ReVival 82

Welcome to Tijuana!

It is sunny! In the sixties degree wise, or like eighteen if you are not using that USA math, which if you aren’t, hey, understandable, but yes. That’s the weather before the news, but we are not undercutting the news by giving this information, we are just setting the scene.

ReVival continues to go south of the border, and tonight, we have a big show with TITLE MATCHES…not one…BUT MULTIPLE. And other stuff too. And maybe an announcement? LOVELY LOVELY STUFF.

We get a chyron in the bottom of the screen for earlier in the day. Uh oh. It’s Brandon Youngblood, making his way to Estadio Chevron. This did not go well last show. He’s in much the same attire as he was last show too. UH OH. And there’s Angelica Brooks?

TRIPLE UH OH!

You can see where this is going.

Angelica Brooks: Bran–

She doesn’t even get through the opening line before it happens.

What is it you may ask?

Another throw down?

Another fight?

No.

It’s a mariachi band.

They are all dressed up as teeth.

Lead Singer: Hola, amigo. Nos han pagado para cantarte esta canción. ¡Somos Big Juan y Los Enemigos de la Gingivitis!

Youngblood just stares at them as they begin to play.

“Eres un hombre grande y fuerte.

Pero sin duda te falta fuerza.

Porque si fueras realmente fuerte y sano,

tus pobres dientes no serían tan repugnantes.”

Angelica Brooks deadpans.

“El Rey del Cool te hizo un favor.

Así que la próxima vez, lávate, enjuágate y saborea

el maravilloso sabor de la pasta de dientes.

Y tal vez usa hilo dental entre tus caninos.

Te dejamos este mensaje:

Cuida tus dientes,

porque eres grande, tonto y calvo.”

Lots of smiles all around.

Healthy smiles.

Brandon stares them down.

Big Juan is fishing for a tip.

Angelica Brooks motions to cut the feed.

Welcome…to ReVival 82

ReVival starts off with a sweeping shot of the 17,000 PRIMEates packed into Estadio Chevron in Tijuana, Mexico, making sure to capture some of their signs before sending it over to Nick Stuart and Richard Parker.

THREE COPS WERE INJURED IN THE MAKING OF THIS SIGN
¡DAYTONIO DIAMANTES, TEN MIS HIJOS!
NOSOTROS SOMOS GLUE BOIZ
I CAME TO SEE RIP VAN WINKLE
ARE YOU SHORT, BALD, AND UNABLE TO GET ANY HOES? YOU MAY BE ENTITLED TO COMPENSATION
YO TSOY CHANDLER
MY FAVORITE VEGAN, SEITAN JONES

Nick Stuart: ¡Hola! Y bienvenidos a PRIME ya que estamos a punto de comenzar ReVival 82! We’ve got an incredible show for you folks tonight so let’s get right into it!

Felix Mullen is already in the ring, ranting about how Michael Rapaport is the scum of the earth to Vince Howard. A cello begins with a driving ostinato in lowered strings and carries the opening role of the gorgeous classic “Palladio,” Karl Jenkins’ famous string piece transformed by Tempus Quartet, a Mexican fusion string ensemble, who provide their heavy rock inspired interpretation that has the fans on their feet in excitement.

The violins commence with one as the voice, the other as the engine, and an electric guitar for further depth. Percussion, notably absent from the original score, is a cinematic addition.

The crowd’s energy and focus is on the stage as Keith Castle steadily enters the scene with an intense expression. The hood of his white sleeveless jacket creates a canopy over his piercing gaze. There’s nothing flashy about Castle’s advancement but he never averts his eyes from the ring.

Vince Howard: DAMAS AND CABALLEROS! Tonight’s opening match is scheduled for ONE FALL. Already in the ring, standing at 5-foot-10 and weighing 255 pounds, you don’t know him and you don’t care… he is MISTER CONGENIALITY FELIX MULLEN!

He pauses at the landing of the ramp to methodically tighten the white tape around his wrists. Castle follows with a systematic slide under the ropes and a quick standing recovery. He removes the jacket to now be fight-ready in his white trunks and white boots.

Vince Howard: …and his opponent, also weighing in at 255 pounds but with two extra inches to spare, is KEITH CASTLE!

With a bow, Castle signals his appreciation of the crowd before sliding through the bottom rope and approaching a nervous-looking Felix Mullen who is already beginning to retreat in the opposite direction.

DING DING

That’s the only direction Keith Castle needs to close the distance between himself and Felix Mullen as he begins to lay into Mr. Congeniality with a series of forearm and possibly even back arm strikes.

Nick Stuart: Keith Castle is not wasting any time putting the screws to Mullen here, Richard.

Richard Parker: Felix is a veteran of the sport – just not… always in the ring. He’ll figure out eventually.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, well, too bad for Felix that Keith is a second-generation fighter and the son of Tawny Castle.

Richard Parker: Wait… the Tenacious Tawny Castle?

Nick Stuart: Yep.

Richard Parker: Yikes.

Nick Stuart: Yep.

Already seemingly out of sorts, Felix tries to roll out of the ring after the barrage but Keith Castle is ready and yanks Felix back toward the ring and follows through with a rolling suplex!

Nick Stuart: The momentum of that move seems to have vaulted Felix back up into a standing position as he throws his arms wildly in any direction, hoping to connect with something.

Richard Parker: Smart tactic, Nick. Act confused! Act desperate!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think he’s acting, Richard.

