ReVival 81
A cloudy day in Monterrey.
Have no fear, PRIME is here!
The ReVival continues into 2026 on the beginning leg of its first tour through Mexico after returning for the new year in Puerto Rico. The path to Estadio Azteca and Culture Shock brings us to Arena Monterrey. The chyron at the lower right of the screen indicates that the following occurred âEarlier In The Day.â Fading in, we find ourselves at the arena loading dock, the camera lens trained on the arrival of Brandon Youngblood. A voice over from Nick Stuart can be heard.
Nick Stuart: Folks, we are here, live on the ACE NETWORK for ReVival 81. What was sure to be an intriguing foray into Mexico got off to an auspicious start to say the least.
Dressed in black combat shorts, red wrestling shoes, and RISE shirt, The Diamond is stoic as he approaches. There is no bag, as he is not booked to wrestle in the evening. His gaze locks with the camera, and then nods with acknowledgement as Angelica Brooks comes into focus, her designer heels in place, waiting. As Youngblood gets closer to her, she checks the cameraman, an errant point from her and then a nod from the camera indicating the pair are simpatico. Her head turns to The Diamond.
Angelica Brooks: You good with a walk and talk, Brandon?
Youngblood nods in the affirmative. The pair are now side by side, and the cameraman is trailing alongside.
Angelica Brooks: AlrightâŠin threeâŠtwoâŠBrandon, you arenât scheduled to compete tonight, but you are here. Are you here to focus your attention on anything in particular, especially in light of pointedly denying Cancer Jiles challenge to you at the end of ReVival 80?
Brandon Youngblood: Here for the show. Thinking on whatâs next. Thatâs all.
Angelica Brooks: But not to belabor the pointâŠ
The two continue through, their path taking them past the production trucks.
Angelica Brooks: âŠbut you HAVE been the aggressor. You challenged him at Colossus. Many believe you played a crucial role in Jiles losing in his challenge for the FIST of DEFIANCE against Henry Keyes. Itâs clear thatâ
Brandon Youngblood: He had his shot. It came and went. Thatâs not on me. Thatâs onâ
?Âż?: Ha.
Oh, did we say past the production trucks?
WellâŠnot all the way, because if we had, the obscuring of the oncoming intruder (not Intruder) wouldnât have been an issue. The voice should be a dead give away. We, however, are going to not address that for a few moments.
What, with a metal toolbox being chest passed to perfection into the face of the turning Brandon Youngblood. Not enough time to get the hands up in defense. Itâs all metal on skin and bone.
John Chaney, eat your heart out.
The blow drops Youngblood to his knees, hands splaying out across the concrete. The culprit stands in electric PRIME blue. Tracksuit not available. Itâs custom. Same with the shades. Like you could hope to pull them off. Hair on lock. Cancer. Jiles.
And he would stay in place, if that ribcage wasnât so vulnerable.
2024. Elliott lines up. 37-6. Patrick MaCrumbs has folded like cheap tissue paper.
A wondrous gallop.
Tip of the salt shoe catches just underneath the chest.
The Swifties are weeping. 40-6. Anything you do is in garbage time. Scab.
Angelica Brooks is startled at the suddenness of the carnage, getting out of Dodge as quickly as her heels will allow. The cameraman continues following the action. Blood is oozing from Youngbloodâs mouth.
Get in there. Nice and visceral.
Cancer Jiles: Ouch. That looks like it Hurts, Crumbo. You might want to take the night off and get it checked outâ lateral incisors donât just grow back on their own, you know?
Ha.
Cancer Jiles: Or was it still a baby tooth?
Before coming back to Jiles the camera finds Brandonâs fang. Sadly, for Brandonâs sake anyway, the tooth is not where it belongs, and is in fact located elsewhere on the ground. As such, The Last Diamond can only properly seethe from out of the good side of his mouth.
So no, heâs not having a stroke.
Cancer Jiles: Of course, if youâre feeling up to it, you could always wipe the blood from off your face and do something about it right now.
Cue up the Kill Bill siren, which in this case equates to the fast encroaching sound of Lady Troyâs high heels hastily click-clacking against the ground.
Cancer Jiles: And since I still owe you one, well, letâs just say the laughing gas is on the house.
Ha.
Seconds pass.
Tensions continue to rise faster than a teenage erection.
ThenâŠ
A PRIMEal roar. Sorry. Had to. Youngblood launches and grabs hold of Jiles, grabbing him by the face and head and driving him backward with powerful strides. Like pushing through tackling dummies. The rush forces the pair crunching into the body of a production trailer.
Face to face. Youngbloodâs hands driving Jiles head. The T-Shades remain, somehow. Blood spurts from the maw of The Diamond.
This could get ugly.
Wait, it already is.
Blood and spittle, flying across the tracksuit.
And YoungbloodâŠ
Smiles.
And.
Laughs.
Jiles, for his part, tries to make a move. Tries to throw a knee to the pills. Each attempt is met with more strain right on the neck.
And.
More.
Laughter.
Crimson sprinkler. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting.
How long does it go on?
Until an absolute unit of Enemigos come rushing in, working as best as they can to pry the two apart. Itâs not until Big Dam shows up that true progress is made. The tidal wave pushes Youngblood backward, more and more filling the space, with Dam doing his best to direct traffic. Over the commotion, Brandonâs laughter grows more and more maniacal. Jiles, offers a laugh of his own, before looking at his absolutely ruined electric PRIME blue. And his shoes.
The humanity.
He goes to take a step forward.
Only to be stopped.
Lady Troy has arrived.
The Queen of the Ring, The CEO, The Final Boss, The Grim Reaper of Wayward Careers, is not about to let him continue.
Lindsay Troy: Donât even think about it, Pizmo. Go inside and clean yourself off. Youâre disgusting.
Her glower could kill on sight.
Lindsay Troy: More so than usual.
The COOLympian steps aside, rubbing his hands across his pant legs. Have to make sure theyâre clean.
Cleaning Crumblood out of your hair takes awhile.
Ha.
Welcome, to ReVival 81.
Even though weâre still reeling from what happened to Brandon Youngblood, the show must go on and it goes on with explosions.
Pyro smashes the front of the screen in waves as ReVival 81 comes on the air. The camera focuses on the pyrotechnics for a hot minute, before we go to a panning shot of all the lovely signs in the crowd!
THE RED ARMY IS DOING GREAT*
I HOPE THE RED ARMY HAS NOTHING BUT PINEAPPLES IN THEIR CATERING
RED ARMY RAGTAG GROUP OF SKIRMISHERS
ĐлДĐșŃĐ”Đč Đ ŃŃĐ»Đ°Đœ Đ±ĐŸĐžŃŃŃ Đ°ĐœĐ°ĐœĐ°ŃĐŸĐČ! Đ Đ”ŃŃ Ń ĐœĐ”ĐłĐŸ ŃŃĐ°ŃĐžŃŃĐžĐșĐ° 0-1.
NO CHRISTIE NO PARTY
ELVIS NIXON NEEDS TO RETIRE
PONY GAMBLE IS A TRAITOR⊠OR IS IT PHONY GAMBLE?
CHANDLER TSONDA IS A TSQUARE
JILES ES UN INODORO
TOTAL KRANG SHIT, OR WE RIOT
YAKUZK
* â citation needed
Lots of American fans out here in Monterrey tonight, it would seem.
Nick Stuart: Welcome to ReVival 81! We are so happy youâre here with us, and our opening contest should be a great one! Newcomer Bobby Neptune is taking on Miguel, who is already in the ring.
Richard Parker: Yes, he sure is.
A sea of stars dot the big screen. Words fade in:
âLook Upâ
The words fade into space as âCosmic Roadâ hits.
Bobby Neptune strides onstage, his gray eyes take in the crowd with ethereal focus, he is both looking at them and beyond them at once.
BOOM
The screen shows a supernova as pyro shoots off behind Neptune who glides towards the ring with graceful purpose. He enters the ring, climbs the turnbuckle, waits a near-eternity, then raises just one arm. He points to the sky then backflips back into the ring, ending in his corner.
Both men meet in the middle and Jimmy calls for the bell.
DING DING!
Bobby Neptune and Miguel tie up. Miguel, with his girth, is able to take control of the action. He twists Bobbyâs arm into a hammerlock, then, adding insult to injury, uses his belly fat to bump Bobby from behind.
Before anyone can comment on the playful nature of the encounter, Miguel rakes Bobbyâs back, causing him to howl in pain.
Nick Stuart: Miguel is already up to his old tricks.
Miguel laughs, then grabs Bobby and slams him to the ground. Miguel is a little too slow to press his advantage, though. By the time he gets on the ground to do further damage, Neptune wriggles out of Miguelâs grip and applies his own grip to Miguelâs ankle.
Nick Stuart: From what Iâve read about Bobby Neptune he is a technician, it says here he received Intergalactic training.
Richard Parker: Whatâs that now?
Nick Stuart: Itâs here on the call sheet, intergalactic training.
Richard Parker: Like heâs a big Beastie Boys fan?
Nick Stuart: Iâm not sure, but heâs already using his technical prowess to take control from Miguel.
Miguel screams in pain, but is able to leap forward and grab the rope. Bobby shrugs, letting go of the hold, before sending a stomp into Miguelâs midsection. He lifts Miguel to his feet, then brings him back down in a Russian leg sweep.
Nick Stuart: It seems that Bobby knows heâs at a size disadvantage to the Lasagna Boy, so heâs trying to stay more on the ground and not overexert himself trying to lift the big man up.
Richard Parker: If he really had intergalactic powers he could become a giant robot to terrorize Miguel and the entire city!
Nick Stuart: What?
Richard Parker: Literally the only thing I know about this word is the Beastie Boys song.. Iâm sorry Iâm so one note. Sue me.
Bobby positions himself at the legs of Miguel, grabbing them and attempting to do a Sharpshooter. He struggles to turn over Miguel because that belly just wonât flatten. After a few attempts, Bobby finally turns him around, locking the Sharpshooter in.
Nick Stuart: Already we can see Bobby Neptuneâs gameplan. Heâs trying to wear down Miguel at the foundation, the legs, so he can make quick work of him.
Richard Parker: Heâs going to stir fry him in his wok!
Nick Stuart: Whâ
Richard Parker: I told you, Nick, itâs all I know!
Miguel again screams in pain, and again he uses his bulk to squirm towards the side. After a bit more struggling, Miguel grabs the ropes and once again forces Bobby to release the hold. From there, Miguel scurries into the corner, bringing Jimmy Turnbull with him as he pleads his case.
Nick Stuart: Oh come on, what is he doing here?
Richard Parker: I actually know the answer to this one, partner. Earlier today, I saw Miguel before the show, and he told me he had heard that Jimmy had an interesting lasagna recipe that uses cheddar cheese instead of ricotta. As a lasagna enthusiast, Miguel naturally wants to talk to him about it and ask a bunch of questions, namely âhow dare you desecrate lasagna like that?â
As Bobby comes over to see what the fuss is about, Miguel moves Jimmy aside and kicks Bobby in the groin. Jimmy had been turned around so he missed it.
Nick Stuart: What the hell!
Richard Parker: I know, Nick! Cheddar cheese! What kind of backwoods recipe does Jimmy think heâs using!
Nick Stuart: Miguel just used Jimmy as a shield and struck Bobby Neptune with a low blow! And Jimmy was turned around so he missed it!
Richard Parker: Probably thinking about ricotta cheese, Iâd reckon.
Bobby crumples, surprised that he got hoodwinked. Miguel laughs and punches Bobby, then lifts him up and takes him down in a huge powerslam, settling on him for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Nick Stuart: Bobby gets the shoulder up, but that was almost a stolen win by the cheating Lasagna Boy!
Richard Parker: That wasnât cheating, he was just coming from Uranus to check Bobbyâs style!
Nick Stuart: Is that theâŠ
Richard Parker: Yes, itâs the intergalactic thing again.
Bobby is trying to get to his feet, but Miguel knows that he canât let the momentum slip, so he starts to stomp on Bobby with viciousâŠstomps. Yes I couldâve rewritten that. No, I wonât.
The stomps get so quick and violent that the crowd starts booing, and Miguel screams at them.
Nick Stuart: Miguel is relentless! This has been mostly a back and forth, but Bobby is starting to look a little worse for wear here.
Miguel lifts Bobby up, but Bobby instantly snaps to and punches Miguel in the face.
Nick Stuart: Bobby was playing possum!
Miguel blinks, realizing that Bobby isnât as beat up as he thought, and he makes the wise decision to run.
Miguel slides under the ropes and runs around the ring as Bobby follows him. They race around the ring until Miguel slides under, then goes to hit Bobby with an elbow drop as he slides in.
Nick Stuart: Bobby moves!
Miguel lands with a thud and Bobby is behind him, attacking him with punches and putting him in the corner. Bobby attempts an Irish whip but Miguel reverses it, sending him to the other side. Screaming a scream that would wake the dead, Miguel runs towards the corner to smash him with his belly, but Bobby once again jumps out of the way.
Nick Stuart: Enziguri kick! Miguel is dazed!
Richard Parker: Itâs like he got a pinch on the neck from Mr. Spock!
Bobby rushes back, then bounces off the second rope and slams Miguel with a dropkick.
Nick Stuart: Lightspeed Dropkick! Miguel is down and Bobby covers!
ONE!
TWO!
THREâŠ
Richard Parker: The king of the rope break!
Miguel gets his leg up on the ropes before the three count. As Jimmy signals the rope break, Miguel rolls out of the ring and shakes his head. Bobby follows him out of the ring, then clubs him on the back of the head. Miguel stumbles against the steel steps. Bobby follows him, but Miguel moves suddenly and slams Bobby into the steps.
Nick Stuart: Another cheap move from the Lasagna Boy!
Richard Parker: Do you think Jimmy uses the cheap cheddar cheese in his lasagna or the good stuff?
Nick Stuart: Weâre back on lasagna again?
Richard Parker: Hey, Iâm two note now!
Miguel clubs Bobby a few times, then slams him into the ring apron. Bobby crumples, and Miguel slides under the ring and starts yelling at Jimmy Turnbull.
Nick Stuart: What now?
Richard Parker: I think he uses olives in lasagna too, thatâs probably what heâs yelling about.
Nick Stuart: No, heâs telling him to count Bobby out!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!
FIVE!
Miguel is screaming for Jimmy to count faster, but Bobby is getting up and makes his way to the apron. When Miguel sees this, he goes over to grab him, but Bobby kicks him, sending him back, stunned. Bobby quickly scales the ropes, and before Miguel can react, he leaps out and grabs him, hitting a beautiful Rainbow DDT.
Nick Stuart: Thatâs called Bobbyâs Comet! Miguel is out!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING
The fans cheer as Bobby Neptune pops up, his arms raised. Miguel rolls on the ground and groans.
Nick Stuart: Well that was a fun opening match, and Miguel tried his best to get Bobby off his game by cheating, but The Starboy was able to collect himself and get a quality win!
Richard Parker: Bobby Neptune didnât let the beatâŠ
Nick Stuart: Anyway, letâs see whatâs going on bacâŠ
Richard Parker: MMMMMMMMMMMDROP!
Backstage. Four nervous enemigos carry in a large crate with âALIVE & DANGEROUSâ scrawled across the side in giant red letters.
A man with blue hair trots in behind it. Heâs still catching his breath from his match with Miguel, but quickly recovers once the crate starts to shake.
Bobby Neptune: Put her down riiiight there boys!
They practically drop the crate riiight there and scatter away. Bobby smiles. He turns an excited face to the camera.
Bobby Neptune: People of Earth. My name is Bobby Neptune, or as some of you know me âthat new space guyâ which is fine. Youâll all know my name soon enough.
He smiles.
Bobby Neptune: For now! All you gotta know is Iâm here to show you the wonders of the galaxy. See thereâs a lot of life out there. Some big. Some frightening
The crate rattles.
Bobby Neptune: But all of it matters. And besides, you should see what your governments are covering up.
The nails begin to shake loose. Whatever is inside wonât be for long.
Bobby Neptune: Then maybe you wonât be so scared all the time.
Bobby grabs a crowbar and rips out the last nail of the crate to reveal the absolute cites, neck-high ball of fluff youâve ever seen.
Bobby Neptune: See! This is a Kipix from Xerres VIII. The locals keep them as pets and shear their wool in winter. Just like Earthlings! See, thereâs no need to fear-
The perfectly spherical, breathing furball yawns, revealing a mouth that opens wider than a dying pac-man. It reveals rows and rows of serrated teeth that could strip the skin from a man in seconds.
Bobby Neptune: Oh thatâs just. No worries. Heâs Perfectly harmless, thereâs just one thing you canât do-
An staff member peaks his head in lets out an âAwwwwwâ at its all enveloping cuteness. Bobby freezes and spins quickly.
Bobby Neptune: Run.
Staff Member: Wha-
Bobby Neptune: You just challenged its territory, now are you deaf?? FLY YOU FOOL!
The Staff Memberâs eyes turn to saucers, and he runs off screaming, followed by the Kipix.
Bobby Neptune: Uh. It wonât eat him (I think). Just remember: everyone in the universe matters, including the aliens. And if you want to come on my show-
A ROOOOAAAAAARRR echoes through the room.
Bobby Neptune: Ah shit.
Bobby runs off toward the sound of the roar and the screen cuts to black.
