles, bestows the gift of his presence upon the masses. How fulfilling this day is; on the day Puerto Rico is granted statehood, it will still fall short of this as this land’s high water mark. Eat your heart out.

Pucker.

Kiss.

Sure, the former Universal Champion had wrestled earlier in the evening. Does that stop him from coming out, fresh as can be, lavished in an electric PRIME blue track suit hot off the press (steamed, no less), his platinum blonde hair perfectly in place, T-Shades right on point? No. No it doesn’t. Like a vampire, he drinks in their adulation, but like a goddamn Count Dracula, his expression is for them to consider and figure out. Is he angry? Exhausted? Famished? Is he elated upon the news of Bobby Dean and his cyber exploits? No…not THOSE cyber exploits…look, what happened on The USS Bandit in international waters stays on The USS Bandit in international waters.

And Avalon said the ship wasn’t all that bad.

Ha.

The return of Jiles is a momentous occasion, and as he stalks his way down the ramp, scuffing away any dirt that might’ve befalled his salt shoes, he produces a microphone from his pocket. True main eventers never leave home without being prepared. The heel of his hand smashes against the receiver as he ascends the ring steps, stepping into the ring, taking the center stage.

A lazy look to the entrance. A simple upturned palm.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

BOOOOOOOOOOOOM

POOOOWPOOOOOWPOOOOOOOOOOOOW

CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSHAH

SCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL

An entire goddamn rolodex of pyro ignites. Give The Poors the cheap thrills.

Always thinking of the little people.

If we’re to wait until the smoke clears, we’re going to be here for a damn age. And Cancer Jiles, as prone to milking the prostate of limelight for all it is worth as he may be, tonight, he doesn’t have that much time. Instead, it’s time to get right to business.

Cancer Jiles: San Juan, stay where you are, we aren’t done yet. No. No. No. In fact, seeing how tonight has been a night of sticky celebrations and long awaited returns, and since I know a certain someone is still backstage shaking in his straps, I would like to celebrate one more thing if we could. Just one.

The King of COOL flexes an index finger for all to see.

Cancer Jiles: I would like to celebrate Brandon motherfucking Crumblood.

He stands there. He taps the toe of salt to the canvas. He checks the watch that isn’t on his wrist, but does so with immense gusto. The fiddle he’s playing, nobody in the world of PRIME knows how to pluck its strings. He will come.

He has to.

The lights go out.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE

LET THE GALAXY BURN

See?

Never in doubt.

When light returns, it is in the form of billowing flame, deep with a blue infused reddish hue, filling the PRIMEView and the ReVival staging. And as Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH surges through the audio system, a spotlight focuses central at the height of the ramp. Brandon Youngblood. Black combat short. Red wrestling shoes. Diamond RISE white tee, available at the PRIMEporium. His expression is oddly stoic as he stands at the top of the ramp. Then, he begins his descent down the entrance, the spotlight following him as he does so. Nearly halfway down the ramp, a volley of explosive pyrotechnics deafens.

No bravado, just patience. Up the ring steps he makes his way, all before stopping on the ring apron. His hands clasp across the top rope, his eyes remaining trained on The COOLympian. Four years. My, how the time flies.

The Original Rivalry That Launched A ReVival.

The Rivalry That Launched A Renaissance In Professional Wrestling.

Name it.

Drink it in.

And after so long…finally…

Again.

Try to keep up, kids.

The music fades. Youngblood steps between the ropes.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Oh…they are ready for this!

The Diamond stands near the ropes, all while Jiles takes his measure. If he is going to offer an emotion, now would be the time. He doesn’t. This isn’t a charity. Instead, he draws the microphone close.

Cancer Jiles: Well, well, well. Lookie here, if it isn’t the Last Diamond himself? Been a while, hasn’t it, Brandon? What, was it like a week ago you stopped by to say hello during my match at COOLYMPIANS?

The Last Diamond nods, a nice, happy, fulfilled smile covering his face.

Cancer Jiles: Good. Now, I was wondering, was the reason because you missed me so or because you were upset I was too busy frying chicken to answer your challenge at Colossus? Oh, and to be clear, even if I wasn’t it still would have been a no.

Jiles winks, not that anyone on the outside would notice. The Last Diamond responds in kind by making a 6 to 12 jerking motion at the wrist.

Cancer Jiles: However, I want you to know that I’ve had a change of heart in regard to the matter. I want you to know, Brandon, that I’ve decided to accept your offer. Yes, I will try to scale the Tower of Babel for a third time, and pour as much salt into your open wounds as humanly possible.

The intensity picks up.

It’s now nearing infinity.

Cancer Jiles: But it won’t be almost a year from now at COOLOSSUS.

The crowd swoons.

Could he mean…

TONIGHT?

Cancer Jiles: No, it will be where it all began for you and me. That’s right, Crumblood. I’m going to take your pelt at Culture Shock, you crumb.

Explosive noises.

Cancer Jiles: What say you? I hope you’r–

The reason Jiles stops short is because his nemesis has removed his T-shirt, revealing the top half of his singlet. The crowd instantly hits a fever pitch. Youngblood tosses the shirt at Jiles. It hits the King of COOL in the face and hangs from his T-shades for a second or two before falling to the mat.

Next, down go the straps.

There goes the roof.

And then…

At the very crest of it all.

Brandon Youngblood: No.

Mic. Drop.

The shirt did nothing. Everything else, it did nothing. But just that? Just that bit? The turning of his back? The stepping through the ropes and then the drop to the mat? After all that? After EVERYTHING?

No.

Just…no?

The rage seething from The COOLympian comes with smoke. Pristine white. Non-carnogenic (been done so long we don’t count the days anymore, ha). Oh no. Oh not this absolute shit eating prick.

The Manhunter’s stride has purpose. Each footfall carries with it the weight of all of the injustices this disgusting baldheaded so-called diamond has visited upon him. For The Almasy. For The Golden Ticket. For Bobby Dean, beautiful sweet Bobby Dean. For Co-BYGAWD-caine and FURST BLUUD. For letting Philly A be the first one to beat him and take the Universal Title…which meant he just had to be put in a wheelchair. Cecilworth Farthington is Universal Champion BECAUSE of this asshole!

If he’d have just been a good little Crumblood all those years ago–

This is going to get violent.

This is going to the cleaners.

This is…

Enemigos?

Big Dam?

So much security?

Before he can even DO anything?

And then…

Then…

That’s when Youngblood has the nerve to turn.

To face him.

To look right through those lenses.

And he flashes him a grin.

Jiles can strike them down. He can strike them all down. But even a COOLympian only has so much time. And unfortunately for him.

FADE

Oh no. Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare!

TO

CRUMBLOOD!

GET BACK HERE!

NOW!

BLACK