With a rush of energy, Keith Castle takes his arms, wrapped firmly around Felix’s waist, and tosses him like a ragdoll with a belly-to-belly suplex.

Richard Parker: Pivot! Pivot! Pivot!

Nick Stuart: He’s not a couch going up a flight of stairs, Richard.

A groggy Felix Mullen stands up and once again tries to go for the ropes and find an escape route, but before he can, Keith Castle turns, PIVOTS, and lands a sick spinning heel kick to Felix’s jaw sending the podcaster backwards!

Nick Stuart: Woah! Felix must have flown five or six feet there. But he’s up quickly trying to escape again! What a coward!

Richard Parker: What a genius you mean! Pride doesn’t matter if you’re dead. Nick.

The groggy Felix Mullen attempts to try and flee the ring once more but Castle has him scouted!

Nick Stuart: Looks like he’s going for a spine buster but NO! Felix escapes! I mean falls? Out of the set up move and swings wildly at his opponent but hits nothing but air!

Richard Parker: Try kicking him instead!

Nick Stuart: Felix isn’t so much kicking Keith Castle here, Richard, as he is doing an interpretive dance and Castle is responding with the physical version of a record scratch as he’s got his arms wrapped around Felix’s lower leg! Mr. Congeniality is hopping mad and – well – just hopping.

Castle uses all his energy to spin Felix around 180 degrees and follows it up with a VICIOUS spinning back elbow that sends Mullen staggering forward into the ropes. The PRIME rookie knows Felix’s M.O. by now and quickly gives chase, catching Mullen on a soft rebound.

Nick Stuart: SPINE BUSTER! Castle got him that time Richard and I think Felix nearly exploded out of his shoes there.

Richard Parker: He just wants people to know how easy it is to set up your website with Squarespace! Is that so wrong?

Castle goes for the pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-

Kickout by Mullen!

Nick Stuart: Not sure why Mullen didn’t just play dead there, Richard.

Richard Parker: Pride!

Nick Stuart: But I thought you said… nevermind.

Mullen continues to roll like a log down a hill and manages to slip under the ropes as Castle is arguing with referee Jimmy Turnbull, but it’s only when Turnbull begins counting that Castle realizes what’s happened.

ONE!

Turnbull shoots a hand upward as Felix Mullen begins to bolt for the rampway.

TWO!

An annoyed Keith Castle turns and runs to the ropes!

Unfortunately for Mullen, who is focused purely on making his way to the back as fast as he can, does not see how poorly the laws of Issac Newton have failed him.

OOOOH!

Just as the podcaster turns the ring corner, angling towards the rampway, his full, panicked momentum, as well as the side of his head, connect with the knee of Keith Castle who vaults himself off the bottom of the nearby steps and into a horrifying looking V Trigger!

Nick Stuart: Oh god! Felix Mullen is dead. He has to be.

Richard Parker: That maniac just tried to decapitate him!

Jimmy Turnbull doesn’t even get a chance to restart the count at one before Castle rolls Felix back into the ring and quickly goes for a cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Keith Castle is up and celebrating but Jimmy Turnbull is waiving off the count! Castle is incredulous until Turnbull points to Mullen’s leg dangling over the bottom rope.

Tawny Castle’s baby boy curses under his breath as he grabs Felix Mullen by the shoulders and lifts him up off the mat only to have Felix slip through his fingers again!

Nick Stuart: Mullen tries to claw his way out of danger as Castle’s initial frustration seems to have turned into amusement. Look at that smile! He knows something big is coming.

Richard Parker: He’s a sadist is what he is, Nick. No one should be enjoying this.

Nick Stuart: Even our fans?

Richard Parker: Especially them!

Keith Castle rushes forward, lifts a leg and CURBSTOMPS Felix Mullen’s face to the mat as Mr. Congeniality rolls backwards and grabs at his nose, which may be broken at this point.

Castle grabs at Mullen’s nose as well and lifts up him by the nostrils.

Richard Parker: That’s disgusting!

Felix swings away wildly but Keith continues to lift his opponent up and gets his other arm under his waist and carries Mullen all the way up, spinning him vertically in the air.

Nick Stuart: MICHINOKU DRIVER! Castle just planted the already concussed Felix Mullen on his head one more time for good measure! Felix is out cold and the fans are loving it. Castle raises his hand into the air and places a boot on the chest of the downed Felix Mullen, lifting a finger as he counts along with Jimmy Turnbull.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: The winner of this match is… KEEEEEEEEITH CAAAAASSSSTLE!

Keith Castle turns his three fingers into a fist as he raises it to the crowd in a final show of appreciation before exiting the ring as Jimmy Turnbull is on the mat checking on the still downed Felix Mullen.

Nick Stuart: Quite a statement win here by Keith Castle, Richard! We will be seeing a lot more of him for sure.

Richard Parker: Sadly.

We go to commercial.

…Previously on…
…THE NEWS…

Max’s strange, faintly glowing green eyes stare at his reflection in the mirror. His ruinous face is covered by the clear, plexiglass mask, distorting the wounds so as to make it impossible to tell for sure what’s really happened to his face.

Max Kael: With Blaze Claymore dealt with my beautiful face should be… fine?
Reaching up with shaking hands, Max unlatches the straps keeping the mask against his face. Pulling it away he reveals his face was, indeed, returned to its pristine appearance.

Max Kael: Zippity-Doo-DAH! Look at those sullen checks! That pale scowl! This smooth, clean skin! We’re back baby!

Spinning away from the mirror with a wide, excited grin, Max prances away from the mirror. His hands rub his newly refreshed face with a manic glee.