The lights go out in the arena, and a big murmur goes up in the crowd, excited for whatâs next. Then the PRIMEView lights up to show a Japanese man with impeccable combed-over black hair, a square jaw, and a towel around his neck emphatically saying a phrase in his native tongue. The translation is in subtitles:
âPRO WRESTLING IS A SACRED SPORT!â
RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
A spotlight shines on the curtain, and a beat later, The Anglo Luchador jumps out, dressed in a green tracksuit with a purple towel around his neck, pumping his fist into the air. He jogs in place at the top of the ramp for a moment before bounding down to the ring, slapping hands. He gets to the ringside area, strips from his entrance gear, throwing each piece into the crowd before sliding into the ring.
Vince Howard: Introducing first, weighing in at 211 pounds and hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He is the first Intense Champion of the ReVival, the Last Son of Tenochtitlan, and the Spear of Huitzilopochtli⊠The AngloooooâŠ. LUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCHADORRRRRRRRRRRRR!
RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!
The sounds of Local H fade out as the beat of âRATATATAâ by BABYMETAL and Electric Callboy takes over the PA system in the arena. Pink and blue lights pulsate throughout in impressive coordination with the music. The vocals soon kick in.
EVERY NIGHT WHEN THE SKY TURNS RED UP ABOVE
I FEEL THE BEAT IN MY VEINS, AND IâM SEARCHING FOR LOVE
YOU KNOW THAT HIPS DONâT LIE, I LEAVE YOU HYPNOTIZED
JUST GIVE ME ONE MORE TRY TO MAKE YOU FEEL THAT VIBE
WHEN IT GOES
(RA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA)
MY BODY IS A WEAPON
(RA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA) WEâRE GONNA HIT THE FLOOR
(RA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA) WEâRE GONNA MAKE IT HAPPEN
(RA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA) NOW GIMME SOME MORE
The light rumble that permeated throughout the faithful PRIMEates in the building burst into outright raucous cheers as RIA Lockhart steps through the curtain and onto the stage. With an exaggerated cadet cap on her head, her usual heart-shaped glasses on her face and a short leather jacket ending just above a corset that trailed a lace train, RIA soaks in the adoration from the audience.
She gallops to one side of the stage, encouraging the crowd to raise their volume even further. After a moment, Lockhart takes off to the other side, mimicking her previous action. As the second verse begins, RIA heads down towards the ring, engaging the audience while also vibing periodically.
Vince Howard: And his opponent, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, weighing 160 pounds⊠THE PSYCHOBERRY, RIAAAAAAAA LOCKHART!
Once ringside, the Rainbow Riot leaps onto the ring apron. She gazes out to PRIMEates before taking off her shades, tossing them to the masses in a random direction.
Lockhart steps between between the middle and top rope to enter the ring, bending at the waist to do so before swinging her outside leg into the squared circle. She starts taking off the various pieces of gear while still chatting up the fans in the front row.
DING DING
The bell rings, and as it does so the crowd respond â they are ready for this one!
RIA Lockhart bounces on the balls of her feet, shoulders loose, eyes sharp. There is a slight grin on her face as she looks across the ring at the man she freely confesses has served as a positive role model.
In the opposite corner, The Anglo Luchador, is crouched in a low stance, his weight shifting slowly from left to right â There is no hint of rushing RIA, this is the posture of a man whoâs spent a lifetime perfecting the art of turning momentum into leverage, heâll let her make the first move. Not quite hidden by his iconic mask, TAL returns the smile.
Nick Stuart: This one should be a treat folks, two of the most beloved competitors of the ReVival era going one-on-one.
Richard Parker: Iâm confused Nick â do you think the fans here love TAL cause he represent their traditional wrestling, orrrrr, maybe they feel like âwho is this American guy stealing our culture?â
Nick Stuart: Frankly, I think the fans are just hoping the contest lives up to its potential, and delivers us a great match.
In the ring, our competitors close the distance with a cautious respect, both of them on high alert. They come together in a collarâandâelbow tieâup as they jockey for control. Neither gives an inch at first; however TAL showing his experience advantage subtly shifts his hips and slides behind her. He wastes no time in snapping her down to the canvas with a silky smooth headlock takeover.
RIA is no slouch though and her response is instant and instinctive as she reaches back and clamps her legs around his head in a tight headscissors. The very second his back hit the mat, TAL pops straight back to his feet with a quick kip up, he spins to find Lockhart already waiting â the two share another respectful smile. The crowd react with a mixture of cheers and applause, with some even getting to their feet already.
Richard Parker: Ugh!
Nick Stuart: Something you want to add Rich?
Richard Parker: They are cheering him⊠how predictable.
Nick Stuart: I think youâll find both competitors are being cheered.
Richard Parker: Yeah, maybe, but at least RIA didnât steal their countryâs whole gimmick!
Nick Stuart: Letâs try not to offend an entire nation please!
The combatants circle each other; itâs RIA who moves first this time. She snaps into an arm wrench and immediately yanks TAL forward into a sharp kick to the gut. She makes an attempt at a floatâover DDT, but the veteran plants his feet â rolling through, and trapping her wrist in a grounded armbar.
He grinds the joint with his customary patience, forcing Lockhart to roll on to her side in a bid to relieve the pressure. Now better positioned, she aims a few hard shots with her free hand, each one connecting with the back of The Luchadorâs mask. The punches serve their purpose and TAL releases the hold. As they get to their feet, RIA lunges forward trying to grab an Armbar of her own, but sensing the danger, TAL scrambles to the ropes before she can lock it in.
RIA makes a gesture in TALâs direction that suggests âAlmost got you thereâ. TAL fires back with one that clearly states âBetter luck next timeâ. The crowd continue to show their approval and some duelling chants begin to break out throughout Arena Monterrey.
Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador reminding RIA you need to get up early to catch him so easily.
Richard Parker: Well, either that or catch him during his siesta.
Nick Stuart: Really?
Richard Parker: Iâm just sayingâŠ
Nick Stuart: I wish you wouldnât.
TAL is the aggressor this time, darting towards his opponent but The Psychoberryâs speed shows through. She quickly sidesteps and snaps a right jab against his mask; just as quickly she follows up with a right hook which lands with a satisfying thud.
As The Luchador staggers backwards into the turnbuckles, RIA capitalizes with a running handspring elbow that catches him flush in the corner. TALâs grunt of pain is audible over the racket the fans are creating â they really enjoyed that one.
A barrage of short kicks to the ribs follows. The fans make a valiant effort to count along with each kick, however RIA isnât interested in playing to their affections just now and they simply canât keep up with how quickly each shot echoes off his torso. She steps back for a moment, enjoying the impact of her work, and The Last Son of Tenochtitlan, with his right arm across his ribs defensively, tries to stumble out of the corner.
Before he can even take in whatâs happened however, he is upside down and about to be reintroduced to the mat as RIA executes a beautifully crisp belly-to-belly suplex. Sensing the opportunity, she throws herself forward with a rolling knee drop, crashing down on her rivalâs skull, and still in the same motion she floats into position and hooks the leg.
ONE!
TWO!
Kickout!
Nick Stuart: Anglo Luchador gets the shoulder up at two.
Richard Parker: Dos.
Nick Stuart: What now?
Richard Parker: Dos! Anglo Luchador gets the shoulder up at Dos!
RIA rises quickly from the failed pin attempt, shaking out her knee a little as she does so. As she turns around her eyes light up as she seeâs that TAL has pulled himself to his feet in the corner and is once more positioned against the turnbuckles. Perfect positioning for a Berry Bomber!
She charges forward to hit the move sheâs hit a thousand times â but perhaps she forgot for a split second who she is in there with. TAL slips casually aside at the last possible moment â The veteran had been playing possum. Somewhat over-rotated, due mostly to the unexpected absence of a 211lbs man between her and the turnbuckle pads, RIAâs knee slams into the bottom turnbuckle with a dull, sickening thud.
She recoils instantly, grabbing the joint with an unmistakable grimace. There are cries of dismay from the crowd; even those who are more inclined to support The Anglo Luchador donât want to see The Rainbow Riot getting injured.
Nick Stuart: Oh no! Letâs hope itâs something she can shake off quickly; we all know the bad luck RIA has had with her knees.
Richard Parker: Iâm more concerned about the safety of the turnbuckle pad; youâve seen those knee braces she wears, right?
Nick Stuart: Iâm sure it appreciates your concern Rich.
TAL doesnât pounce with malice, but he doesnât hesitate either, both competitors know the risks of stepping in between the ropes. He grabs the foot of her injured leg and twists her down to the canvas with a dragon screw that sends a further jolt of pain through the injured knee.
Dropping into a kneebar attempt, he forces RIA to claw desperately toward the ropes. After a great deal of effort, she reaches them, but rather than breaking the hold, TAL drags her back into the centre of the ring and transitions seamlessly into an elevated surfboard, lifting her into the air and stretching both her knees and her back. Face contorted, she refuses to submit, shaking her head through clenched teeth. Eventually The Luchador relents and breaks the hold. RIA rolls onto her back, desperately trying to catch her breath as she tries to massage some life back into her knee.
TAL doesnât give her much space to recover though. He stands her back on her feet and peppers her with a right-hand jab, followed by a leftâhand jab and then a right cross â with each strike RIAâs head snaps back. Wasting no time, he hooks both arms and delivers a butterfly suplex, bridging tight into the cover.
ONE
TWO
T-Kickout!
RIA manages to kick out, but sheâs slower to get back to her feet now, her knee visibly affecting her base. Still, she forces herself upright, leaning heavily on her unquestionable toughness â in doing so she earns a nod of respect from her opponent.
Richard Parker: Dos.
Nick Stuart: Yup, this time itâs The Anglo Luchador who gets the two, sorry, Dos count.
RIA springs forward with a kick to the gut that leaves TAL doubled-over, the action has the desire effect but given the state of her knee, it could prove costly in the long-run. She wrenches him down with a DDT that spikes him hard. She follows with a standing leg drop, then a running, well perhaps more accurately a hobbling senton that forces TAL to roll to the apron, clutching his ribs.
Moving very slowly now, RIA makes her way across to her rival and tries to drag him up. But just at the point where they both stand upright TAL snaps back with an enzuigiri that drops her face first to the mat. Both competitors are left lying on the mat, breathing hard, sweat drenching the canvas. Out in the crowd however, its very much the opposite, as the fans are on their feet. One unified chant ringing out;
ESTO ES ASOMBROSO!
ESTO ES ASOMBROSO!
Richard Parker: What does that mean?
Nick Stuart: Arenât you the one who wants to speak Spanish, Rich?
Elvis Nixon halts his count as slowly both wrestlers rise together, but they only make it to their knees, coming together exchanging palm strikes and jabs. RIA lands a Sage Splitter headbutt that sends TAL stumbling backwards. Encouraged by gaining the upper hand, RIA is first to her feet.
She charges, but TAL sidesteps once more, this time a shove to her back sends Blackhart into the corner, and following her into the corner, TAL connects with a back elbow. Just as he followed her into the corner, he now follows her just as quickly to the canvas. Applying pressure to the neck with one hand while lifting her near shoulder with his arm under her armpit, TAL drives RIA perpendicularly into a cover.
ONE
TWO
THR-Kickout!
Richard Parker: Dos y⊠ummm a half?
Nick Stuart: Close enough! And almost too close for RIA Lockhart, but she just manages to kick out at two and a half.
TAL tries to hoist her up, seemingly intent on delivering the Karelin Driver, but as he does so, her knee buckles again. He hesitates out of instinctive concern. RIA uses that heartbeat of hesitation to blast him with a second Sage Splitter headbutt â TAL drops to a knee, momentarily dazed.
Lockhart drags herself to the top rope, each step up the turnbuckles a small battle between her body and her overwhelming desire not to let this opportunity slip. She needs to hit something big here and she knows it. She steadies herself, breathes once, and launches herself off the top rope, in a flipping seated senton.
Nick Stuart: ASTROJUNK!
Taking every ounce of energy left, RIA makes the pin attempt. She canât find enough to hook the leg so settles for draping her arm across The Anglo Luchadorâs chest. Elvis Nixon is in position and drops to the canvas immediately.
ONE
TWO
TH-Kickout!
Nick Stuart: HE KICKED OUT!
Both wrestlers lie flat back on the mat again, chests rising and falling rapidly.
Nick Stuart: This has become a real war of attrition. Neither of these incredible competitors is willing to give up.
RIA pulls herself upright in the corner, using the ropes for support. TAL steadies himself on the outside, having rolled under the ropes following his kickout. The fans are defeaning in their support, both wrestlers take a moment to catch their breath and take in the overwhelming encouragement they are receiving.
TAL slides into the ring and launches himself straight towards the turnbuckle RIA is using for support. This time however itâs RIA who sidesteps the attack, leaving TAL to collide chest first with the top turnbuckle. He drops to the mat from the impact. As he hits the canvas, RIA looks out into the crowd and soaks in their energy.
Using the support as fuel for the fire, she springs to the top rope as if the contest had only just begun. She stands upright to her full height and points down at her downed opponent. The volume in Arena Monterrey somehow finds yet another level.
Nick Stuart: RIA is ready to end it right now, THE END OF THE RAINBOW!
RIA flies through the air, as she does so she sees TAL roll out from underneath her almost as though in slow motion. Sheâs powerless now though, already committed to the high risk move. Her elbow takes the full force of her weight as she crashes to the canvas. Before she can even take a secondâs breath to gather herself, she finds herself on all fours, only vaguely aware of the grip on her left wrist.
Nick Stuart: HE GOTTA OUTTA THE WAY!
Richard Parker: No mas!
Nick Stuart: AND YOU KNOW WHAT COMES NOW!
As he has done so many times before, The Anglo Luchador spins, trapping the arm between his legs, and floats over with a picture perfect roll. His weight is perfectly distributed, his grip airtight, his execution flawless and just like that, RIA Lockhart finds herself pinned to the mat by La Magistrol Cradle.
ONE
TWO
THREE!
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: What a match! What great effort from both these warriors!
Richard Parker: TRES!
Nick Stuart: Where would we be without your incredible insight and opinions Rich?
Elvis Nixon calls for the bell, as TAL releases the cover and sits back, breathing hard, sweat dripping from under his mask. RIA rolls to her knees, frustration flickering across her face for a second before giving way to acceptance.
She looks up to find The Anglo Luchador standing over her, hand outstretched. She takes it and he helps her to her feet. Both competitors look out over the crowd, who are still on a high from the contest they just witnessed. As Nixon attempts to get between them to raise TALâs hand, the veteran instructs him to raise his other arm. As Nixon does so, TAL raises RIAâs arm in a gesture of respect.
We return to ringside from commercial to find that the crowd is still abuzz for the previous matchup of RIA and TAL, two former champions of the ReVival era who more than carry their share of fans wherever PRIME finds itself. Arena Monterrey suddenly plunges into darkness for a brief moment before the oh-so-familiar drum beat of Dave Rountree thumps through the arena PA before Damon Albarn chimes inâŠ
WOO HOO!
Richard Parker: Oh GodâŠ
An explosion of orange and teal envelops the arena as âSong 2â by Blur serenades the crowd of over 17,000.
Nick Stuart: Well folks, last week we saw the Former Flyinâ Hawaiian seemingly defect from the Red Army, much to the chagrin of the Russian Bear.
Richard Parker: (muttering) âŠworst mistake that pineapple-brained idiot has ever made, and I remember those Pardon the Interruption spoofs back in the ReVolution days!
As âSong 2â crescendos, Dawkins emerges from behind the curtain to a mixed reaction. Pyrotechnics of explode behind him as he slowly makes his way down the ramp, his newly-won Intense Title strapped around his waist. Heâs reverted back to his pre-Red Army appearance with a tanktop and floral board shorts.
Oh, and flip flops. No combat boots in sight.
Richard Parker: And the crowd goes absolutely MILD!
As it turns out, Richard isnât wrong.
He slides into the ring and pops onto the nearest turnbuckle, peering out into the crowd who doesnât quite know what to make of the new-old Bryan Dawkins. He tentatively flashes the shaka before tossing his signature orange and teal sunglasses into the crowd, replacing them with a brand new pair from his pocket.
He crosses the ring, beckoning for a microphone from Vince Howard, who obliges with a smile and a nod to his old friend.
Bryan Dawkins: Monterrey! Good to see you all!
Richard Parker: I do hope he realizes the feeling is not mutual.
Nick Stuart: Two weeks ago, you were talking about how Dawkins would be the greatest Intense Champion PRIME has ever seen.
Richard Parker: I donât remember that at all.
Another mixed reaction from the crowd. Half cheer-half groan.
Bryan Dawkins: It isnât lost on me that over the past year or so, Iâve done someâŠletâs say questionable things. And made someâŠagain, questionable decisions.
Dawkins starts to pace in the ring.
Bryan Dawkins: Over the past year, Iâve lost friends. Made enemies. Lost the support of all of youâŠ
Dawkins removes his sunglasses, tucking them into the collar of his shirt, revealing tired eyes, bags under them and all.
Bryan Dawkins: And for that I am truly, honestly sorry. I turned my back on the reason I came back to PRIME to begin with. The same people who cheered me on when I debuted in the Dual Halo back in 2008.
Richard Parker: You hear that, Nick? Bryan Dawkins, jerking curtains for PRIME eighteen years and counting!
Nick sighs.
The segment of the crowd that didnât choose to boo him seems to increase in volume.
Bryan Dawkins: I know I can sit here and list the dozens of reasons that I used to justify to myself that what I was doing was right at the time. And you know, itâs one of those things where the more you tell yourself a lie the more it begins to sound like the truth. So me spitting those excuses out to you all just doesnât feel right.