☠️☠️☠️☠️

The NEWS starts out with Max Kael high upon his NEWS THRONE as the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM NEWS MUSIC blares loudly and proudly across the stage. He flashes a polished, pristine smile toward the camera, clearly showing off his unmaimed face.

Max Kael: WORMS of PRIME! Welcome to THE NEWS, I’m your lead anchor Maximillian Wilhelm Kael! We’ve got a lot of territory to cover tonight so let’s start on down the path of good interviews! Now originally I was gonna run a special contest over the first few months of the year called WHO WANTS TO BE A MAX KAEL but unfortunately we ran into some budget issues so that’s going to be shelved.

He lifts a finger, tapping the tip of his nose.

Max Kael: For now. But rest assured, you pathetic, lowly, genderless WORMS, it will happen! For now though, let’s start with my newest segment to WON ACTION NEWS.

A drum roll begins, helping to grow tension or, more likely, just adding to the absurdity of the whole thing.

Max Kael: INTERVIEW ROULETTE!

Next to the NEWS THRONE a large spinning wheel with all the names of the people in PRIME on it, including ring crew and merch booth workers. Grabbing the wheel, Max gives it a spin!

Max Kael: Who will be our first interviewee on the INTERVIEW ROULETTE WHEEL, WORMS?! Could it be Universal Champion Cecilworth Farthington!? Could it be PRIME’s own wet fart Alexei Ruslan!? COULD IT BE LINDSAY TROY, THE WHORE OF BABYLON HERSELF?!

The wheel slowly comes to a stop.

It’s not a name, not really. It’s just a tiny slice of the wheel that’s gold and blue and reads…

eGG BANDIT.

Max Kael: Well sheeeet.

Coincidentally, Bandits are in… small demand these days, and as such, the one that matters, the one that you can see, the one whose bellybutton doesn’t have its own zipcode, nor is it the one whose forehead has its own orbit.

The Bandit who happens to answer the call of the wheel is none other than…

No, not Chris Chickentenders. Maybe next time, you know, if Dan Rather and Walter Cronkite can also join. Not Cardboard Dan, either, he’s too busy trying to put himself back together.
…it’s the COOL one, Cancer Jiles.

No applause needed.

Which works out because there is no applause.

The King of Crumbs enters the frame, shakes a friendly hand with the host, and then takes a seat.

Max Kael: WORMS of PRIME, welcome, and say hello to your leader, King Cockroach, Cancer Jiles! WOW! We’ve never had star power like this on the show before. Such a step up from Conor Fuse. Not quite a Cecilworth but better than an Ivan I suppose.

Cancer Jiles: Hey there, Max. Long time, I think? Maybe. I don’t know. Regardless, I love what you’ve been able to do with the place. It looks great in here, even if it’s my first time actually seeing it. You know, since the bit typically happens so early on in the show. No offense.

Max Kael: None taken, I like starting early cause it means I get to get out of here before the Fade to Black at the end of the show. That means a lot coming from you. It wasn’t easy securing Segment One over all these years. You know how Lindsay Troy is with ferns.

Cue shared haughty chuckling. We pan back to see two ferns on either side of the stage.

Cancer Jiles: Hey, wait just a second. Where did you get those ferns? They look familiar.

Max Kael: I’ll be the one asking the questions. This isn’t some shell of a news outlet where the guest is allowed to just run wildly amok doing as he or she pleases. Coughcrackingnewscough. No offense.

Cancer Jiles: Okay then.

Max Kael: Yes. I win.

Cancer Jiles: What?

Max Kael: I said Twinning!

The King of COOL looks over at the INTERVIEW ROULETTE WHEEL, and at some of the other names represented on it.

Cancer Jiles: Some interesting guys and gals you got up there. What would you have done if it landed on… actually, on second thought, best not to even entertain.

Max Kael: Agreed.

Cancer Jiles: Say, is the strand of hair on a stick supposed to represent Scott Stevens spot on the wheel?

Max Kael: Bingo! Really gets the blood running bland, you know? Who else do you think you can guess from the picture placards?

Jiles looks back up at the wheel. Max does the same. The anticipation rises.

Cancer Jiles: Hmm. Well, obviously the fried chicken leg is Noah, the barbed wire dildo is Scottywood, the bat signal is Teddy Crumbcakes, the tooth could be Arty or Crumblood, and… is that a picture of Hollywood’s 97 Corvette?

Max Kael: Right again.

Cancer Jiles: I totally forgot it was poop brown.

More haughty chuckling.

Max Kael: Anyone else? Skip the bible looking one that has ZERO MAIN EVENTS on the cover.
Once again Jiles peruses the wheel. He looks long, and he looks hard, until finally…

Cancer Jiles: Is that a… Yolkulelee?

Max Kael: You bet it is.

Cancer Jiles: Uh, how would that have even worked if it landed on it?

An awkward moment of pause.

Max Kael: Spoilers! Why would I ruin that kind of surprise?

The King of Crumbs rolls his eyes, not that you would be able to tell because of the T-shades.

Cancer Jiles: So much for not being a shell of a network.

Audible gasps can be heard off camera. Presumably from production staff, or members of the extended Kael family.

Both.

Max Kael: NEXT QUESTION. You recently knocked out Brandon Youngblood’s tooth, did you get the proper shots afterwards to prevent disease and hair loss?

Cancer Jiles: I did. You can never be too sure, especially when it comes to untrained, feral animals like him.

Max Kael: Speaking along the lines of that ilk, where is your lover and partner in crime, Vickie Hall? Too COOL for my show? Ha. Get it. See what I did there.

Another awkward pause ensues.

Max Kael: So, how do you like PRIME so far on your second go around?

Cancer Jiles: It’s been fun picking up right where I left off.

Max cringes.

Max Kael: Hey, from one pro to another, you’re supposed to say no spoilers before stuff like that. Now everyone knows you are going to lose later on tonight. That Tsonda can be a real card, right? I mean I’ve never lost to him but I can imagine.

Cancer Jiles: Don’t you also have to imagine what it feels like to be Universal Champion?

Max Kael: I ask the questions around here! I lack imagination so I couldn’t possibly answer that question, anyway. Hmph.

Cancer is about to reply when loud music starts to play, clearly designed to cut off The One Your Momma Warned You About.

Max Kael: OH LOOK, A COMMERCIAL BREAK! Thanks for coming, Cancer Jiles, and now a paid advertisement!

Once again it looks like Cancer is about to say something when we abruptly cut away to a commercial?

☠️☠️☠️☠️

We return from a forced commercial break, which was just Snark Darkly doing the Charleston, to find

Max Kael once again seated high on his NEWS THRONE, kicking his feet out excitedly.

Max Kael: WORMS of PRIME, welcome back to the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM with me, your lead Anchor Maximillian Wilhelm Kael! Up next we’ve got a real treat for you, a real show, a real HUMAN BEING! Or so I’ve been told… but first…

Clearing his throat, Max smiles menacingly at the screen.

Max Kael: Let’s go to Kirk the Sports Head with SPORTS!

We’re immediately transported to the Kirk’s SPORTS NOOK where the undead, necroteched former head of Stronk’s long dead manager, Lowell Dot Com, is currently resting.

Kirk the Sports Head: Finally, at long last, after months of being deprived of the joy of being you the SPORTS, it is time!

Blue electricity crackles around his various mechanical probes sticking out of his rotting flesh and skull as he slowly rises, a floating, disembodied corpse head.

Kirk the Sports Head: FIRST! Lets talk about the Universal Title Picture folks! Cecilworth Farthington, a close personal friend and long time fan, has been dominant-

BZZZZRT!

Sparks fly from Kirk as his pale, dead eyes roll back in his head. He sputters a few times, his slack jaw waving back and forth before dropping like a rock to the floor. Standing behind him is Max, a cruel snarl on his lips while a jagged, sharp piece of metal with electricity running through it in his hand.

Max Kael: Rule number one of showbiz, Kirk. NEVER get bigger than the main act! Heh-heh…

Leaning down, Max snatches the head up, holding it out so the camera can see it. Kirk’s face is frozen in confusion as small plumes of white smoke curl from any unfilled opening about his head. You know, ears, nose, mouth, tekhole. The usual. Oozing his way back toward his NEWS THRONE, Max giggles to himself.

Max Kael: The lesser known but still important rule number two is NEVER claim to be closer to Cecilworth Farthington than me. PLEASE WELCOME SON-JAH!

Skipping up the steps, Max plops down on his throne as a soft cackling sound like the music from the shower scene from Psycho fills the NEWS STAGE and we see Sonja Cuchilla emerge from somewhere in the darkness.

Max watches, indifferent, as her bubble gum-pink stiletto heels tap-tap-tap on the floor before finally stopping where Kirk’s head once levitated.

With taloned fingers matching the rest of her Pepto Bismol-hued attire, like Morticia Addams in a Jackie Kennedy outfit, Sonja claps lightly as she turns toward Max.

Sonja Cuchilla: Why thank you, Max, for this opportunity to be back in my home country and in front of a camera not attached to a smart phone. I see you’ve changed the decor since I was last here – no monsters with pointy teeth hiding around this time?

Max Kael: You mean Snark?

Sonja Cuchilla: ¿Por qué no?

Max Kael: The… the police? No, I don’t think so?

He throws a confused look at the camera before we cut back down to Sonja.

Sonja Cuchilla: Well, all the same, I do really feel like you and I got off on the wrong foot my first time here. I know you tried to have me horribly maimed or even killed, but on the bright side it did wonders for my social media presence… and now look at me! I’m hosting my very own sports segment on the NEWS!

Max Kael: Yes, yes, yes, that’s all very exciting. Now moving on to my closing remark–

Sonja Cuchilla: Oh. No thank you. I wasn’t finished.

Sonja’s previous sing-songy, chipper voice drops an octave as she stares directly at Max and he locks eyes back at her. His lip twitches as his brow creases down though he doesn’t seem to vocalize his displeasure.

Max Kael: My. Bad. Please. Continue.

Sonja gives a mild bow to Max and then smiles for the camera.

Sonja Cuchilla: As an immigrant who has fought her way out of poverty to find success in the greatest country on earth not only as a movie star but as an engaged member of the community, I just have to say that I am terribly disappointed and low-key suffering second-hand embarrassment after what you, the Mayor of Arkham, did to Blaze at the last show.

Max sits up in his throne.

Sonja Cuchilla: I mean… if this segment is supposed to be about SPORTS, then I have to ask, where is the sportsmanship in having a meat beast do your dirty work for you?

Max Kael: The fuck are yo-

Sonja Cuchilla: I wasn’t finished.

Sonja growls the last words before composing herself and holding her clasped hands out in front of her.