He continues to pace the ring, going corner to corner like one of those megachurch pastors who is delivering his message to as much of the jam packed crowd as possible.
Bryan Dawkins: (gesturing to the crowd) You all made Bryan Dawkins who he is and I havenât forgotten that. It mightâve seemed like I have recently, but I have not.
Richard Parker: (audible snoring)
Nick Stuart: Will you cut that out?
Richard Parker: âŠwhat?!
Thereâs another swell of support in another section of the crowd. Maybe Dawkins is telling the truth.
Bryan Dawkins: I also realize there are more than a few people on the PRIME roster who feel like I mightâve turned my back on them. Hurt them in some way, emotionally orâŠwell, physically too.
Up on the video board, snapshots of Dawkinsâ numerous offenses flash across the screen.
Dawkins jumping Crash Jackson on ReVival 62.
Dawkins attacking Sebastian Gold and stealing the Belmont Trophy on ReVival 65.
Dawkins causing a car crash involving Sebastian Gold and Crash Jackson on ReVival 69.
Dawkins stealing the WON Action NEWS van on ReVival 76.
Dawkins cutting off Kirk the Sports Head on multiple occasions. (Arguably the worst of his offenses, am I right?)
Dawkins obliterating the WON Action NEWS van with Zarya on ReVival 79.
We cut back to Dawkins, whoâs now sporting a nervous grin.
Richard Parker: How in the world has no one pressed charges on this man? Assault, attempted vehicular homicide, grand theft auto, robbing children of SPORTS?
Nick Stuart: Werenât you applauding all of those things weeks ago?
Richard Parker: Itâs 2026, NickâŠthe world is evolving at breakneck speed.
Bryan Dawkins: SoâŠuhh, yeah. Like I said, I know Iâve hurt some people. Done some irreparable damage. But if anyone in the back wants to address their problem with me, face-to-face, Iâm not going anywhere!
With that, Dawkins waits for the inevitable.
Someoneâs theme music will hit, the crowd will pop and that person will emerge from Argyle ready to go all George Costanza on Dawkins and unleash their many problems with Dawkins, and heâs just gonna have to hear about them!
And who knows, there might even be feats of strength.
Oh, is it too late for Festivus related content?
Whatever.
Itâs now been a few moments andâŠwell, crickets.
Bryan Dawkins: Now come on, I know thereâs someone back there who I pissed off enough to come out here. I mean, I hit Crash Jackson with a car for Christâs sake.
He now leans on the ropes, anxiously awaiting someone.
Anyone would do.
Well, maybe not anyoneâŠ
From the hard camâs vantage point, the first sign is the crowd on the left side standing, and then pointing, towards the entryway. As we switch to the entrance itself, the boos that begin to erupt from the audience tell the rest of the story.
A mass emerges from backstage. A wall of bodies with dark gear, red accents, and several hammers and sickles. The entire Red Army emerges, with Ivan Stanislav at the front, moving en masse towards the entryway.
Nick Stuart: Oh no.
Richard Parker: Oh yes.
Dawkins squares his shoulders and stands in the center of the ring, but he doesnât look worried, nor does he look happy. Heâs simply calm. As if he knew this was one of the many possibilities after he made his request.
Stanislav raises a huge paw towards Dawkins and points at him, bellowing angrily. Itâs hard to tell if heâs speaking English or Russian, but thereâs really no need for a translator. The Russian Bear is clearly very angry.
With the mass of Red Army members still surging towards the ring, now with Dawkins jawing back at Ivan, the reason theyâre moving in a mass becomes more apparent. Thereâs an audible scuffle at the announce table.
Nick Stuart: Hey!!
Richard Parker: Whoa!
Alexei Ruslan vaults the barricade from the crowd side and moves like a knife through space. He clears the announce table in a flash, sliding between Nick and Richard, never breaking stride. Before either commentator can fully process his presence, Ruslan is already inside the ring. Metal baton in hand.
CRACK!!!!
Itâs a sickening sound.
Ruslan swings the baton across with both hands, smashing it directly into the back of Dawkinsâ left knee. The damaged knee. The knee that nearly ended his career. The leg buckles immediately.
Nick Stuart: Alexei Ruslan just came out of nowhere and hit Bryan Dawkins in the knee! Thatâs the same knee he had reconstructed back in 2021 before coming back to PRIME!
Richard Parker: And here they come!
Stanislav steps onto the apron and over the top rope with terrifying ease. Gamble, Freeman, and Schwartz slide in behind him, surrounding the space. Dawkins roars in pain as he collapses to one knee, clutching his leg, teeth bared, shock written across his face.
Ruslan does not give him time.
He barks something sharp and vicious from behind and snaps the baton across the back of Dawkinsâ neck. The impact drops Dawkins flat to the canvas, face down.
The crowd erupts in deafening boos, the sound rolling through Arena Monterrey like thunder. Still, Bryan tries to push himself up, trying to fight through the ringing in his spine. He plants one forearm against the canvas while his left knee buckles beneath him again. His head lifts as a line of blood drools out of his mouth to the mat. Dark and steady.
Nick Stuart: Dawkins is trying to get up!
Richard Parker: Well, no one said he was good at decision making!
He narrows his eyes at Stanislav without flinching, getting to one knee. Ivan barks an order, again, English and Russian doesnât matter. Everyone understands.
Kenny Freeman lunges first, driving a boot straight into Dawkinsâ ribs, folding him to the side. Schwartz follows, hauling Dawkins up just enough to club him across the back into his own blood. Tony Gamble stomps directly between his shoulder blades. Ruslan dives in, as the quartet bludgeon Dawkins beneath a flurry of boots and fists.
Stanislav turns slowly and looks to the entryway with a look of bemused curiosity.
Nothing.
Nick Stuart: No one is coming to help?!
Richard Parker: What do you expect? After all the horrible stuff Dawkinsâ has done over the past year. For all we know, this is a trick!
Nick Stuart: Horrible stuff?! You cheered him on every time he did it!
Richard Parker: That was a different time, Nick.
The Russian Bear snorts and looks back at the assault in the middle of the ring and smirks.
When the beatdown ceases, Dawkins rolls to one side, coughing violently. Stanislav doesnât even bother lifting Dawkins. Instead, he barks something at Alexei.
Ruslan snaps to attention and hauls Dawkins to his feet, baton across his throat from behind. He presents the former Red Army member to Ivan, who snatches him in a side headlock and squeezes him like a vise. Stanislav roars to the crowd, dragging Dawkins around and bellows loud enough for the crowd to hear.
Ivan Stanislav: Is this what you wanted?!
Ivan draws back a fist.
POW!
He drives his fist into his face.
Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAAHAA!!
The Russian Bear laughs as he punches Dawkins a second, third, and fourth time. Each punch heavy, compact, and precise as Dawkinsâ legs start to give out, his face now a bloody mess. Ivan half-tosses half-shrugs Dawkins across the ring into the corner. He slams sternum first into the corner, then staggers backwards into Ivanâs arms. Stanislav levels him with a short-arm clothesline that turns him inside out.
Dawkins tries to crawl, reaching out with one hand.
Stanislav stomps down on his fingers and traps them there. Still laughing uproariously while Dawkins howls in pain. Stanislav keeps his boot planted on Dawkinsâ fingers for a long, ugly second, grinding them into the canvas while Dawkins roars through gritted teeth.
Ivan lifts his boot and brings it down again. On the knee.
The left knee.
Straight down on it, twisting his weight as he does. Dawkinsâ body jerks violently, a broken sound tearing out of his throat as he collapses flat on the mat.
Nick Stuart: The knee again!!
Richard Parker: Destroy him!
Nick Stuart: You realize at any given moment it could be you in there, right?! Dawkins stood next to Ivan for over a year and now look at him.
Richard Parker: Er.. lets get back to the action!
Ivan laughs loud. Unrestrained. He gestures again, and Freeman and Schwartz haul Dawkins up by the arms. Gamble grabs him by the head. Ruslan wedges his baton against Dawkinsâ spine. They hold him there.
Not to save him. To display him.
Dawkinsâ head lolls forward, blood pouring freely from his mouth and nose, legs barely responding beneath him. His eyes flutter as he tries to focus on Ivan, who steps directly in front of him.
Stanislav leans in, forehead nearly touching Dawkinsâ, and speaks quietly. Whatever he says isnât for microphones, nor the crowd. Just for the two of them.
Then, Ivan pulls his fist back, clenches it into a ham-sized fist, and follows through with his full weight, driving it straight into Dawkinsâ left eye. The impact snaps his head sideways as his body goes limp. Freeman and Schwartz drop him like dead weight.
Nick Stuart: He might be out!
As a final insult, Ivan bends down and rips the Intense Championship from Dawkinsâ waist. The crowd erupts with fury as Ivan lifts it, inspecting it like something filthy that heâs found on the bottom of his boot. He parades it around once, showing the fans as he basks in their disapproval.
Then, he drapes it over Bryanâs face, covering his bloodied visage.
Stanislav stands for a moment. Then, he lifts one massive boot, hovers it over the covered face of Bryan DawkinsâŠ
âŠand then stomps down, once, on the title. Dawkinsâ body flexes and remains still. Ivan smirks down at his handiwork, as does the rest of the Red Army.
Ivan lets out a loud laugh, one more time, and then spits on Dawkins. Ruslan follows suit as the rest of The Red Army leave. Only Ivan and Alexei remain for a moment, spreading their arms, basking in the negative reaction of the crowd, and then the duo follow after their comrades. They donât step aside as several paramedics rush to the ring to check on Dawkins.
Richard Parker: Well, Bryan Dawkins asked for forgiveness.
Nick Stuart: And this is what he got. This was horrific. Folks, weâre going to give our medical team a moment and move somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Listen, I could start this off by going into some long-winded diatribe about how Matt Mills is once again standing in front of a PRIME backdrop with that look on his face â the one that says âIâm about to talk to a dumptruck full of asshats and Iâm not happy about it.â I could do that. I mean it has sort of become the de facto way that these things open.
The problem is it wouldnât be true, not this time.
Well, okay, itâs partially true. That look is still there on his face as clear as day, but heâs not standing in front of the standard PRIME interview backdrop. Nope.
Heâs standing in front of the menâs restroom.
Alright, alright. I know what youâre thinking. Youâre sitting there at your desk, or on your phone, or maybe your Nintendo DS if youâre weird as shit, and youâre thinking, âHey, Matt, this feels like a very Bobby Dead coded thing to do.â And you know what I would say?
âWait, what? Who the fuck is Bobby Dead? I should really get better about spellchecking this stuff as I go.â
Then youâd correct me that it should be Bobby Dean coded, and, yeah, youâd probably be right, but I donât give a shit.
Do you know who does give a shit?
Steve Lemieux: (muffled agonized groaning noises)
Steve Lemieux. He gives all the shit.
Steve Lemieux: (muffled) Oh no not my spleen.
And maybe a few internal organs.
So you can understand why Matt Mills is scowling.
Matt Mills: Hello, everyone. Iâm Matt Mills backstage here with-
Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Hello, yes!
Also the interruptions arenât helping.
Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: As everyone knows by know, Stefon Lummox will not be facing the Guy Smiley tonight for the Lemieuxniversal Championship. Because he has the diarrhea.
What follows is the sound of Jell-O being slowly extruded from a balloon by way of a hydraulic press. Itâs muffled because of the door, but still.
Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: The angry airport people were very cross with Stefon about trying to bring sandwiches across the border. They removed all the racists from our luggage.
Matt Mills: Iâm sorry, they did what now?
Did we mention that Ollie Cade and Rick Hardbody are there? Because they are. Neither looks happy about it, though in Rickâs case this is only conveyed through body language. Thereâs a feather boa over his face, is the thing, because Rick is the kind of dumbass to think to think artificial hot pink feathers are a suitable defense against gastrointestinal distress.
He is wrong.
Ollie Cade: (sighing) They took the ice out of the cooler.
Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: And the mayonnaise turned.
Ollie Cade: And now weâre here.
There is an awkward silence, only broken by a pained grunt from behind the door and the sound of a pudding-filled trash bag hitting the sidewalk after a five-story drop.
SUDDENLY!
âAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!â
Itâs Intruder #2.
Intruder #2: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!
Heâs being chased.
Intruder #2: AAAAAHHHH! A MUMMY!
By a mummy.
A Mummy: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!
Who is actually Intruder #1, wrapped in toilet paper.
A Mummy Who Is Actually Intruder #1, Wrapped In Toilet Paper: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH! SUFFER THE MUMMYâS CURSE!
Intruder #2: OH NO I AM CURSED!
A Mummy Who Is Actually Intruder #1, Wrapped In Toilet Paper: POOP! PEE PEE! BOTTOM!
Thatâs some pretty tame cursing, guys.
A Mummy Who Is Actually Intruder #1, Wrapped In Toilet Paper: SEMPRINI!
Whoa. Whoa. Thatâs going too far.
Intruder #2: AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!
They lumber through the shot and out the door, with toilet paper trailing after Intruder #1 like so many streamers soaring through the air. Soon theyâre gone, leading us to wonder where all that toilet paper came from.
Wait. Intruder #1âs a big guy. If he took it fromâŠ
Oh, no.
Oh, no.
Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Okay goodbye.
And just like that, the three weirdos turn and walk away, leaving Matt and Steve colored in different shades of misery.
We fade, all while pretending this never happened, because it is dumb.
What we see is an interesting sight.
I mean, we just saw some interesting sights in the last segment, so I guess transitioning into a man with devil horns holding a phone in front of himself while he stands in front of the camera isnât that out of left field. Behind him are two other men. One, Quinn Fleetwood, is wearing a hoodie and jeans. Kris Roswell, the other, is seated with a Duquesne Football sweatshirt and joggers.
Now, youâre probably wondering why I specified the clothes the other two men are wearing. Itâs probably because Satan Jones, the man with devil horns and the phone, is in very small red trunks.
Satan Jones: Whatâs up my little devils! Youâre LIVE! WITH! SAAAATAAAN!
Oh great, he has a shouty intro. And a name for his followers.
Satan Jones: Weâre live backstage at ReVival eightyâŠeightyâŠ
He looks back quickly to Kris, who answers.
Kris Roswell: 81.
Satan Jones: 81! And Iâm hanging out with the other Grayâs Academy Elites, Quinn Fleetwood and Kris Roswell. Kris just got done helping me bash the brains in of some Russian spies on ReVival eightyâŠeightyâŠ
Another look back, which elicits a sigh from Kris.
Kris Roswell: Just 80.
Satan Jones: I know, I was just stuttering. Itâs genetic, donât be a dick. Anyway, Iâve already gotten dozens of followers since launching my Instagram channel, so I figured Iâd reward everyone whoâs been down with me since day one by showing you what itâs like at a PRIME ReVival show.
Quinn Fleetwood: Boring show to choose. None of us are booked. I havenât even gotten my title shot from Cecilton yet.
Kris Roswell: Speaking of, Satan, why are you in your ring gear if we arenât booked?
Satan Jones: When you stay ready, you donât need to get ready.
Quinn and Kris share a look as Satan sticks his tongue out for the camera.
Satan Jones: No, actually, I was taking some SEO classes taught by Joe Fontaine on how to get engagement, and he told me sex appeal sells. So here I am.
Kris Roswell: You took a class with Joe Fontaine?
Satan Jones: It looked like him. Couldâve been some other dude with the same haircut. Like Jared Sykes. Or Max Kael. Or Rob Williams.
Kris Roswell: None of those people look anything alike.
Satan Jones: Anyway, my little devils, behold as I show you the glamour and intrigue of a PRIME locker room. This is a shared space where different wrestlers hang out during shows to get ready for their matches, decompress after a win or loss, or just shoot the shit with the boys. Kinda like weâre doing now.
Satan turns to Quinn.
Satan Jones: Whatâs up, Quinn?
Quinn Fleetwood: Nothing.
Satan Jones: Hell yeah, dude. Hell yeah.
Satan looks around the room.
Satan Jones: There are tons of great amenities here. Like soft and fluffy towels, a shower that has cold and lukewarm water, and hereâs the prize possessionâŠ
Satan moves over to a cabinet, where an air fryer sits.
Satan Jones: Air fryer baby!
Kris Roswell: Why is there an air fryer here?
Quinn Fleetwood: I do think Bobby Dean is back on the roster.
Satan Jones: Itâs an awesome invention, and who knows? Maybe soon someone will have a fight and use it as a weapon! Thatâll be some serious engagement. Oil flying everywhere, doing permanent damage to peopleâs bodiesâŠ
Kris Roswell: You donât use oil in an air fryer. You fry with air.
Satan pauses, and for a split second his smile, which has been plastered on since launch, falters. But you canât keep a good devil down, and soon enough heâs smiling again.
Satan Jones: Anyway, I know they wanted to send an interviewer to get our mindset on how we feel about our first win in PRIME, but I could do the job myself. They can save money by sending Matt Mills home early, and I can get even more Instagram followers. Win win.
Satan moves the phone so Kris Roswell is in the shot.
Satan Jones: Kris, how do you feel about getting our first win in PRIME?
Kris Roswell: Pretty good. I have a lot to learn, but I think weâreâŠ
Satan Jones: Hell yeah, dude. Hell yeah.
Quinn Fleetwood: I liked you better when you only said one sentence per segment and you just talked about feet.
Satan Jones: Shoes, not feet. And I save all that for my only fans. But you heard it here first. The Foot Soldiers are riding high after their first win, ready for whoever Lindsay Troy will put in front of us, and canât wait to see those tag team titles around our waist. Thatâs all the time we have here on Live With Satan, but donât fret, my little devils: youâll be back in hell in no time.