Sonja Cuchilla: Max, you may have taken Blaze once again, back like you did in Minneapolis last summer, but this time, thanks to you, I have the power to reach him. So let me say this here and now…

Sonja closes her eyes.

Sonja Cuchilla: Nathan. If you’re watching this… I know you’re struggling. Your mother did too – up until the end. But you don’t have to face this alone. Come back to me, cariño, and we can put an end to all of this…

Sonja turns to look toward Max.

Sonja Cuchilla: And to them.

She looks back to the camera, black markings beginning to appear from underneath her makeup, as she flashes a confident smile.

Sonja Cuchilla: Together.

It looks as though Max is about to say something when the screen flickers, falls out of focus and then snaps completely to static.

☠️☠️☠️☠️

The static fades as we return to that eerie, toothy smile of Max Kael. We pan back slowly to see him once again alone on the WON ACTION NEWS STAGE seated high atop his NEWS THRONE.

No Cancer Jiles.

No Sonja Cuchilla.

Just Max.

Just Max Kaaaael!

Max Kael: Well wasn’t that a fun Sports segment?

His words drip with sarcasm as he grumbles beneath his breath.

Max Kael: Anyway, moving on to the final segment of the night, last week in Monterrey, Mexico, Ivan Stanislav went head to head with the Mayor of Arkham, Max Kael! It was a battle for the ages, a war for the eons, a fight for eternity! In the end, despite the best efforts of Ivan and his tag-a-long Alexei Ruslan, they couldn’t end me. They couldn’t put a stop to Maximillian Wilhelm Kael!

He cackles madly, kicking his feet up into the air.

Max Kael: Oh sure some people will call it a tie but I call it a win! It was practically two verse one and they couldn’t put down lil’old Max Kael? Sounds to me like I was maybe just a bit too much for the old Russian! A former two time World Champion no less! You know what that tells me?

That knowing smile creeps across Max’s face, replacing the eerie fake one he often wore.

Max Kael: Troy and the rest of PRIME Management should immediately fast track me into the Universal Title picture, immediately setting me up with a Universal Title Match against the greatest professional wrestler in PRIME right now, the beloved and adored Cecilworth Farthington!

An image of Universal Champion Cecilworth Farthington appears next to Max’s head on the screen, surrounded by pink and red hearts. It’s hard to guess if Max asked for the hearts or if production just decided to include them.

Max Kael: I’ll be patiently waiting for the call, losers. Speaking of losers…

The image of Cecilworth vanishes with the face of Blaze Claymore appearing in its place.

Max Kael: Last week my Harbinger, the Bolognese Bull, dealt with that little troublemaker on my behalf. Who the fuck names themself after my favorite landmine? Anyway, I hope he’s learned his lesson and he keeps his stupid nose out of Snark Darkly and my business moving forward. I’ve defeated him once, maimed him physically and mentally and left him broken in the doldrums of PRME.

The smile vanishes as a cruel snarl ripples across his lips, silvery teeth shimmering in the bright studio lights.

Max Kael: And I’ll fuckin’ do it again.

There is a pause before that practiced, fake smile latches across his mouth.

Max Kael: And THAT’S THE NEWS!

Fade. To. NEWS.

Toddrick the greatest Lasagna Boy not named Miguel awaits in the ring for this match up. He makes sure his leg braces are in working order and leans against the turnbuckle  as he pumps himself up to do the impossible.

He jumps as the lights dim and the slow melodic song of “Monsters,” by Phish begins to play. Before it can continue though, Jack Marley walks out his head still wrapped from his recent head injury with a mic. He taps it a few times.

Jack Marley: Please cut the music.

The music stops and the crowd begins to stir about what is going on.

Jack Marley: It has been a week and we are not sure where Steve has gone or if he is even alive. It has been really hard on the family, mon. I haven’t been able to snack and the weed just doesn’t feel the same without my buddy, mon.

Nick Stuart: I guess the rumors were true.

Richard Parker: We might never see The MIracle Man again, Nick, I am not sure how to feel about this.

Nick Stuart: You feel?

Richard Parker: I feel like you should pay attention to that idiot on the mic so I don’t have to.

Jack continues.

Jack Marley: I hope everyone has Steve in their thoughts and prayers. If you like him or hate him I think everyone can agree he didn’t deserve whatever just happened to him.

The crowd pops and starts a Miracle Man chant, which makes Jack smile and he nods along with it.

Jack Marley: I and The Octopus won’t stop until we find him and bring back to not only the family but to the wrestling ring!

The crowd pops again.

Jack Marley: Until then though…I AM COMING OUT OF RETIREMENT!

Nick Stuart: Excuse me?

Richard Parker: Oh, we do get to witness our first tickle fight tonight.

Jack Marley: Without further adieu, I do this for The Immortal Jellyfish, now hit my music!

Nick Stuart: Seems rather odd he already has entrance music.

Richard Parker: Always be prepared!

“Thatch,” by Goose starts to jam through the arena and Jack starts nodding to the guitar strings as he begins to walk down to the ring. He points to Toddrick in the ring who has seemingly found some extra confidence now that he isn’t about to face Steve Harrison. Jack notices it and points and shakes his finger at him as if admonishing his new found confidence. He gets inside the ring still holding the mic and walks over to Toddrick.

Ashley Barlow watches to make sure no funny business is happening but has not told to ring the bell yet.

Jack Marley: I don’t feel right hurting someone with disabilities.

Toddrick: And I don’t feel right beating the god damn shit out of a guy with stupid hair and a dumb ass face.

Jack takes a step back and puts his left hand on his out of control chia pet fro which he has started growing the past five months after ditching his dredds. He looks visibly upset at that insult. He looks at the mic and then decides to hit Toddrick with it but Ashley grabs his arm and takes the mic away.

Nick Stuart: Great eyes by Ashley there.

Jack complains and takes his eyes off Toddrick. Big mistake as Toddrick smacks the weed out of Jack’s face.

Richard Parker: Oh, but that’s ok? The bell hadn’t even rang yet and he gave Jack a cheap shot.

Jack turns and smacks Toddrick back and then starts going smack for smack at each other’s faces and chest, The crowd starts laughing at the sheer quietness of the chops.

Ashley shrugs and points and the bell rings for this match to start in earnest.

Richard Parker: Great, we really are getting a tickle fight tonight.

Toddrick goes for another chop but Jack moves to the right and Toddrick trips forward on his braces and falls to the mat. Jack looks down at him and shakes his head and sighs. He tells him to get up but the struggle is real.

Nick Stuart: Jack is being sporting here but I am not sure he shouldn’t just go for the win. It isn’t like he has a long line of victories.

Jack reaches down to help Toddrick up but instead he is met with Toddrick lifting both of his legs and slamming the braces right on the neck of Jack. Jack drops to the ground and holds his neck in visible pain. Ashley checks to see if he is ok but Jack just groans and waves her off.

Richard Parker: Why do I have to watch these two idiots?

Toddrick gets up slowly and starts doing his best foot kicks that he can do to the ribs of Jack. He plays to the crowd and then drops an extremely slow elbow drop to Jack. The dean of weed rolls away and gets half of his body under the ropes.

Nick Stuart: A veteran move by Jack there.

Richard Parker: Sure, but he is facing Toddrick, ugh what did I do to deserve this?

Ashley backs off Toddrick rather easily as he wasn’t moving too fast anyway. Jack hops back on his feet and starts pointing at the leg brace and talking to Ashley. Toddrick as fast as he can be gets to his feet and gets behind Jack and rolls him up for a pin.

1….

2…

NO.

Nick Stuart: Jack might want to start taking this a bit more seriously because if he loses this match he might not get another.

Toddrick gets up slowly and points and laughs at Jack whose face has become red in embarrassment on almost getting rolled up. Without another thought Marley runs right at Toddie Gump and pushes him into the ropes not realizing the lasagna boy is gonna just come back faster at him.

SMACK!

Jack turns away and Toddrick’s head runs right into the wrapped part of Jack’s head and they both fall to the mat.

Richard Parker: Just call it!

Nick Stuart: Looks like that head to head connection has reopened that injury on Jack’s head and he has blood running down on his face.

Jack wipes his face and then stares down at the blood and his face goes blank. They are both on their feet now but both looking a bit wobbly. Jack stares at the blood on his hand.

Richard Parker: What, is he going to cry?

Before Nick can even respond Jack looks up at Toddrick and dives forward and clotheslines him to the mat.

Nick Stuart: He looks like a different person.

Jack jumps on top of Toddrick and starts laying in forearms to the head of Toddrick, left, right, left right, continually until Ashley grabs Jack off of Toddrick.

Nick Stuart: Good on her to check to see if the young lasagna boy is conscious.

Jack sees Toddrick give a weak thumbs up and quickly moves in and grabs Toddrick by the hair and brings him up to his feet. Jack looks like a completely different person with his head still bleeding and his eyes seem to be looking through his opponent. Toddrick stumbles a little bit again and Jack chops him right in the throat. Toddrick bends down trying to find his breath and is met with a quick DDT right to the mat.

Richard Parker: Oh, now THIS I like.

Jack looks down at Toddrick who looks completely done but Jack doesn’t seem to care and he begins to stomp on the leg brace until it snaps on one side of the brace.

Nick Stuart: What is he thinking? Ashley might want to stop this now.

Jack grabs Toddrick’s legs and locks on a scorpion deathlock and wrenches back as much as you can. Toddrick is alive now and yelling loudly in pain.

Ashley is down really quick and Toddrick begins slapping the mat with all the strength left in his arms.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: Jack Marley picks up the victory here. It was a tale of two matches there and I still don’t know what is going on with him. He still hasn’t dropped the hold, and Ashley is trying to get him to let Toddrick’s legs go.

Richard Parker: This is entertainment!

Suddenly Jimmy Lawson runs into the ring and tackles Jack off of Toddrick. He grabs his head and yells at him. Jack nods and then looks around the ring and then at Toddrick. He looks back at Jimmy looking upset at what he just did and shakes his head as he leaves the ring with Jimmy.

Nick Stuart: Ok, well with that it is time for a commercial break.

“Torn” by Natalie Imbruglia hits the speakers as a dazzling array of rainbow lights and fake sunshine fills the arena.

As Natalie’s beautiful voice starts singing, so too does Big John Pepper emerge. Though his face says “serious business,” the music seems to lift him such that he cannot possibly not-dance, not-sway, not-twirl.

Eventually he makes his way to the ring. He reaches behind the ring announcer’s ear.

He pulls a microphone out from behind his ear.

Vince Howard: (off mic) How did you do that?

BJP presses a massive index finger to Howard’s lips.

Big John Pepper: Shhhhhhhhhh.

Then he climbs onto the apron, steps over the top rope and into the ring.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

That’s how many times he tapped the microphone.

Big John Pepper: It is sad when friends deny who they really are. It makes me so sad that I get mad. And then I get so mad that I just start crying because my feelings are so big. Can y’all relate to that?