He presses a button on his phone, then looks over to Kris and Quinn. Instantly, his entire demeanor changes. He looks bored as he sits down and leans back.
Satan Jones: Went well.
Kris Roswell: Good job.
Satan Jones: Thanks.
Quinn starts to rummage in his backpack.
Quinn Fleetwood: Do you think that air fryer can reheat four day old fajitas?
We donât get the answer to the question as we go elsewhere.
Nick Stuart: Next up, ladies and gentlemen, the former Alias Champion Blaze Claymore takes on one half of the current Tag Team Champions, Daytona Diamonds!
Richard Parker: Heh heh, the Lighthouse meets the WHITE-house!
Nick Stuart: White House? Are you suggesting some sort of presidential connection?
Richard Parker: It was meant to be a cocaine reference, but hey, now that weâre talking about it, âTonaâs got my vote!
Nick Stuart: Iâd rather move to Canada.
The arena lights dim, which is usually the universal signal that something is about to happen, and the crowd reacts appropriately by getting louder, because if you paid money to be somewhere, you might as well holler.
The PRIMEview flickers to life.
Static.
ThenâŠ
Daytona Diamondsâ face fills the screen. Too close. Too smug. Too Daytona.
Heâs on a beach somewhere. Palm trees sway. The ocean is doing ocean things behind him. Heâs wearing a silken robe and sunglasses and probably not much else, but weâre not going to worry about that.
Daytona Diamonds: PRIME. Howdy. Hello. Yo soy Daytona Diamonds.
A pause, like he expects to receive applause. Instead, just boos. Spanish subtitles appear at the bottom of the screen.
Daytona Diamonds: I know what tâall are thinkinâ. Youâre thinkinâ⊠Daytona. Mexico! Margaritas! Mariachis! A goddang fiesta for the soul! But⊠Iâm gonna stop you right there, folks. Yâsee, due to personal reasons beyond my fuckinâ control, I canât be there with you in Mexico tonight to put a hurtinâ on olâ Clay Blazemore.
Nick Stuart: He didnât even get the name right!
Richard Parker: I mean, what kind of parent names their child Blaze anyway?
Daytona takes a deep breath, shaking his head and throwing up his hands in defeat.
Daytona Diamonds: Believe me, ainât nobody more devastated than I am! I feel like Iâm lettinâ yâall down! Iâm lettinâ PRIME down! Hell, most importantly, Iâm lettinâ The Whoresmen down! So, yâknow, I figured⊠yâall still deserve a show, donâtcha? So, ratherân leavinâ yâall empty handed, I reckon I went ahead and hired someone.
Nick Stuart: Oh no.
Daytona Diamonds: A substitute. A man of mystery. A man of danger. A man with my exact physique whoâll act on my goddang behalf! Senors and senoritas, I want yâall to give a warm fuckinâ welcome to the one, the onlyâŠ
Daytona stops. He squints at the camera. For the first time in his life, Daytona looks like a man who has arrived at the end of a sentence with absolutely no idea what comes next.
The ocean continues oceaning behind him.
Daytona Diamonds: âŠUhâŠ
Another pause. Longer.
Nick Stuart: He forgot the name.
Richard Parker: Names are hard, Nick.
Daytona Diamonds: I had it written downâŠ
He pats at his robe like the name might be in one of the folds.
Daytona Diamonds: âŠI had a whole thing. It was real good. It was like⊠ah, fuck it.
He points at the camera like heâs solved world peace.
Daytona Diamonds: HEREâS DAYTONIO DIAMANTES!
The PRIMEview cuts to black instantly, as if the production truck is just as embarrassed as the rest of us. And then the next thing to happen is: Music.
âPor Mi Mexicoâ by Lefty SM.
The crowd erupts into the specific kind of noise a wrestling crowd makes when they are watching something extremely stupid happen live and they are somewhere between thrilled and not thrilled about it.
Smoke pours out onto the stage. Lights flash. Out steps⊠a âluchadorâ. Well, heâs wearing a mask, at least. A rhinestone mask, because subtlety has never been part of the Diamonds bloodline. Heâs also built exactly like Daytona Diamonds. He even walks exactly like Daytona Diamonds. He has the exact same swagger Daytona does when he believes people are admiring him instead of laughing directly at him.
Nick Stuart: That is Daytona Diamonds in a mask.
Richard Parker: That is DAYTONIO DIAMANTES!
Nick Stuart: That is not a separate human being!
Richard Parker: Prove it!
Nick Stuart: Itâs his body!
Richard Parker: Lots of people have bodies, Nick!
Inside the ring, Vince Howard has a microphone, which is unfortunate for Vince personally. He looks down at the paper. He looks up at the masked man approaching the ring. He looks down at the paper again like maybe itâll change.
It does not.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen⊠making his way to the ringâŠ
Vince cringes, shaking his head.
Vince Howard: âŠfrom⊠Parts Unknown, But Somewhere In Mexico, Maybe Southern California, Just Go With ItâŠ
Big sigh, Vince. Câmon. You can do it.
Vince Howard: âŠDAYTONIO⊠DIAMANTES!
The crowd⊠cheers? Well, kinda. Something between cheers and overwhelming astonishment at the sheer absurdism of this moment. âDaytonioâ, for better or for worse, slides beneath the bottom ropes and into the ring.
Nick Stuart: This is ridiculous.
Richard Parker: Nick, he couldnât make it to Mexico, so he sent someone who could. You should be happy!
Nick Stuart: HE IS THE SOMEONE.
Richard Parker: Allegedly.
âDaytonio Diamantesâ stands tall in the ring, glittering beneath the lights, pretending with his whole chest.
And somewhere, in a very expensive undisclosed location that is definitely not Mexico and everything is fine and everyone is definitely buying this and certain crime syndicates arenât currently sharpening their knives, Daytona Diamonds nods to himself like this is the most airtight plan heâs ever conceived.
Nick Stuart: This is easily the most ludicrous plan heâs ever conceived.
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. Itâs small at first, but then begins to grow until it fills the screen and begins to circle from screen to screen â one rotation, then two â the second slower, flickering â then it cuts out.
A pause. A heartbeat.
CHANGE YOUR HEART OR DIE!
A singular explosion of white light and sound â every light in the arena flashing on simultaneously. Itâs blinding. Overwhelming.
Richard Parker: AAH, IâM BLIND, NICK!
Nick Stuart: Yes, Iâve known this for years, based off your terrible calling of the action.
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: ANNNNNNND his opponent! Hailing from Montevideo, Minnesota, standing at 6â1 and weighing 180 pounds he is THE LIGHTHOUSE ⊠BLAAAAAAZE CLAYMORE!!
âRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!â
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.
Nick Stuart: An emphatic reaction for âThe Lighthouseâ Blaze Claymore as he makes his way to the ring! Look at the focus in those eyes!
Richard Parker: I would, but I canât stop looking at this travesty heâs wearing!
Nick Stuart: From what Iâve been told, tonight, the Lighthouse is wearing a prototype of his new and improved ring gear!
Richard Parker: New and improved? Did he buy it local, or make it himself from the stuff he pulled out of the dumpster behind the rug store?
Nick Stuart: Oh, would you stop!
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 looks at âDaytonioâ a final time, his opponent standing with crossed arms and a smug look on his face, before turning to the crowd and raising a fist into the air.
CHANGE YOUR HEART OR DIEâŠ.
âRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!â
Nick Stuart: Claymore is coming off a defeat to Sage Pontiff two weeks ago, which also follows losing the Alias Championship to Steve Lemieux at Colossus.
Richard Parker: Sounds like the beginning of a downward spiral, if you ask me!
Nick Stuart: But a win tonight over a reigning Tag Team Champion may be the shot in the arm the 2025 Rookie of the Year needs to get himself back on the right track!
Richard Parker: If only he was wrestling a Tag Team Champion, and not a debuting athlete!
Nick Stuart: Ugh⊠in any case, official Ashley Barlow has finished making her final checks on both competitors! She cues for the bell!
DING DING
Blaze and Daytonio begin circling each other out of the gates. Claymore breaks the ice by moving in for the collar-and-elbow, but Daytonio nimbly jukes around him and lands a low kick to the calf. A second attempt nets a similar result.
Nick Stuart: Well, he sure moves a lot like Daytona DiamondsâŠ
Richard Parker: Cause heâs a fellow natural talent!
Blaze shakes his leg while âDiamantesâ takes a second to shuck and jive to the crowd. As he returns to the center of the ring, he holds up a hand and offers a test of strength. Taking a second to consider the offer, the Lighthouse reaches up to clasp handsâ
Nick Stuart: Daytona with the LOW KICKâ
CAUGHT by Claymore!
Richard Parker: Daytonio, asterisk.
Nick Stuart: What?!
The rhinestone-studded luchador waves off Blaze in panic.
Richard Parker: You said âDaytona with the low kick,â but Daytonaâs not here, Nick!
Nick Stuart: Oh, come on!
Grinning wryly, Claymore twirls him around and traps him into a rear waistlock.
Richard Parker: So I corrected you! Because you made a mistake!
Nick Stuart: Richard, I refuse to go along with thisâ
Out of desperation, âDaytonioâ pulls himself forward and falls into the ropes, prompting Barlow to call for the break.
Richard Parker: I CORRECTED YOU, Nick! Jeez, just give me this, will you?
Nick Stuart: âŠ
After a moment, Claymore reluctantly does so.
Richard Parker: Honestly, youâre being extremely unprofessional right now.
Nick Stuart: Ugh⊠if it means avoiding this petty argument, I will use the preferred nomenclature for the remainder of the match. Meanwhile, Claymore staying on the offensive, looking for an opening by this âmysterious newcomerâ has thus far eluded his every attempt.
Diamantes milks his time on the ropes for every second he can get out of it, readjusting laces on his mask and tightening pads until Barlow tells him to stop stalling and get back into it. Blaze patiently waits in the center of the ring, where Daytonio finally accepts a collar-and-elbow. But almost as soon as they lock upâŠ
Nick Stuart: Diamantes with the KNEE to the abdomen!
Richard Parker: He played right into it!
Nick Stuart: Now Daytonio pushes Claymore off the ropes⊠no, Blaze sticks the foot and REVERSES with a whip!
Daytonio rebounds off the ropes, returning with a forward flip.
Nick Stuart: Here comes Diamantes with a HURRICAN⊠wait, no.
The flipping headscissor portion, Daytonio lands. The backroll, however, he completely whiffs on. Instead, with his ankles still on Claymoreâs shoulders, Diamantesâ back flops feckless onto the canvas, so he instead settles for a heel kick to Blazeâs chin.
Richard Parker: What-a-manuever!
Nick Stuart: It⊠was certainly something. Though Iâm not sure I would call it âlucha libreâ.
Off the impact, Claymore clutches his jaw and skids back into a crouch. Diamantes rolls back to his feet and recklessly charges forward.
Nick Stuart: Here comes Daytonio⊠and he runs straight into a EUROPEAN UPPERCUT by Blaze Claymore!
Richard Parker: HEY! Donât bring that fancy European stuff here! This countryâs suffered enough at the hands of colonizers!
Daytonio reels on rubber legs. Claymore backs into the ropes and gives himself a head of steam as he charges forward.
Nick Stuart: BIG CLOTHESLINE to follow it up! Diamantes goes down, and Claymore quickly goes for the cover!
One!
Two!
And Daytonio kicks out!
Claymore immediately puts the rhinestone-studded luchador into a front facelock to keep him from slipping away. Regardless, the larger Daytonio forces himself to his feet and attempts to bullrush the Lighthouse into the nearest turnbuckle. But at the last second, Blaze releases and dives to the side.
Nick Stuart: Diamantes runs himself INTO THE POST! Great reaction time by Blaze Claymore!
Richard Parker: Post shots are illegal down here! Throw this match out, Ash!
Nick Stuart: Claymore right back on Daytonio Diamantes, pulling him out of the corner and taking him by the head⊠here goes Blaze off the turnbuckles, and INTO A TORNADO DDT!! COVER!
One!
TWO!
Diamantes kicks out!
Daytonio rolls out to the floor. Blaze rolls out after him⊠only for the mysterious âfriendâ of Daytona Diamonds to nonchalantly slip back in and pop up to his feet.
Nick Stuart: Diamantes with a bit of sleight of hand, lures Claymore to the ringside area, and now heâs in motion⊠coming THROUGH THE ROPES with a TOPEâŠ
âŠaxe handle smash?
Rather than diving through the ropes like a human torpedo, Daytonio Diamantes instead awkwardly steps out onto the apron and hops down to the floor with an overhead smash. Claymore dodges it with ease, immediately lighting up Claymore with a barrage of forearms to the delight of the Monterrey wrestling faithful.
Nick Stuart: Itâs a full-out ASSAULT by Blaze Claymore right now, absolutely pummelling this mysterious doppelganger out here on the ringside floor!
Richard Parker: Why are these people cheering?! This is absolute rudo behavior!
Blaze continues blasting Daytonio, sending him flopping and rolling for a loop around the ring while Barlow begins the obligatory ten count. She shouts for the competitors to return to the ring, but below her line of sight, a recovering Diamantes desperately grabs a handful of the front of Claymoreâs tights.
Nick Stuart: Hang on, heâs got him by the tightsâ
Before Blaze can react, Diamantes uses all of his strength to yank the Lighthouse into the steps!
BLAM!!
Nick Stuart: OOH, NO!! RIGHT into those steel steps!
Richard Parker: He should really watch where heâs walking, the clumsy lout!
Nick Stuart: He clearly had a handful of the tights, Rich!
Richard Parker: I didnât see anything!
Nick Stuart: Unfortunately, neither did Ashley BarlowâŠ
Taking a moment to regain his bearings after his beating, Daytonio Diamantes lays a few cheap stomps into Claymore while heâs down before scooping him up and rolling him back into the ring. He slides in after him to beat the ten-count and immediately goes into the lateral press.
Nick Stuart: Diamantes with the cover!
One!
Twâhey, wait, HIS FEET ARE ON THE ROPES! And this time, Ashley catches him in the act!
Richard Parker: Completely unintentional! Coulda happened to anyone!
Daytonio pleads his case in what is clearly not Spanish, but a very half-assed attempt at adding âoâ to the end of every word. Barlow tells him to get back at it, and Diamantes does so with some more stomps to soften up Claymore before getting him back to his feet.
Nick Stuart: SNAP SUPLEX by Diamantes! Here he is back on his feet, and off the ropes⊠LEGDROP across the throat of Claymore! Another pin attempt⊠this time, a LEGIT one!
One!
TWO!
Claymore gets the shoulder up!
Like a shark picking up on the scent of blood, Daytonio aggressively stays on Claymore, wrangling him to his feet in a front waistlock.
Nick Stuart: And Diamantes has Claymore back up⊠BELLY-TO-BELLY Suplex!
Blaze back bounces off the canvas, but instinct and muscle memory force him to roll to his feet and immediately pop up again. Fighting through pain, he swings for the fences, but nearly gets cut in half by the massive luchadorâs shoulder block.
Nick Stuart: NORTHERN LIGHTS Suplex! Claymoreâs getting absolutely ragdolled in there!
Richard Parker: These are some PRIME lucha libre techniques weâre seeing, no pun intended!
Claymore weakly attempts to push himself up, but Diamantes grabs a handful of hair to pull him to his feet the hard way. Ignoring the condemnation from Barlow, Daytonio unceremoniously plants Blaze into the mat with a heavy-handed Saito suplex!
Nick Stuart: And thereâs the DUSTY TRAIL, capping off a relentless salvo of suplexes!
Richard Parker: Paying tribute to âTona himself!
Nick Stuart: Sure, sure⊠now he hooks the leg for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
NO!! Blaze kicks out!
Daytonio tears back up to his feet and relentlessly stomps away at Blaze until Barlow is forced to break it up. Diamantes at first apologizes, then (unwisely) tries to put âthe movesâ on the official, only for her to stick an extended index finger directly into his swollen chest and push him back several steps with a decidedly âFUCK OFFâ demeanor, along with some colorful language to go with the warning.
Richard Parker: Your loss, Barlow! This handsome newcomer could have been all yours!
Nick Stuart: How do you know heâs handsome?! You canât see his face!
Richard Parker: I mean, you know, heâs got, like, the vibe, or something, okay?
Returning to the match, Diamantes rolls Blaze over onto his belly and weaves his lower legs around his ankles. Anticipation builds in the crowd as he reaches down and grabs Claymore by the wrists, teasing a classic Romero Special.
Nick Stuart: Diamantes going for La TapatĂa?!
Not quite.
At the last second, Daytonio releases the arms and drives Claymoreâs face into the mat with a curbstomp to the back of his neck.
âBOOOOOOOOO!!!â
Richard Parker: Such a rich tradition! Iâm absolutely stunned!
Nick Stuart: If this guyâs a luchador, then Iâm Sammy Davis Jr.!
Richard Parker: Can I request âIâve Gotta Be Meâ?
Nick Stuart: More like, youâve gotta be kidding!
Face down on the mat, Claymore stirs, half-conscious and weakly feeling at the canvas for leverage. Daytonio mounts his back and begins blatantly slapping the side of the Lighthouseâs face while berating him with the only three Spanish expletives he knows.
âBOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!â
Nick Stuart: Look at this show of blatant disrespect!
Richard Parker: Blaze deserves it! Heâs done nothing but disrespect his culture tonight!
Nick Stuart: Oh, so itâs BLAZE CLAYMORE whoâs disrespecting DAYTONIOâS culture, huh?
Richard Parker: Youâre starting to figure it out, Nick! Thereâs hope for you yet!
Nick Stuart: Go touch grass, partner!
Adding insult to injury, Diamantes pulls Claymore up and props his arms over the knees, cinching in a classic camel clutch. Barlow kneels in close, checking on Blaze and looking for the tap out. Despite the pain, the Lighthouse stays conscious, and shakes his head at the official.
Nick Stuart: Daytonio Diamantes working Claymore over with the camel clutch now! How much more of this can the Lighthouse withstand?
Claymore appears to fade out. Barlow raises the arm once, and it drops. She raises it again, and it drops for the second time. He raises it for the third and final time, releases, andâŠ
Nick Stuart: NO!!
Blazeâs hand balls into a tremoring fist. The Monterrey faithful clap and stomp in a supportive fervor! Through sheer will and tenacity, the Lighthouse begins forcing his way up. Through the viewholes of his rhinestone-encrusted mask, Daytonio Diamantesâ eyes are wide with panic!
Nick Stuart: Blaze Claymore is fighting his way out of this one! What resilience! What HEART!
Richard Parker: What HOGWASH!
Claymore makes it to his knees before Diamantes realizes heâs fighting a losing battle, and quickly ends things by breaking the hold and dropping a knee into the back of the Lighthouse. Blaze goes down once more, but is soon peeled back onto his feet and taken by the throat.
Nick Stuart: Daytonio lifting Claymore up for the CHATTAHOOCHIE CHOKES-NO!!
As soon as Claymoreâs feet leave the mat, his legs snap into action. In an instant, the two become a twirling mass of bodies. When the human cyclone ends, Diamantes ends up face down on the mat with his arm being painfully wrangled behind his back.
Nick Stuart: BLAZE REVERSES INTO LA MISTICA!! LA MISTICA!!
âRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!â
Nick Stuart: Howâs THAT for lucha libre! In the blink of an eye, âThe Lighthouseâ Blaze Claymore has turned the tables on Daytonaâ
Richard Parker: DAYTONIO!!
Nick Stuart: Dayton-IO⊠Diamantes! Suddenly, we have a pivotal submission attempt being made!
Claymore wrenches back the Fujiwara armbar with all of his might, but has nothing to answer for the hundred pound weight disadvantage, as Daytonio claws his way inch by inch to the nearest set of ropes. After several long, painful seconds, his hand finally grasps the bottom rope for dear life.
Nick Stuart: And thereâs the rope break! Blaze has no choice but to release the hold!
Richard Parker: Took his time doing it, too!
Nick Stuart: Oh nonsense, he broke the hold immediately, Rich! Blaze Claymore has painstakingly done everything he can to keep this a clean contest, despite the many attempts made by this supposed âfriendâ of Daytona Diamonds, who just so happens to look and wrestle exactly like him!
Richard Parker: Seriously, Nick⊠are you feeling okay? Have you been drinking the water down here?
Claymore backs up to the center of the ring to allow Diamantes time to recover. Clutching his injured arm, Daytonio is hardly aware when he stumbles off the ropes. In a flash, Blaze makes his move.
Nick Stuart: HERE GOES BLAZE CLAYMORE, LIGHTING UP DAYTONIO DIAMANTES WITH 10,000 LAKES!!
Richard Parker: HEY!! HE JUST HIT HIM WITH A CLOSED FIST!! HE JUST HIT HIM WITH A CLOSED FIST, NICK!!
Nick Stuart: Take it up with Ashley Barlow, because right now, thereâs no stopping this full on flurry of relentless rights and lefts!
A fist. A forearm. An open-handed slap. An elbow. One for every damb lake of the North Star State. The blows come from every angle, with a velocity that could dent steel. Daytonio Diamantesâ rhinestone-studded mask jukes every which way off the impact.
Nick Stuart: Claymore has taken an awful lot of punishment through this match, and now Daytonio Diamantes is paying his receipts!
Richard Parker: Thatâs larceny! You know what the conversion rate is like down here!
Daytonioâs legs wobble. Momentum brings him falling into a nearby set of turnbuckles. He suddenly comes charging back with a wild right hookâŠ
âŠonly to whiff completely.
Nick Stuart: Swing and a miss for Daytonio Diamantes!
Richard Parker: Look again, partner!
The camera zooms in. At some point during the onslaught, Daytonioâs mask has been turned sideways around his head.
Nick Stuart: Oh my, we have a MASK MALFUNCTION!
Diamantes blindly swings at the air in front of him. Both Claymore and the official give him space. The Lighthouse creeps behind him, waiting for an opportune moment to strike. Then, after a moment of consideration, walks over to his opponentâŠ
Nick Stuart: Here comes Claymore, andâŠ
Richard Parker: âŠheâs trying to TAKE OFF THE MASK! The SCOUNDREL!
Nick Stuart: No heâs not, Rich! Heâs FIXING it!
Blaze grabs Daytonio by the mask and twists it around so that it is correctly adjusted around his head. With his vision restored, Diamantes blinks in astonishment.
Daytonio Diamantes: Grassy-ass, hermano.
The Lighthouse respectfully nods, and readies himself to resume theâ
Nick Stuart: HEADBUTT OUTTANOWHERE BY DAYTONIO DIAMANTES!!
Claymore stumbles back, clutching his forehead. Before he can recover, Daytonio boots him low (perhaps a bit TOO low) to double him over, hooks him around the waist, and hits him with the quickest, lowest high-angle powerbomb in the history of wrestling.
Nick Stuart: NO!! HANG âEM HIGH BOMB!! How in the HELL did he pull that off?!
Richard Parker: With the power of LUCHA!
Nick Stuart: Daytonio Diamantes into the double-leg cradle for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
DING DING DING
âBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!â
The PA floods the arena with âPor Mi Mexicoâ. Daytonio quickly bursts to his feet and unleashes a victorious whoop, almost like a cowboy.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match, by pinfall⊠DAAAYTOOONaIIOOOO DIIIIAAAMMondsAAAANTEEEES!!!
Nick Stuart: I absolutely cannot believe it! In a gesture of pure sportsmanship, Blaze Claymore offered a helping hand to his complete buffoon of an opponent when his mask malfunctioned at the junction, yet unsurprisingly, the so-called âDaytonio Diamantesâ just took advantage of the show of trust to pick up the victory!
Richard Parker: What do you mean by âunsurprisinglyâ? I had no idea that was coming! It was stupid of Clay Blazemore anyway! When the match gives you an opportunity, you jump on it!
Nick Stuart: I donât know if I agree with that sentiment, partner⊠clearly, Blaze Claymore wanted to keep this a clean, even-keeled match, but his opponent refused to give him one!
Claymore, exhausted and clutching the back of his head, eventually recovers and pulls himself to his feet. Though the disappointment is visible on his face, he nevertheless finds the wherewithal to approach the showboating Diamantes and extend his hand.
Nick Stuart: Unbelievable! Even now, Claymore is showing sportsmanship, offering a handshake to the very opponent that just screwed him over!
Richard Parker: For someone trying to call himself âThe Lighthouseâ, he certainly isnât very bright!
Daytonio considers the hand for a momentâŠ
âŠthe openly GUFFAWS before turning around and leaving the ring. Claymore glowers after him.
Richard Parker: I think thereâs more to this Daytonio Diamantes guy than meets the eye! What a wonderful addition to the PRIME roster!
Nick Stuart: Daytona Diamondsâ ruse isnât fooling anyone, Rich. He might pick up the dub here tonight, but 2025 Rookie of the Year certainly gave him a run for his money.
Richard Parker: Mightâve even picked up the dub himself, if he werenât so gullibleâŠ
Nick Stuart: Clearly, Blaze Claymore is sticking to his principals. I, for one, commend him. Even if it ends in his third consecutive defeat here tonight. Somehow, someway, the Lighthouse has to find a way to turn things around!
Just as an exhausted and tenderized Blaze Claymore is about to step through the ropes, a sinister laugh echoes through the arena.
Heh. Heh. Heh.
Blazeâs expression drops as Snark Darkly emerges from the back and begins gliding down the rampway, his feet seemingly not touching the ground as he contorts his face into what he thinks is a smile but ends up looking like a jumbled of teeth-shaped legos.
The Lighthouse steps backward, grabbing awkwardly at his neck â Snarkâs markings still visible â as Max Kaelâs manager stops just outside the ring and adjusts his tie as he is handed a microphone by a ringside attendant.
Snark Darkly: Blaze. I see you decided not to heed my warning.
Claymore sneers and jaws something at Snark who just chuckles like a hissing radiator.
Snark Darkly: I see.. Weâll do this the hard way then.
With the snap of his fingers, the lights in the arena go out.
RAHHHHHH!
Just as suddenly, a pillar of light emerges at the top of the rampway and into the light stepsâŠ
Nick Stuart: Who the hellâŠ
Richard Parker: I⊠oh god. Is that⊠Max?
Like something out of a David Cronenberg film, we see a figure wearing an all black suit with a sash drawn across his chest. A heavy black long coat with a fur collar hangs off his shoulders like a cape
But itâs his face that draws our attention â over top of Max Kaelâs visage is a plexi-glass mask, but even through the covering we can see that his skin is not the color it should be. What we do see, instead, is a grinning smirk from the Black Heart of PRIME.
Richard Parker: Maybe Max is getting a head start on his match against his rival Ivan? Get of the the ring, Blaze! Let a real fighter in there for a change.
Nick Stuart: I donât like this, Richard. I donât like this at all.
A heavy baseline beat belonging to âHumanâ by RagânâBone Man begins to bump through Arena Monterrey.
Maybe Iâm foolish, maybe Iâm blind
Thinkinâ I can see through this and see whatâs behind
Got no way to prove it, so maybe Iâm lyinâ
A light now shines on Blaze Claymore, blinding the man who calls himself the Lighthouse as Snark Darkly muses into the mic.
Snark Darkly: Last chanceâŠ
Blaze flips Snark the bird.
Snark Darkly: Your funeral.
Snark points toward his client as âHumanâ continues and we hear the lumbering steps of something that, by any definition, is not.
But Iâm only human after all
Iâm only human after all
Donât put your blame on me
Donât put your blame on me
Max Kael tilts his head curiously as the Bolognese Bull â Maxâs new Harbinger â emerges behind him, the beastâs doughy shoulders scraping the top of the steel structure holding everything together. He bends down, extending a hand, letting Kael crawl like a spider up his meat sauce arms and onto the beastâs shoulders.
Blaze looks on, horrified, as Snark Darkly cackles like the wind shaking aging tree limbs in a winter storm.
The Mayor of Arkham points directly toward the ring and the Bolognese Bull rushes forward!
Nick Stuart: Jesus! Heâs fast!
Richard Parker: And drippy!
Blaze realizes too late that heâs in trouble. Real trouble, as he tries to escape through the opposite side of the ring, but Snark is prepared, grabbing at the Lighthouseâs ankles and dragging him forward with a strength that defies his otherwise wiry frame.
The crowd watches in horror as Max Kaelâs Harbinger launches himself up the ring steps just as Max Kael leaps off his beastâs shoulder and MISSES!
Claymore is confused as he sees Max whiff and miss a clear attack, but as he rolls back to his feet, Max pops to his feet, adjusts his mask, and motions for the Bolognese Bull to enter the ring!
The Bolognese Bull throws its head back, roaring and gurgling, as he steps into the ring and slaps Blaze Claymore â sending him flying with a thick, wet sound of noodle-on-skin contact!
Max raises his hand into thumbs up gesture as the hulking Bolognese Bull stalks his prey and lifts the disoriented Blaze above his head, handling him like a rag doll â looking toward Kael for his next command.
The Mayor of Arkham smiles from behind his mask and turns his fist downward â deciding Blazeâs fate!
The Harbinger takes the dazed and confused Claymore in his arms, wrapping them around the Lighthouseâs waist, before lifting him up what has to be eight â or even nine feet in the air before SLAMMING him to the mat with a VICIOUS powerbomb.
Nick Stuart: Blaze is dead! Blaze is dead!
Richard Parker: Oh wow! Are those his organs, Nick!? I canât tell if thatâs Claymoreâs liver and kidneys or just a giant mushroom that reaches escape velocity from the Bolognese Bullâs body!
A motionless Claymore lays in a puddle of viscera as Max gestures for his Harbinger to pick Blaze up once again!
Nick Stuart: Heâs had enough! Stop this!
Max turns his attention over to the announce booth, holding a finger to his mask-covered lips in a âShhhingâ motion before commanding the Bolognese Bull to throw Blaze like a ragdoll over the ropes!
The lighthouse goes flying ten, maybe twenty feet before skidding to a stop a third of the way up the ramp!
An amused Snark Darkly claps his hands in a close approximation of joy as he walks over to Claymore and grabs him by the collar, dragging him the rest of the way up toward the back!
Max gestures for the Harbinger to follow and the meat beast does just that, stomping his way over the ropes and slowly following Snark Darkly as Max wipes his hands and begins a set of in-ring calisthenics.
Nick Stuart: What the hell just happened, Richard? Where is Snark going with Blaze?
Richard Parker: I âunno. Does it matter? Maybe itâs all for the best.
Nick Stuart: Christ. Letâs just⊠go to the back as we try and get all the ⊠sauce cleaned up from the ring.
An old works van roars into the parking lot with no finesse, no caution. It cuts across the space hard and fast, brakes screaming as it comes to a stop diagonally across two bays. No attempt to straighten it. No concern for the lines.
The PRIME cameramen arenât ready. One scrambles to lift his camera. Another is still half-watching, half-deciding if this is even worth capturing. The press lingers. No urgency. No crowd. This isnât a car anyone cares about.
The driverâs door flies open.
Danny Christie steps out with purpose. No hesitation. He slams the door shut and doesnât lock it. Doesnât even look back.
If someone steals it, theyâd be doing him a favour.
In one hand, the Realest Motherfucker trophyâ the gold boxing glove catching the dull parking-lot light. In the other, a black duffle bag. Heavy. Worn. The kind youâd expect to see on someone just released or someone who never stopped living out of it. Wrestling gear, maybe. That old rule still applies: always bring your gear.
Danny doesnât wait for a question.
He storms toward the entrance like heâs late for something that matters.
Inside the building, he cuts through the corridors with thunder in his steps. He passes runners carrying cables. Production assistants glued to headsets. Security guards leaning against walls. Setup crew, teardown crew, people who make the place run and never get named.
The unsung heroes.
Danny doesnât slow. Doesnât acknowledge them. Not out of arroganceâ out of focus.
He passes dressing rooms. Names on doors. Familiar surnames. New faces. People rotating in and out of relevance.
Then he reaches the end of the corridor.
A bigger door. Cleaner. Newer.
A nameplate that stops him cold.
BIG JOHN.
Danny stares at it.
His jaw tightens.
Big John Christie. His father. His corner man. A man who hasnât been seen on the ACE Network in monthsâ yet his name still gets the room. The space. The respect.
Danny shifts the duffle bag on his shoulder. The trophy hangs heavier in his hand now.
His reflection stares back at him in the polished surface of the door.
For him, itâs always been janitorsâ closets. Empty rooms. Or the back of his van. A world heâs manufactured for himself.
Danny exhales through his nose, once. Sharp. Controlled. The camera lingers as he stands thereâ not knocking, not enteringâ just looking.
Then, the door flings open.
Fred Dick: IâM TIRED OF ALL THESE MUHFUGGIN SNAKES IN THIS MUHFUGGIN LOCKER ROOM!!!
Fred Dick, dressed like a snake charmer, storms right by Danny Christie and hauls ass/waddles away from the dressing room.
When Danny peers in, he sees exactly what Fred is talking about.
Big John Pepper, not Big John Christie.
AndâŠ
The Lasagna Boys.
They have wooden recorders.
They play My Country, Tis of Thee on the recorders.
Poorly.
They have many snakes in wicker baskets, and the snakes dance to the patriotic recorder jams.
Big John Pepper looks up at the door, sees Danny Christie standing there.
Big John Pepper: Hello.
đ€
Danny Christie, aka the Realest Motherfucker in PRIME, faced with something utterly surrealâŠ
âŠsimply closes the door and walks away.
New World Trash T-shirt (BUY THE SHIRT!). Leggings. Damp hair. RIA Lockhart, after a battle with the Anglo Luchador, watches a monitor in the backstage area. Which now has her on it. Trippy. RIAception! Lockhartâs eyes lift from the monitor just in time to miss a figure creeping up behind her. She really should learn to watch her six. Too late now as sheâs assaulted⊠with a pair of arms around her waist, a head of blonde hair with fading neon highlights pressing between her shoulder blades. The glass bottle of Topo Chico dangles lazily in her fingertips, dangerously close to the exposed navel of the Rainbow Riot. The tenseness of RIAâs body relaxes instantly as sheâs well aware of who has her wrapped up.
Angel Quinley: Carna asada, mi bonita novia! I hungy! Letâs gooooooooooo!
RIA giggles, her hands enveloping Quinleyâs shortly after taking the bottle and placing it atop the monitor..
RIA Lockhart: After the show is over. You know how I am; stay still the last match is done.
Angel Quinley: Show is already done. Your match is over. Youâre the show. The smoke show.
A subtle little rock. This is much less dangerous than being in the ring with a Luchador who likes to snooze. Roll ups and all that.