The Mexican crowd, many of whom are not fluent English speakers, give him almost nothing in return.

Big John Pepper: So right now, I’m putting on my big boy pants and I’m saying, ‘Rip Van Winkle, get your candy butt down here, so I can make you take off that mask and reveal to everyone who you are!’ So Rip Van Winkle… get your candy butt down here, so I can make you take that mask off and reveal to everyone who you are!

BJP reaches in his back pocket. He pulls out a folded up pair of pants. Only when he unfolds them, they are very big, big boy pants. He steps into them and pulls them up.

Big John Pepper: Alright, old friend. If you refuse, then I’ll flush you out from the back with the one thing you can’t stand more than anything else in the world: CHANTING!

BJP starts walking around the ring shouting:

“Rip Van Winkle, 👏, 👏, 👏 👏 👏!”

“Rip Van Winkle, 👏, 👏, 👏 👏 👏!”

“Rip Van Winkle, 👏, 👏, 👏 👏 👏!”

Eventually, some of the crowd joins in.

“Rip Van Winkle, 👏, 👏, 👏 👏 👏!”

“Rip Van Winkle, 👏, 👏, 👏 👏 👏!”

“Rip Van Winkle, 👏, 👏, 👏 👏 👏!”

Finally…

Pro wrestling is a sacred sport!

“Cynic” by Local H.

RRAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

Richard Parker: There he is, ol’ Rip himself!

Nick Stuart: C’mon Rich, no need to play into the delusion.

Richard Parker: Why not? It’s the only way I can stomach seeing him. Plus his kid confirmed it.

Nick Stuart: *facepalms*

The Anglo Luchador exasperatedly walks down to the ring, not even bothering to slap the hands of fans reaching over the guardrails for him. He gets to ringside, shakes his head, slides into the ring, and pops up. He heads over to the corner and gets a microphone from Vince Howard before turning to face Big John.

TAL: Look, this has gone far enough, okay?

Big John looks on confused.

TAL: I get it, you’re new here, and you want to make friends. And I remind you of someone that you used to know. I don’t begrudge you feeling a certain way.

The Luchador looks out to the crowd before continuing.

TAL: But continuing to act as if I’m a tall tale? Having my son pretend I’m someone I’m not? Like, does it register with you at all that maybe you’re, I don’t know, wrong?

Big John Pepper smiles.

🌞

Big John Pepper: It’s so good to see you, Rip. Seriously. Hey, what’s say, after the show — you and me, 500 chorizo tacos, and an egg timer — like the GOOD OL’ DAYS, huh? I mean, after you take that stupid, dumb mask off your—

TAL: NO.

Big John is taken aback.

Richard Parker: Rip! How could you!?

TAL: This mask is not stupid. Ask everyone in this crowd, in this country of all places, how stupid my mask, my identity, my legacy is.

The crowd claps respectfully as The Luchador pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head.

TAL: You just don’t get it. And I don’t think you ever will. So I’m done with this whole crock of shit.

The Luchador turns around to leave but pauses.

TAL: Except for one thing. I owe you something.

The Luchador approaches Big John, gets up right in his face, pats his chest playfully, and then…

CRACK

Richard Parker: WHY HAS RIP VAN WINKLE DONE THIS TO HIS FRIEND?

Nick Stuart: I don’t know, Rich, probably because Big John greeted The Anglo Luchador with a chop while he was sleeping?

Richard Parker: The Anglo Whochador? That’s Rip Van Winkle.

Big John recoils, shocked and hurt. The Luchador smiles.

TAL: There. Now we’re even. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.

The Luchador flips the microphone over his shoulder and turns to walk away.

BJP watches TAL walk up the ramp, presumably to take a nap. At first, Big John has tears in his eyes. But then, he grins. The grin becomes a laugh.

Big John Pepper: That’s EXACTLY what Rip would say! Hahahahaha! Playing ‘Hard to Get’ for some unknown reason. Silly old boy, Rip! Silly old boyyyyyyy!!!

We swiftly cut from this peculiar derangement to more of our regularly scheduled derangements.

The camera fades into the Red Army locker room. As is typical of such spaces, it’s drenched in red.

Hammer and sickle banners hang behind a long wooden table. Military coats are draped across hooks. A frame Soviet flag dominates the far wall. The room looks less like a locker room and more like an office from another century.

Ivan Stanislav sits at the head of the table, emblazoned in his crimson uniform heavy with medals. The fabric is immaculate. The brass polished. One knows that his boots have got to be polished beneath the table itself.

Alexei Ruslan stands beside him, holding a microphone with a quiet, proud satisfaction. He’s in his infamous brown overcoat, officer’s cap tilted perfectly. On the table in front is a file folder stamped with some symbol and Cyrillic letters.

Ruslan turns to the camera.

Alexei Ruslan: Good evening, PRIME! And welcome to the Red Army locker room.

He adjusts the microphone slightly.

Alexei Ruslan: Far be it for us to rely on PRIME to give accurate information. As such, I will do so in their stead. As you know, tonight, there will be no Bryan Dawkins match. No Intense title to be defended on this evening. No pineapple-laden tom-foolery. Why, there is actually no Bryan Dawkins… at all.

He grins wickedly at the thought.

Alexei Ruslan: I am not about to list the myriad injuries that “champion” sustained. I do believe his knee gave out, his face cracked, and his heart broke. You know, for someone who is Intense Champion, which is supposed to rely on toughness, I have got to say he was rather… fragile.