Angel Quinley: Do you reaaaaaaaaaaaally want to stay and watch the next match anyways? Theyâre both assholes and they cheat and they smell like barf. You donât need to smell the barf. I donât need to smell the barf. Iâm HUNGY. I donât need them getting in the way of that. You donât need it either. PROTEIN! Protein helps with recovery! You need to recover. How else will you grow up to be the big and strong Wonder Woman? Huh?
A little shift. A playful dig of the nose against her spine, just between the shoulder blades.
Angel Quinley: Iâm a good convincer. You should be convinced. Are you convinced?
A big smile has crept across Lockhartâs face with every word Angel spoke. She shakes her head with a light chuckle.
RIA Lockhart: Babe. Iâm 31 years old. Iâm pretty sure Iâm done growing vertically. And I dunno⊠Ryzen kinda pounded it into my head to stay till the last match. I donât tend to embrace old school things, but thatâs one that stuck with me. I could be in the ring with any of these dudes in the near future, ya know? You could be too.
RIA shifts around to face Angel, the embrace never breaking. She wraps her arms around the blonde womanâs waist.
RIA Lockhart: I see two options here; if you really donât wanna wait, we get something delivered here to the arena. Buuuuut⊠If youâre willing to wait, we can go to whatever is open. And Iâll let you pick without any kind of complaint. So whatâre we gonna do?
The Psychoberry locks her hot pink covered eyes onto Angelâs beautiful blues. The Trashling faux pouts.
Angel Quinley: Fiiiiiine. Iâll wait. BesidesâŠI got something I can read while I waitâŠ
She fishes in the pocket of her sweats (yes, these are also branded, BUY THE SWEATS). Then, with a big smile, she flashes a pamphlet right in the Psychoberryâs face. Then, toward the camera, a creepy big smile spread across her features.
Angel Quinley: Yo, itâs mother trugginâ HOT WHEELS MONSTER TRUCKS! LIVE! GLOW-N-FIRE! Itâs coming to Monterey May 2nd and 3rd! Itâs trugginâ BIGFOOT and heâs ON FIRE and GLOWING IN THE TRUGGINâ DARK!
A turn right back toward RIA.
Angel Quinley: We have to go. We have to. We must. Bigfoot.
Her eyes grow alarmingly wide.
Angel Quinley: Biiiiiig. Foooooot.
RIA rolls her eyes and shakes her head, all in a playful manner. She gazes at the pamphlet for a moment before shrugging her shoulders.
RIA Lockhart: Yeah, fuck it. You wanna go? We can go. Watching monster trucks run over shit is usually pretty fun.
Lockhartâs eyes wander up towards the ceiling in contemplation.
RIA Lockhart: Weâll have to make sure we load up on food and drinks. Cuz weâll both probably be high as hell by the time we get there. Iâd say we should make a plan, but weâll be rocked and forget it anyway, soâŠ
RIA shoves her hands into Angelâs pockets.
RIA Lockhart: In the meantime, your cute ass can decide what you wanna eat. Like I said, anything or anywhere you want. I got ya covered.
For a moment, The Eternal Sunrise buckles at the knees. Plenty of people watch wrestling for the plot. This is feeling like âwatching wrestling for the plotâ.
Angel Quinley: I got the place scoped and locked. And if I donât, then Iâll ask big truck vroom vroom man Clay if he got and recommendations.
A moment of pause.
Angel Quinley: Been noticing you havenât been around the Burn Bookers as much. Maybe itâs just here and San JuanâŠbut donât think I havenât been noticing.
RIA sighs. It was a subject she knew sheâd have to openly address at some point, but she wasnât ready. Truth was, she probably never would be.
RIA Lockhart: Iâve⊠distanced myself. And I didnât really give anyone a heads up that I was planning to. Itâs not cuz any member of Vae Victis did anything wrong. Itâs a me thing; my confidence is kinda busted⊠Iâm trying to work through it, but itâs not easy. Like, I kinda felt like I didnât belong. Iâm not the number one. Iâm not the enforcer. Iâm not the one rising up the card. What the hell is the point?!
With each sentence, Lockhartâs voice raised in volume and intensity. The frustration practically drips off each word. RIA lets out a huff and turns away from Angel.
RIA Lockhart: I donât hate anyone in VV. Far from it. I have no hard feelings. Iâm just⊠frustrated. And I donât know how to fix it or move past it. So Iâm just kinda in limbo.
Angel Quinley: If you ainât feeling it, you ainât feeling it. But, like, and people might think Iâm not the person with the gravitas to tell you thisâŠbut Limbo is just a between. And you can ride the wire for a long time. Me and Bex sure have. And we thank Mama Bear for thatâŠ
Quinley rests her hand on RIAâs shoulder.
Angel Quinley: But you canât ride the wire forever. And if you need an incentiveâŠjust because New World Trash is a name for a tagâŠitâs not just that. Not since you and Ami came into the picture. You feel me?
The hand leaves her shoulder.
Angel Quinley: Youâll always be able to sit with us.
RIA can feel it⊠tears are forming, eyes watering. She wraps her arms around Angel, burying her face in her shoulder.
RIA Lockhart: It shouldnât matter⊠Hearing that⊠But it does. It means the world to me. I still care about VV. Always will. But you? Bex? Ami? Youâre my ride or dies. I always wanna be here for all of you. And you know if you asked for the moon, Iâd try to find some way to pull the fuckinâ thing closer to the earth. You make me feel like I matterâŠ
Angel Quinley: You DO matter. And I am never going to stop telling you that.
Her fingers comb through RIAâs hair.
Angel Quinley: AnywaysâŠyou got a show to watch.
She takes one look at the camera. Deadpan.
Angel Quinley: You got somewhere else to be.
A peck to the forehead. A disengage. A reach to the monitor and a handoff of the bottle on top.
Angel Quinley: Drink up, before it gets warm.
We move elsewhere.
The live feed transitions over to the peristyle chamber known to the masses as the V-V-I-P Room (aka Vaenctum Victorum), where junior reporter Simon Tillier stands by with a mic in hand.
Simon Tillier: Whatâs up, fellow knuckle-dragging PRIME-ates? Itâs your pal, âRhyminââ Simon with the perfect timinâ. Once more, Iâm coming to you live from the V-V-I-P Room, because⊠I dunno, I guess I just live here now.
The shot pulls back, revealing the junior reporter to be flanked by the VVingman, Kerry Kuroyama, and Scott Hunter. Both are wearing brand-spanking-new bright pink âVVâ logo tees with sleeves conveniently torn off to show off as much arm as possible.
Kerry Kuroyama: Funny⊠I donât recall collecting rent from you. In any case, living here would probably be an upgrade over wherever you live now.
Simon Tillier: Sadly, I canât really argue with you there⊠aside from, you know, the huge man-eating tiger over there in the corner. Anyway, hello, KerryâŠ
Kerry Kuroyama: Simon.
Simon Tillier: ScottâŠ
Scott Hunter: I hope you die before your next birthday. I hope your milk curdles and it ruins your cereal. I hope the webbing between your toes develops a serious fungal infection because I have pre-purchased all of the anti-fungal cream, and you will not be able to cure it.
Pause, by everyone.
Simon glances past Scott, and the camera pans to catch Kerry Koalayama, barely visible from beneath the brim of an oversized novelty sombrero.
Simon Tillier: And um⊠other Kerry.
The Eucalyptic Apex belches in response and scratches at the Five Star Championship draped across his large, furry belly.
Simon Tillier: Well, gentlemen, I suppose weâll get to the questionsâ
Kerry Kuroyama: Actually, Simon⊠I have a question for you.
Simon Tillier: âŠokay?
Kerry Kuroyama: What do I have to do to make a difference?
Simon Tillier: A⊠difference? Iâm sorry, what kind of âdifferenceâ are we talking about here?
Kerry Kuroyama:Â
Simon Tillier: Uh huhâŠ
Kerry Kuroyama: Do you feel it then?
Simon Tillier: âŠfeel what?
Kerry Kuroyama: Down thereâŠ
Kerry points. Simon looks. The camera briefly pans to their feet.
Simon Tillier: The, um⊠the floor?
Kerry Kuroyama: That subtle, seismic rumble. That silent shudder in the ground beneath our feet. Seismic waves, drifting through the earth, converging on this point in time and space. Like a coming stampedeâŠ
Simon Tillier: I, um⊠think that might be your minifridge. Itâs making a weird sound, also.
Kerry Kuroyama: See Simon, thereâs a strange and indescribable energy in the air around PRIME right now. The kind that comes with the start of every new year. Itâs a vibe, Simon. A spirit! An aura! A surge of unseen ether and whimsy that precipitates the coming of a certain, special something. Something BIG, Simon! Something MOMENTOUS! Whatâs coming is a TIDE that is greater and deeper than any Biblical flood. The tide of CHANGE! Most in that locker room will see the water coming and immediately run for the higher ground. But me and ScottâŠ?
Scott Hunter: Me and him.
Kuroyama points between himself and Hunter. Scott does the opposite, pointing at himself, then Kerry.
Kerry Kuroyama: When we see that tide roll in, we swim out into it on our boards, wait for the WAVE to break, and RIDE that motherfucker the whole distance, Kahuna a me Kahuna.
Scott Hunter: Hakuna Matata.
Kerry Kuroyama: What a wonderful phrase. Now, you picking up what Iâm putting down here?
Simon Tillier: Uh⊠I guess so?
Kerry Kuroyama: So I ask again, Simon, what must I do to make the difference? What will get the fans out there to wake up and recognize whatâs coming to them? What can I do to usher in an era of change for PRIME? How do I make 2026 the year of Vae Victis?
Simon Tillier: I, um⊠donât really know. But maybe a win tonight could be a first step.
Sly grin stretched over his face, Kerry does the âah-HA!â finger shake.
Kerry Kuroyama: Certainly couldnât hurt. Mind you, thatâs easier said than done. Cecilworth Farthington has been the most dominant and standout Universal Champions in PRIME history. And then thereâs FLAMBERGE⊠who held onto that belt once, and one day he may very well hold it again. Glue as a whole have proven over the past year why they stand at the top of PRIME. But this is a new year, Simon. They may be the ones on top, but with me being the Five-Star Champion and Scott being the Breakout Wrestler of 2025, it goes without saying that we are the ones on the RISE. And when youâre on the rise, thereâs only one place to go.
He points straight up.
Simon Tillier: I think I catch your drift. Anyway, you certainly sound determined, Kerry.
Kerry Kuroyama: Iâm more than determined, Simon. Iâm BEYOND determined.
The face of the Emerald Apex suddenly darkens.
Kerry Kuroyama: âŠIâm serious.
For no reason, Scott suddenly BELL CLAPS Simon Tillier, Henry Keyes styles, while yelling:
Scott Hunter: RUMSPRINGA!!!!!!
Simon Tillier: Hey, ow, that hurt!
Scott swipes in Simonâs direction, big sweeping open palm roundhouses that barely miss as Simon ducks each time.
Scott Hunter: BUNNIES DEMAND BLOOD!!! SKELETONIZE THE JUICE!!!
Simon backs away slowly.
Scott points at him, eyes wide.
Scott Hunter: You just watch yourself. Iâve got the death sentence in four systems.
Simon Tiller: Iâll be careful.
Scott Hunter: YOUâLL BE DEAD!!!
Kerry sets his hand on Scottâs shoulder to calm his nerves.
Kerry Kuroyama: This little oneâs not the effort, bro. Come, let me get you somethingâŠ
The VVingmen step out of the shot. Tillier breathes a sigh of relief, feeling like heâs just dodged a bullet.
Simon Tillier: What the hell is in those pancakes that makes these people so freaking insane�
We cut to ringside where we find a very unusual scene â well, maybe not unusual as what happened in the ring just moments ago.
Max Kael, or, who we presume to be Max Kael, is circling the ring â corner to corner â gently stroking the end of a clear, plexi-glass face mask that is covering the Mayor of Arkhamâs face.
Nick Stuart: Rumor has it that Kael suffered some sort of accident recently, Richard â and he is wearing a protective face covering on doctorâs orders.
Richard Parker: Or maybe heâs wearing it because it looks SICK AS HELL, Nick.
Max looks up, his attention piqued, as âThe Soviet National Anthemâ by the Russian Red Army Choir erupts ahead of Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Rulsan emerging from the backstage area.
Stanislav and Ruslan raise their arms, side by side, roar at the crowd, and pointedly make their way towards the ring.
Stanislav points and jaws at several fans along the way, while Ruslan points and hawks at the greatness of the Russian Bear, not realizing that an amused (presumably) Max Kael is mocking his every action in the middle of the ring.
Alexi points to the crowd. Max points to the crowd.
Alexi claps for Ivan. Max claps for Ivan.
Alexi looks furious. Max LEAPS OVER THE TOP ROPE!
Nick Stuart: WOAH!
Richard Parker: YAS VIDANIYA!
The rarely surprised Ivan Stanislav reacts the same way Vladislav Tretiak responded to Mike Eruzioneâs go-ahead goal during the Miracle on Ice as the Russian Bear flails backwards and falls on his ass!
The Mayor of Arkhamâs shock-and-awe tactics have got the crowd â and Alexi Ruslan â in a frenzy as he scrambles around Ivanâs prone body like a mongoose circling a cobra. The big man tries to rise to his feet, but the smaller Kael throws the entire weight of his body against Ivanâs lower leg!
The Russian Bear roars in pain as Max rolls out of the attack, kips up, and goes for another full-body assault! Kael pushes off his heels and goes for the same leg, SLAMMING back first into Ivanâs knee cap and forcing the giant to the ground.
Elvis Nixon is leaning over the ropes, watching intensely, but unable to do anything until the pair are both in the ring.
Richard Parker: Max Kael has the early upper hand here, Nick and he seems to have already picked a favorite target in Ivanâs legs.
Nick Stuart: It wonât matter much if he canât get Ivan in the ring, Richard.
Max begins to lay kicks and blows to Ivanâs right thigh and quadricep, but is soon grabbed by a furious Alexi Ruslan and pulled off of Ivanâs the way you would remove a blood-sucking tick.
With a skittering slide, Max scrambles to regroup but not before Alexi helps Ivan under the ropes and into the ring. Finally, Nixon rings the bell and we are officially underway!
DING DING DING DING!
Ivan forces himself to his feet as Max scurries up the nearby steel steps, continues to progress to the top of the corner post, and VAULTS himself again in the Russian Bearâs direction â but this time Stanislav is ready!
Nick Stuart: POWERBOMB!
Richard Parker: Arkham may need a new Mayor, Nick! How is every bone in Maxâs body not broken right now?
Stanislav pushes himself into the standing position and puffs his chest outward.
HYAH! HAH HAH HA!
The Russian laughs with glee as he pounds his turkey-leg like forearms against his rib cage in his best impression of King Hippo from Mike Tysonâs Punchout!! before reaching down to lift Max up for a powerslam.
Nick Stuart: The commander of the Red Army is not pleased at how the match started out for him, and he is showing it! He lifts Max above his head â but the Black Heart of Prime manages to extricate himself and is trying to perform some sort of submission move in mid-air!
Richard Parker: I canât tell what Max is thinking from behind that mask of his, Nick â but none of it is good for Ivan!
With a roar, Ivan wraps his hand around the neck of the wiry Kael and lifts him up every inch that his 7-foot frame can extend above his head and shoulders before letting the Black Heart of Prime drop several feet into a VICIOUS atomic drop.
Nick Stuart: Kaelâs pelvis is in pieces right now, Richard!
Richard Parker: Good thing reincarnated corpses canât procreate, Nick. Wait⊠they canât right? Like⊠that would be weird if they could.
Even behind the mask, it is clear Max is in pain â but his early volley against Ivan has also definitely done some damage as the Red Army leader is slow to cross the length of the ring to meet Max, who has retreated into the corner.
Ivan says something loudly in Russian at Max, causing Kael to push himself up into a standing position. As Ivan approaches, Kael rushes forward and whips his hands wildly against the chest of Ivan Stanislav!
Nick Stuart: Chop! Chop! Chop Chop chop!
Richard Parker: EVERYBODY!
Ivan swings his tree trunk of an arm to brush Maxâs attacks away â and directly into Kaelâs trap! The Black Heart of PRIME forces himself into Ivanâs persona space and drives his fingers down into his throat!
Nick Stuart: S.E.M.B! Max goes for a desperation move here to try and turn the tables back in his favor.
Richard Parker: Donât go too deep, Max! We donât need yesterdayâs borscht all over the ring tonight!
Alexi Ruslan is screaming at Elvis Nixon to intervene but the seasoned referee is instead looking for any signs that Ivan may be unable to continue! Max is nearly wrist deep into Ivanâs mandible before the pained Russian reaches up with a clawed hand.
Nick Stuart: Uh oh.
Richard Parker: Oh no!
Maxâs energy changes in a split second as he feels Stanislavâs hand wrapped around his skull! The force from the Red Army leaderâs grip begins to fracture Kaelâs mask as the Mayor of Arkham is prone!
Richard Parker: Fight back, Max!
Nick Stuart: Really!?
Richard Parker: Hey! He may be a corrupt Mayor, but at least heâs Americaâs corrupt Mayor, Nick!
Ivan drives Max to the mat as Elvis Nixon follows, asking Kael if he wants to give up! Stanislav is shouting at his opponent to give in but Max appears to be laughing behind the mask!?
Ivan releases his hold to regroup, nonplussed, as Ruslan slams on the mat behind him, issuing new battle tactics.
Richard Parker: If only the Bolognese Bull were here right now.
Nick Stuart: Youâre a sick man, Parker.
Elvis Nixon walks over to give Ruslan a warning just as Ivan reaches down to retrieve the recovering Kael AND GETS POCKET SAND IN RETURN!
A desperate Kael scrambles to his feet as the referee responds to Ivanâs cries of pain. Nixon gives a warning to Max who shrugs and then SLAPS the Russian Bear across the face!
Nick Stuart: The RED RIGHT HAND OF COMMUNISM! They heard that one all the way in Leningrad!
Richard Parker: Itâs St. Petersburg, Nick! And what a smart move for Max to pull against his former teammate!
Ivanâs face, as red as the Soviet flag, contorts in rage as he goes for a bear hug but Max drops to his knees and lands a vicious punch to Ivanâs injured leg! The bear drops to one knee as Max kips up, turns, and ROARING HELLBOW!
Ivan falls! Max goes for the pin!
ONE!
T-
Stanislav shoves Max up several inches into the air and rolls to safety! A distracted, discombobulated Kaelâs peripheral vision â blocked by his mask â prevents him from seeing Ivan reaching for his neck!
Nick Stuart: STALINâS SICKLE! Ivan just tossed Kael up and over the ropes like a sack of government-issued flour!
Richard Parker: Here comes Alexi!
Clearly waiting for his moment, Alexi Ruslan pounces on the prone Mayor of Arkham and begins kicking wildly at the fighterâs ribs! Elvis Nixon is quick to the ropes, but not before Alexi lands a STIFF kick to the back of Max Kaelâs head and rolls him back into the ring.
Ivan smiles as he slowly makes his way toward his opponent. Max holds his ribs as he shakes his head, trying to orient himself.
HYAH! HAH HAH HA!
Ivan leaps forward and connects with a VICIOUS forearm clothesline that sends Max spinning!
He lands on the mat in a daze as Ivan goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
TH-
Elvis Nixon breaks the count as Max gets a shoulder up, but Ivan â and Alexi â canât believe it!
Alexi is slamming his hands onto the mat as Ivan pushes himself to his feet! He lifts the disoriented Max to his feet, which Alexi quickly grabs a hold of!
Elvis doesnât see the interference as Ivan winds up for a second attempt at his clothesline â AND TUMBLES OVER THE ROPES on top of his Red Army comrade!
Richard Parker: WOAH!
Nick Stuart: Ivan may have just crushed Alexi there, Richard! A little bit of shared pain to go with shared gains, I suppose!
Max staggers to his feet, watching as a gasping Alexi is trying to escape from the massive Stanislav. The Black Heart of Prime cocks his head in curiosity from behind the mask as Ivan pushes himself to his feet, slowly, and brushes himself off â only stopping briefly to acknowledge that Alexi is not, in fact, a blin.
Kael gestures for Ivan to get back in the ring. The Russian Bearâs stoic demeanor falters for a split second as he runs a thumb across his throat and then grabs a hold of the top rope from a standing position on the outside!
Itâs just the opening Max is looking for too, as he begins to launch kick after kick into Ivanâs legs! The Russian Bear winces, gritting his teeth, as he forces himself up onto the side of the ring â despite Kaelâs kicks!
Nick Stuart: The Mayor of Arkham has had a strategy all match, Richard â and it looks like heâs trying to collect on his earlier investments! Max retreats across the ring and pushes himself off the ropes, looking for a slam- NO! Ivan vaults into the ring â BUT KAEL IS READY FOR HIM!
In a seemingly impossible maneuver, Max Kael launches into the air but then lays his body back and lands a falling drop kick directly into Ivanâs knees! The Russian Bear, half over the ropes, tumbles into the ring and onto his back!
Richard Parker: THAT is why the Soviets lost to the U.S., Nick! We thrive on chaos!
Max drops down for a pin, but not before Ivanâs arm just upward into a chokehold!
Kael swings his arms wildly as Ivan, somehow, lifts Maxâs 265-pound body up as he stands from a prone position!
But he only gets one leg up before the damage caused by Max forces him to take a knee â yet he still has Max in a chokehold!
Ivan lets out a roar and absolutely DRIVES Kael to the mat, keeping his hand wrapped around his opponentâs neck as Nixon sees Kaelâs shoulders on the mat!
ONE!
TWO!
TH-
Kael wraps his legs around the very forearm that Ivan is using to choke him and leans backwards, putting ALL of his bodyweight on the Russianâs triceps!
Nick Stuart: Max may have caught Ivan in a rare miscalculation here, Richard!
Richard Parker: Finish him!
Ivan tries to shake Max off, but the Dark Heart of Prime rolls backwards, taking Ivan with him and twisting his body into a submission hold!
Nick Stuart: Ivan isnât going to tap like that!
Richard Parker: How would you know!?
Indeed, Ivan begins to lift Kael once again â purely on rage and strength alone â as he clings to the big manâs forearm like a barnacle! Alexi is slamming the mat â telling Ivan to finish it â as the Russian Bear grabs a hold of Maxâs shoulders!
Ivan shakes Max loose and drops him from several feet up in the air, using his now free arm to launch forward!
Nick Stuart: Iron Cur- NO!
Just as Ivan goes for the short arm clothesline, Max slithers like a snake out of harms away and, as heâs falling, DRIVES his elbow into the space where Ivanâs skull meets his spinal cord!
The Russian Bear falls to one knee in a heap as Kael rolls and tumbles off of his opponentâs canvas-like backside. He turns, pivots, and runs toward the closest set of ropes!
Richard Parker: Here it comes!
Nick Stuart: This may be Maxâs new finisher! He is set to go full speed toward the prone Ivan Stanislav and-
Richard Parker: LOOK OUT!
Alexi Ruslan SLAMS a baton into the Achilles heel of Max Kael just as he is about to achieve full equal-and-opposite-reaction momentum back towards Ivan! The Mayor of Arkham drops to the mat as Elvis Nixon finally catches wind of what is going on and begins to berate Alexi!
Ruslan drops the baton and holds up his hands in self defense â leaving himself open as MAX KAEL TURNS AND DIVES THROUGH THE ROPES!
Alexi lets out a screech of surprise as the rabid, masked Max Kael begins to throw haymakers at the Red Army member.
Meanwhile in the ring, Ivan Stanislav gets to his feet, and turns to see his opponent wailing away on his manager! The Russian Bear turns and makes a straight line for the side of the ring and reaches through the ropes to yank Max Kael backwards off of Alexi!
Max spins around and begins to pummel Ivan! Alexi, gasping for air, scrambles back to get his baton and slams Kael in the back!
DING! DING! DING!
The bell rings as Nixon waves his arms and points to Vince Howard.
Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN ⊠this match has officially been determined a NO CONTEST! I repeat, a NO CONTEST!
Both Ivan and Max look up as Vince announces the result and then turn to look at one another. And just as the two look to come to blows once again, Alexi steps in to begin pulling Ivan away and Elvis Nixon inserts himself in front of Max Kael!
Richard Parker: I demand a rematch! A recount! A REVOLUTION! We never even got to see Maxâs new finisher!
Nick Stuart: Calm down there, Tamerlane. These two will be back in the ring sooner than we think â but for now, letâs go to commercial.
We cut to the backstage area, where Big John Pepper stalks the hallways, looking once more for his old friend, Rip Van Winkle.
Big John Pepper: RIP! RIIIIIP!!! Where are you, my friend!?
Pepper puts his hand over his eyes, straining to look for his friend, but instead, he finds a smaller person.
Another Battaglia.
Vinny Battaglia: Yo yo yo, what up, VINNY TIME made it all the way to ReVival! Whatâs up pops?
Big John Pepper looks down at Vinny the way Smokey the Bear might look down at a Boy Scout.
Big John Pepper: Hello, young man. I apologize, but I donât have time for a conversation at the moment. I need to find my old friend. Perhaps later, young squire?
đ€
Vinny Battaglia: Your friend? You mean my dad, The Anglo Luchador? Iâm glad you finally exposed the truth. Thatâs some real good journalism, ripping the lid off my dad being actually Rip Van Winkle.
Big Johnâs face lights up like a Christmas tree, and not one of those little fake ones that people have in their apartments, but like the one at Rockefeller Center. Hm, I wonder if Big John Pepper knew the Rockefellers. Oh wait, Iâm not allowed to opine, Iâm just the disembodied narrator.
Vinny Battaglia: You know, my dad should stop pretending not to be someone he really is. Itâs like the inverse situation that Iâm going through. People keep saying Iâm the Center City Mothman, and thatâs just not the case.
Big John Pepper lifts an eyebrow.
Big John Pepper: Thank you, young man, for saying what clearly needed to be said. And, trust me, as someone who has battled many a mothman from various cities â you, sweet child, sweet angel, are far from one of those⊠scumbags.
Vinny nods sagely, at least as sagely as a high school sophomore with a low C-average can.
Vinny Battaglia: See? Someone gets it! Thereâs all kinds of mothmans⊠mothmen?
Vinny looks confused for a second before shaking his head.
Vinny Battaglia: I mean, thereâs the original from West Virginia, and then I heard the most vicious one is actually in Pyongyang and hunts anyone who calls Kim Jong Un a failson. But the Center City Mothman, man, they keep saying that heâs me, and I hate it! I mean, I take showers at least twice a week!
Big John Pepper nods.
Big John Pepper: I am intimately familiar with your exact pain, young man. A long time ago, I was accused of being Teddy Roosevelt. Which, he was not a mothman, but the greatest president in American history, so, you know, not exactly the same, but kind of.
đ€
Vinnyâs eyes light up.
Vinny Battaglia: Yoooooo I heard he had a real big stick! Like how big are we talkinâ? One time, I had to get an entire tree branch to get this one dog to stop chasing me, and he carried it in his mouth the whole way down 12th Street! It was siiiiiiiiiiick.
Big John Pepper: How big was his stick? How BIG was his STICK!?
Big John grins.
Big John Pepper: Almost as big as my desire to get your father to stop LYING about his true identity! Young Van Winkle boy, could you take me to him?
Vinny Battaglia: Yeah, sure! IâllâŠ
Suddenly, a voice shouts from off-screen.
Voice: You will do no such thing.
The click of a lock can be heard on camera, almost as if a microphone is being held towards a deadbolt so that certain people get the hint. Then a faint vibrating noise starts emanating through the halls.
Vinny Battaglia: Wow, I canât believe my dad brought that recliner with him to Mexico. Heâs really not beating the Rip Van Winkle accusations if thatâs the case.
Big John and Vinny share a knowing glance, and shake of the head as we cut elsewhere.
Backstage. Right before the main event. Riiiiiiiiiiiiight before the main event. ReVival backdrop. And Angelica Brooks is there.
So is Brandon Youngblood. Fat lip. Especially across the upper left. Oh, thereâs definitely a cut there. He hasnât changed his shirt; RISE is absolutely covered with plenty of blood down the left portion. We may be in Mexico, but this has the appearance of some old school hockey blows. The Diamond is pacing. Angelica has her hand out, trying to calm him down.
Angelica Brooks: BrandonâŠBrandonâŠafter earlier tonightâŠ
He stops. His eyes focus not on her, but on the lens of the camera.
Brandon Youngblood: Atlanta Georgia!
His gaze darts to her. His voice grows deeper.
Brandon Youngblood: Atlanta Georgia.
A lick of those swollen lips. His head pivots back to the camera.
Brandon Youngblood: I gave you your chance in Atlanta Georgia. Colossus. The big stage. The biggest stage. I laid it all out for you on Night One to give you the carpet on your Night Two. By land. By sea. By air. I gave you your chance against me after a year away. You werenât âretiredâ anymore. You and thatâŠwhatever the hell Vickie Hall isâŠtrollâŠtrashâŠgarbageâŠI donât know and I donât care.
Not even the hint of a smile.
Brandon Youngblood: You were already shuffling about on DEFIANCE television. You were already making eyes with Henry Keyes and the FIST. That wasnât you taking time away from leading the Barbershop Quartet. Double Downs ainât on the menu, so making sure Bathory and Uncle Noah made it through their shift wasnât on the radar.
Eleven herbs and spices.
Brandon Youngblood: Tsonda took your Golden Ticket, but he didnât end you in the Almasy. You were coming back, like the cockroach you are. It was just a matter of time. But you werenât going to do it on your call. Make some grand entrance. Shiv someone in the back when they least expect it.
A subtle nod of the head.
Brandon Youngblood: I made sure of that. I got to the heart of that and cut it all away. But you donât get it; that was a limited time offer. Ainât none left. You didnât come out for Night Two? Wasnât interested. Want to come into 2026 thinking dates with me are golden coupons you can cash whenever? Naw.
A step forward.
Brandon Youngblood: I said it and I meant it. Despite what you think. Despite already putting you down twice all the way back in the beginning of The ReVival. Despite you slipping away every time youâve had a chance to crack me. Despite Colossus and Tony Gamble and second hand alfredo. Not interested. Even after thisâ
Fishing into his pocket, he pulls out something and displays it to the camera; a bloody stub of a molar, broken off from the deep root.
Brandon Youngblood: Still. Not. Interested.
Back into the pocket it goes.
Brandon Youngblood: Iâve lost a lot for PRIME. Tendons in my knees. Bone spurs in my neck. A trap. Blood. My nose more than a few times. Had my fingers and hand broken going for the Universal Championship against Avalon. This isnât even the first time Iâve lost a tooth here.
He points toward one of his upper incisors for a moment.
Brandon Youngblood: Try finding the guy who took my first one; I have his pelt on a nice display, over my mantleâŠand knowâŠthat youâre not even going to get anywhere near that level of response.
A step back.
Brandon Youngblood: Cockroaches scurry about all over the world, but itâs in the light where it matters. And you need that light. More than anything. But youâre not getting it in the ring with me. Thereâs bigger game here than you, Manhunter.
A crack of the knuckles.
Brandon Youngblood: I didnât go away for a year to play the hits. This ainât the same song and dance. I donât need youâŠbut make no mistakeâŠon the sideâŠwhen I feel like mucking around with the garbageâŠI got enough to punch down on you. SeeâŠthereâs having a job, a passionâŠand thereâs having a littleâŠhobbyâŠyou dedicate a little bit of time every once and a while to. Thatâs you. Thatâs always been you. And thatâs where youâre going to belong.
With that statement, a smirk.
Brandon Youngblood: So with that out of the wayâŠAngieâŠwhen I get back in the ringâŠitâs about moving forward. Itâs about trying to test myself against the best this sport has to offer. And itâs aboutâ
He stops in his tracks. His eyes narrow. Soon, we see exactly why that is the case.
And we hear why.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of one of PRIMEâs native sons.
âWhatâs that thing they chant out in the ring for times like this? I think itâsâŠâyou still got it?â
The pearly whites, the midnight black drapery, the grin that always wins. Itâs Chandler Tsonda.
Chandler Tsonda: I got real chills here, no bullshit. (holds up his hand) Look at those hairs standing up!
Whereas the usual Tsonda entrance drips with either smarm, sarcasm, or bile, this one appears sincere. He nods in the direction of Youngblood, a small gesture that could certainly be read as respect.
Chandler Tsonda: Pardon the interruption, BY. Me and all these people, weâre getting our moneyâs worth listening to one of the greats talk his shit again TRANSMITE EN VIVO AQUI EN MONTERREY, MEXICO!Â
The cheap pop is the true universal language.
Chandler Tsonda: Thing is, I didnât just come here to dance.
The Diamondâs expression doesnât sour, nor does it curl into a smile. No. The look on offer is stoicism. It hadnât been since War Games that the two of them had shared the same air. But now, here? A step forward. Then another. So close now.
OoooohâŠthat tension.
There. Thereâs the smirk.
Brandon Youngblood: I donât dance.
A once over.
Brandon Youngblood: Be seeing you.
Then, a nod.
Brandon Youngblood: Sooner than later.
With that, Youngblood makes his way stage right.
Chandler Tsonda: Hold it a sec.
People do not, generally, tell this man to âhold it a sec.â And Chandler Tsonda knows it, because he follows up quickly.
Chandler Tsonda: Wanna throw an idea your way. But not (gestures to Brooks and then to the camera) with all these prying eyes. Letâs talk.
Fade toâŠsomewhere else.
The house lights come down. The stomping beat of Survivorâs âBurning Heartâ hits the PA. The pop is instantaneous!
RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
Two bold words materialize on the DEFIATron.
V A E V I C T I S
After a beat, an old-school EXPLOSION effect causes multiple letters to scatter in every direction. All that remains are the two âVâsâ, which merge together into a resplendent âWâ that pulsates with neon light.
The âWâ sweeps across the screen, revealing a new word.
VV I N G M E N
When the view returns, the screen is filled with a blue-tinted view of us hurtling down an open stretch of road. As the camera zooms out, the view is revealed to be the reflection in Scott Hunterâs aqua-tinted aviators!
The man from the small fishing village of Miami, Florida, is wearing a bombastically loud floral print silk shirt and gold medallion to complement the ensemble. His copper mullet sways through the breeze as he rides shotgun in a royal purple Ferrari Testarossa Spider.
Behind the wheel (probably driving like an old woman) is Kerry Kuroyama, invoking his inner Ricardo Tubbs in a pastel mint green leisure suit and gold chain. He looks to Hunter, and nods. Scott looks back and answers with a nod of his own, before grabbing the shifter, and setting it to a special gear that reads âGET SERIOUSâ!
We cut to the rear of the car, getting a clear look at the âVV4LIFEâ license plate, before the Testarossa suddenly SURGES forward down the asphalt, disappearing into a neon horizon while leaving behind trails of fire.
KA-BOOOM!!!
Fireworks explode as the tandem of Kuroyama and Hunter at last step out through the curtain, both wearing matching dark pink âVVINGMENâ t-shirts. They immediately go to either side of the stage pose.
RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
Their honorary mascot Kerry Koalayama soon rolls out after them on his tricked out rascal scooter, along with a slyly grinning Ami Troy, shouldering the Five Star Championship.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, our main event contest is a tag team competition scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by âThe Merry Mischief Makerâ Ami Troy and âThe Eucalpytic Apexâ Kerry Koalayama, the team representing VAE VICTIS! Weighing in at a combined four-hundred and seventy-seven pounds, they the team of KERRY KUROYAMA⊠and SCOTT HUNTER⊠they are THEEEEE VVVVVVWWWIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGMMEEEEEEEEENNN!!!
The crowd cheers. Hunter continues to fire them up. Kuroyama drapes his towel over his neck, staying cool with a confident smile. They confidently march down the rampway, slapping hands with fans while Ami follows and Koalayama aimlessly weaves after them in his rascal.
Nick Stuart: No doubt about it, Richard, the VVingmen are back together! Seeing them like this, youâd hardly think they were on the outs with each other in the lead-up to their battle for the Five Star Championship!
Richard Parker: So it would seem on the surface, but Iâd bet anything thereâs still some underlying resentment within Scott.
Nick Stuart: And just what makes you think that?
Richard Parker: How does âhaving a brainâ work for you? Câmon, Nick! His so-called best friend robbed him of the opportunity of his career! Thatâs not the act of a friend, if you ask me! What Kerry did was put his idiot underling back in his place!
Nick Stuart: Honestly, partner, I think youâre wayyyyy off the mark with that take, though I am interested to see how Kuroyama and Hunter work together as a team in the wake of their match against each other at Colossus! Because a win here tonight over the Glue could be a sign of a big year for Vae Victis!
Scott and Kerry slide into the ring and post up on opposite corners, where they continue to pose.
After a few beats, we begin to hear the first few beats of a very familiar melody. White lights pulse throughout the stadium.
âRazzmatazzâ by I DONâT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME tastefully blasts out.
đ”
WAIT
DONâT HOLD YOUR BREATH FOR GOODNESSâ SAKE
NOBODYâS HOME
đ”
As the bright white lights continue to pulse, teal and orange beacons slowly swirl about the stage to reveal a very handsome cardboard cutout lineup of four gentlemen
Cardsworth.
Hayesboard.
CardJoe.
FLAMBoard.
Each figure strikes a dangerously weird pose with the sort of wild unblinking gaze that can only be achieved from a print shop.
đ”
BUT YOUâVE GOT PARLIAMENTS FILLED WITH PARASITES, PLUS
MARQUEES WITH YOUR NAME IN LIGHTS
A STAR IS BORN AND THATâS THE TRADE, FOR EVERYONE YOU KNOW
đ”
Teal and white sparks begin to fire off as Cardsworth and FLAMBoard are violently kicked over by the very real PRIME Universal Champion Cecilworth Farthington and FLAMBERGE. They take a few steps forward, shoulder-to-shoulder, before turning and fistbumping CardJoe and Hayesboard.
đ”
LETâS GO PAINT THE TOWN ON OUR WAY HOME
THE BLINKING LIGHTS ARE BREAKING BONES
CAST ALL YOUR SPELLS, AND THEN YOU HAVE
THAT GOOD OLD FASHIONED RAZZMATAZZ
đ”
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, introducingâŠat a combined height of 12 feetâŠrepresenting the GLUUUUUUUEMINATIIIIIIIII! FLAAAAMBERRRRGE, and the PRIIIIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! CECILWOOOOOORTH FARRRRRTHINGTOOOOOON!
Cecilworth and FLAMBO, interestingly enough, are wearing each otherâs merch over their normal ring gear. Hoodies, specifically. FLAMBERGEâs hoodie is black with a tasteful white cursive CF over the chest. Cecilworthâs hoodie is bright teal and electric orange with a stenciled multi-headed lizard wearing four crowns across the back. They casually walk shoulder to shoulder towards the ring, soaking in a surprising amount of cheers from Los PRIMEates.
Richard Parker: I donât know who pisses me off more with their FAKE friendship, The Wingmen, or the Glue bois.
Nick Stuart: Itâs absolutely crazy to me that you think friends canât rival one another.
Richard Parker: Thatâs why Iâm friends with you, Nick. You could never rival me.
Nick Stuart groans as the teams begin sorting out who will begin the match.
As the bell sounds,
DING! DING!
Itâs Kuroyama and FLAMBERGE who begin the contest in the ring.
The Lizard.
The Dragon.
They lock up in the center of the ring, and almost immediately the Lizard transitions it to an arm drag, maintains his hold on Kuroyamaâs arm and transitioning from an arm drag to a wrist lock.
Kuroyama sits on the ring mat, legs out in front of him, arm over his head as FLAMBERGE twists his wrist.
Kuroyama rolls forward, kips up, and elbows FLAMBERGE in the stomach. Again! Again! FLAMBERGE finally lets go of Kuroyamaâs wrist, and Kuroyama capitalizes with a Japanese arm drag of his own!
The Lizard sits up immediately, clutching at his lower back and â
Richard Parker: HOLY SHNIKES!!!
Nick Stuart: THAT YAKUZA KICK DAMN NEAR DETACHED FLAMBERGEâS HEAD FROM HIS NECK, RICHARD!!!
Kuroyama makes the cover!
Jimmy Turnbull makes the count!
ONE!!!
No way this is over right? Itâs the main event, itâs FLAMBERGE!
TWO!!!
Here comes the kick out, obviously.
THREE!?!?!?!
You gotta be kidding me.
.
.
.
.
.
Nah, his foot was on the rope.
You knew it.
Nick Stuart: That lizard brain of FLAMBERGE kept this match from ending right there, but boy, that was as close as it gets, Richard!
Richard Parker: Iâve seen closer, to be honest.
Kuroyama, however, isnât exactly keen to let off the gas when heâs grabbed such momentum in the early going. Procedurally, he grabs FLAMBERGE up by a handful of his tall hair, bringing him up to his feet.
SMACK!!!
An open palm SLAP right across FLAMBERGEâS face.
And immediately, a shift.
Seismic? Hardly, but noticeable. In the lizardâs eyes.
An eclipse, one might say.
And the Lizard begins a flurry of attacks! A vicious forearm to Kuroyamaâs jaw, which sends him hurtling backwards, and a stiff right jab to Kerry, fast as lightning, continues him hurtling back. FLAMBERGE, instincts and rage, maintains his closing distance as Kerry slumps into the turnbuckle and POP!!!
A RISING KNEE TO THE FUCKING SKULL FROM FLAMBERGE TO KUROYAMA!!!
Nick Stuart: Jesus Christ!!!
Richard Parker: Kuroyama folds like a chair!!!
Not only does he collapse into that corner, but its not just any corner, either.
Itâs the Gluminatiâs corner.
FLAMBERGE could take Kuroyamaâs neck right now, but he refrains, tagging Cecilworth Farthington in.
The Lizard wraps Kuroyamaâs arms around the ropes, leaving him prone for Cecilworth as he enters the ring.
Cecilworth takes a moment to weigh his options, before ultimately deciding to take a penalty kick right into Kuroyamaâs chest!
And then he begins stomping a nice, little mud hole in what remains of Kuroyamaâs chest.
Across the ring, Hunter is stomping, clapping, doing anything he can to cheer his partner on and keep him in it.
But that side of the ring seems like itâs an ocean away for Kerry at the moment.
Cecilworth and FLAMBERGE have lots of ring knowledge, and certainly are aware of the fact that the further Kerry is from his corner, the better their odds are of maintaining the upper hand in the match.
And Cecilworth in particular, a man who once called wrestling the love of his life, stations himself between Kerry and his own corner as he continues his stomps.
Kerry, battered and bruised, realizes thereâs no way out, only through.
Unfortunately, that means overcoming his current predicament.
Which is Cecilworth placing him in a grueling arm bar.
Nick Stuart: Somewhat audacious to put your opponent in a submission hold so close to the ropes, donât you think Richard?
Richard Parker: Sure, but everyone knows Cecilworth is a world class sadist, so really, this is on par.
Nick Stuart: âŠI donât know if thatâs true.
Needless to say, Kerry reaches the ropes rather easily, but Cecilworth makes sure he holds the arm bar up to 4.99999 seconds.
Then, he pulls Kerry a little further away from the ropes, and locks the arm bar in again!
Kerry writhes and screams and strains to get any of his three limbs to touch a rope.
No dice.
So, he does what anyone would do in this situation.
He starts climbing to his feet.
First to two knees.
Then one knee.
Then, heâs on both feet, which places him in an extremely precarious position, as his arm is in much greater danger than if he were still lying on his back. However, with every ounce of strength he can muster, he grasps his own wrist with his free arm andâŠ
LIFTS CECILWORTH INTO THE AIR!!!
Nick Stuart: My Goodness!
A MAKESHIFT POWERBOMB FINALLY BREAKS THE ARM BAR!!!
Kerry lies flat on his stomach.
Cecilworth, his back.
Scott Hunter stomps. And stomps. And stomps. He claps. And claps. And claps. Soon, it seems like the entirety of Mexico has joined him in cheering for Kerry to seize the opportunity to make the tag.
And s l o w l y . . .
Kerry begins his army crawl.
Meanwhile, Cecilworth is straining to scoot to his own corner to tag FLAMBERGE.
Itâs a race.
A race Kuroyama stands no shot in winning.
TAG.
FLAMBERGE enters the ring and immediately grabs Kerryâs ankle, using an ankle lock to not only cause immense pain to the Emerald Apex, but to drag him all the way back to Gluminatiâs corner of the ring.
Then, while in the corner, the Lizard lays some absolutely brutal stomps to Kerryâs lower back, before returning to that arm that Cecilworth had been working, and placing him in a kimura.
Now, this kimura is a bit different than the arm bar in terms of position. Kerryâs legs are faced towards the center of the ring, and FLAMBERGE lies over Kerryâs top half, keeping that kimura locked.
All that is to say, Kerry is in real trouble.
Thereâs nowhere for him to run, theres nowhere for him toâ-
RUUUAAHHHHHHHH!!!
Nick Stuart: SCOTT HUNTER JUST RAN IN AND BROKE UP THE HOLD!
Richard Parker: THAT SCUMBAG!!!
But as Turnbull is distracted getting Hunter back to his corner, Cecilworth claps his own hands to mock a tag sound, steps in the ring, and starts stomping Kuroyama with FLAMBERGE.
Scott is TRYING to get Turnbull to turn around and see what is happening, but of course, heâs only causing further delays and eventually steps out of the ring.
By the time Turnbull turns his head?
FLAMBERGE stands on the apron.
And Cecilworth has Kerry in a tree of woe.
Nick Stuart: I hate the tactics Glue are employing here, but I have to admit, they work.
Richard Parker: There is a reason that every road to every title has passed through that stable at one time or another, Nick!
Nick Stuart: Indeed.
DOUBLE FOOT STOMP BY CECILWORTH TO KERRY IN THAT TREE OF WOE!!!
Kerry lies crumpled against the ropes. Cecilworth, ever the opportunist when he sees an opportunity, brings Kerry to his feet and whips him into the ropes! Kerry bounces off the ropes, DUCKS a lariat, bounces off the other side and â
SQUALL LINE LARIAT BY KUROYAMA!!!!
RUUAHHHHHH!!!!
Nick Stuart: Listen to that crowd! You think the PRIMEates love Vae Victus, Richard!?!
Richard Parker: Your first mistake was to assume I think of the PRIMEates at all, Nick!
For the first time, Kerry has some momentum.
For the first time, Kerry has some distance from that corner.
Itâs now or never.
He army crawls towards his corner.
Cecilworth does the same.
Nick Stuart: Look at Scott Hunter! Heâs DYING to get in that ring!
Richard Parker: He better be careful what he wishes for, Nick.
Kerry is feet away.
Cecilworth makes the tag.
FLAMBERGE FLIES into the ring, charges across andâ
KERRY MAKES THE TAG!!!
The roof blows off the building (metaphorically) as Scott springboards himself over the top rope, into the ring, and nails FLAMBERGE with some ripping punches, before bouncing off the ropes and dropping Le Protagoniste with a flying forearm!
He charges across the ring and clobbers Cecilworth with the same move!
Scott spins in momentum circles, wide-eyed, huffing and puffing, he looks out at the crowd and â
Axe handle from behind by FLAMBERGE! Another! Another!
Scott Hunter turns around!
AXE KICK BY FLAMBERGE!!!
NO!!!
Scott hunter somersaults forward, rolling underneath!
He wraps FLAMBERGE up from behind!
Release German suplex!
FLAMBERGE soars across the ring and then skids across the rest of it, coming to a stop in his corner, where an annoyed Universal Champion tags himself in.
Cecilworth steps into the ring.
He and Scott Hunter meet right in the middle of it.
Face to face.
Nose to nose.
You know what time it is, right?
A left from Cecilworth!
A right from Hunter!
Left from Cecilworth!
Right from Hunter!
Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Right, Right, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT!!!
Scott sends a boot into Cecilworthâs mid-section, drapes the champs arm over his neck, and scoops him HIGH into the air.
A hanging, vertical suplex is absolutely imminent.
OnlyâŠ
Cecilworth is a little too good not to flail his legs enough to escape that hold, isnât he?
Yeah.
Yeah, he is.
Cecilworth lands wobbly behind Scott Hunter!
MALICE IN WONDERLAND!!!
THE ELBOW TO THE BACK OF HUNTERâS HEAD LANDS FLUSH!!!
HUNTER DROPS LIKE A SACK OF TATERS!!!
CECILWORTH MAKES THE COVER!!!
ONE!!!
.
.
.
TWO!!!
.
.
.
THREEEEEEEEE!!!
.
.
.
.
.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! SCOTT HUNTER KICKED OUT JUST IN TIME!!!
Cecilworth finds it a bit irritating that Scott did not succumb to the three count there, but still, he has a neck, does he not? And his partner, his friend, his rival, would very mich like to have it, would he not?
Cecilworth weighs these considerations with other considerations, and eventually decides, hey, letâs let him have another neck. Why not?
He tags in FLAMBERGE.
And the Lizard props himself in his corner, lying in wait.
This is the end.
He knows it.
You know it.
The crowd reacts somewhat viscerally, now with a healthy mix of cheers for Glue, though a much greater piece of the pie murmurs with worry for the Wingmen.
Slowly, Scott begins to crawl to his feet.
Le Protagoniste simply waits.
Finally, Scott seems to stumble upwards to his feet!
FLAMBERGE charges!
AXE KIâ
DRAGONSCREW LEG WHIP BY SCOTT!!!
FLAMBERGE scrambles up to his feet!
SIDEWALK SLAM BY SCOTT!!!
HE MAKES THE COVER!!!
HOOKS THE LEGS!!!
ONE!!!
.
.
.
TWO!!!
.
.
.
THREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
.
.
.
.
.
NO!!! ONCE AGAIN, A KICK OUT AT THE LAST POSSIBLE MOMENT IN THIS TAG TEAM AFFAIR!!!
Nick Stuart: What is it going to take for someone to win this one, Richard!?
Richard Parker: Probably either a pinfall, count out, or disqualification, Nick!
The crowd is back into it. Scott Hunter is back into it. He picks FLAMBERGE up, whips him into the ropes!
He leapfrogs FLAMBO!
FLAMBERGE bounces off the other side!
Scott hunter ducks!
But FLAMBERGE does not jump over him.
No.
He wraps his arm around Hunterâs prone neck instead!
MARIE ANTOINETTE!!! MARIE ANTOINETTE!!!Â
The lights are dimming quickly!
Jimmy Turnbull walks over.
He lifts Hunterâs arm!
.
.
.
It falls!
A second time, he lifts Hunterâs arm.
.
.
.
It falls!
A third, and final time, he lifts Hunterâs arm.
.
.
.
It fallsâ NO!!! Halfway down, Hunter keeps that arm up! He shakes it, fighting to charge up some more of that Huntermaniaâ
And FLAMBERGE just cinches the guillotine choke even tighter.
Scottâs body goes limp.
Turnbull lifts his arm, once again.
.
.
.
It falls.
Kerry Kuroyama cheers desperately from his corner, knowing if he runs in, he will be cut off by the Universal Champion, who is already positioned to leap over the ropes.
Turnbull lifts Hunterâs arm a second time.
.
.
.
It falls.
Turnbull lifts Scottâs arm, once again, for a third and final time.
.
.
.
DING! DING! DING!
It falls.
Nick Stuart: So close. So close to winning. The Wingmen have nothing to be ashamed of here, Richard.
Richard Parker: They actually have a LOT to be ashamed of Nick, though this performance isnât one of them, Iâll give you that.
Vince Howard: HERE IS YOUR WINNERRRRSSSS⊠FLAMBERGE!!! CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON!!! THE GLUMINATIIIIIIII!!!!
Monterrey, Mexico has mixed feelings about this result, and they make those mixed feelings clear with cheers, jeers, and everything in between.
But as far as the Glueminati is concerned, there ainât no mixed feelings at all.
They celebrate in the ring as we
FADE.
TO.
BLACK.
Discussion
Log in to join the discussion.
No comments yet â be the first.