Stanislav lets out a grunt of satisfaction. Ruslan frowns.

Alexei Ruslan: Very tragic, indeed.

He turns the microphone to Ivan.

Alexei Ruslan: But, we still have Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav here. The most enduring individual in PRIME. Yet, I have to admit, there are some of those in PRIME who moan and groan over what happened to Bryan Dawkins last week. They think that perhaps you went “too far.” Because, you know, we humiliated him in front of the entire world!

Ivan smirks behind the table.

Ivan Stanislav: PRIME thinks perhaps I went too far? Any student of history knows you either leave Red Army with my blessing, or you are thrown out.

Ivan shrugs.

Ivan Stanislav: Bryan Dawkins chose to be thrown out. But no one ever said he was great at making smart decisions. DYAAHAAHAA!!

The Russian Bear rises to his full height, towering over the table, while Alexei lifts the microphone higher.

Ivan Stanislav: You know, we dragged Dawkins’ carcass across finish line, all the way to Intense Title. Then, he decides he does not want us anymore. After we sacrificed time, money, energy, and sanity dealing with him and his personal problems? I just make sure whoever does get Intense Title shot has an easier time taking it from him.

Ivan grins.

Ivan Stanislav: But… we do have one individual who is more suited for title anyway! I speak of none other than comrade Tony Gamble!!

The camera pans to another side of the table while Ivan stretches his arm out and Tony Gamble is revealed nearby.

No military uniform for the Permascar Superstar, choosing instead to sport his fresh off the press ‘Always bet on Red’ signature tee over his traditional ring gear. He thought about going with Ivan’s suggestion of Russian Gladiators due to Steve’s Alias title stipulation, but he was hoping that craziness would end tonight.

The Bear positively dwarfs his fellow Hall of Famer, and clasps a huge hand on his shoulder.

Ivan Stanislav: Former eGG Bandit turned Red Army stalwart! First, comrade Gamble, you win Tag Titles while joining Red Army. Now, Alias Championship is on horizon!

The Army of Red all stand to cheer their tiny comrade towards a victory. Just as their pitch is about to hit fever, a strong rapping is heard coming from the doorway. Spoiler, it’s not the police, which means it’s not Lindsay Troy. However, what it does mean is that it is the only other person who is both stupid enough and has a big enough set to do such a thing.

Tony Gamble: Who is it?

Like he doesn’t know.

???: You already know who it is, Crumbo, the hairs on your arms are standing up. Now open the door before I start to huff and puff.

The Grin checks his forearms.

“Damn it.”

Tony Gamble: Unless you got a couple of boxes of thin mints, we don’t need any Girl Scout Cookies, so go away.

A snicker, and a sigh. You can figure who each belongs to.

???: Just tell the slob I have something to ask him, or don’t, and I’ll come right back with a shovel and a big enough box of Salted Soviet Tea Cakes to feed the entire Red Army.

Stanislav feels his eyelid twitch and looks down at Ruslan. He nods his head and Alexei lifts a brow. Ivan nods his head one more time, and Alexei walks to the door. He slowly opens it, one hand behind his back. Standing on the other side is none other than King Crumb himself, Cancer Jiles.

Shocker.

Vickie is accompanying Jiles. They both look the part. Jiles is donning a funeral-black jumpsuit, and fortunately for all, so is his Valkyrie. Ruslan looks back at Ivan, his face twisting into a scowl. Ivan doesn’t look much happier, but there is a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

Ivan Stanislav: Cancer Jiles… what could you possibly want?

The Russian Bear is slightly more friendly with Vickie Hall.

Ivan Stanislav: Hello, Victoriya.

The Manhunter calmly enters, unwelcomed. He quickly peruses the Red Army’s wears that are on display, trying his best not to mock them. Vickie on the other hand…

Vickie Hall: My love, did you know the size tag on this jacket says LOSER? Must belong to Tony.

Ha.

Tony Gamble: Better than the tag on your track jacket that says size SKANK.

Alexei and Ivan look at one another curiously. Clearly “skank” doesn’t translate into Russian.

Vickie glares at The Grin like she’s ready to claw his treacherous eyes out. Tony, well, him smiling about the whole thing is helping no one, that is for sure.

Cancer Jiles: Everyone hold on to your telephone books, this isn’t that type of party. No, I come in peace believe it or not. I’m here to ask, as humbly as possible, for the keys back to my ship.

Ivan looks at Alexei. Alexei looks at Ivan. Then, they both look at Cancer. Ivan smiles.

Ivan Stanislav: Keys to ‘our’ ship? You see… Hessian did have keys to derelict ship that was abandoned in international waters. We found it and took it in. No reason to leave nuclear flotsam out in ocean. But…

Ivan taps his chin.

Ivan Stanislav: I do not believe it came with ownership papers.

Alexei chimes in.

Alexei Ruslan: International waters are complicated, Cancer. Maritime salvage laws are very clear. Abandoned vessel becomes property of those who have drive to claim them.

The Valkyrie seethes at the thought. King Crumb however, remains calm.

Somewhat anyway.

Cancer Jiles: I get it. You don’t want to lose any face. Understandably so. Well, any more face, right? Still, where is the boat? It’s a war vessel, not some cupcake house. It belongs to me. It belongs with its rightful Captain.

Vickie nods agreeably. Ivan shakes his head the other way. Somewhere, Bobby Dean frowns.

Ivan Stanislav: We liberated your supposed war vessel from mediocrity, Cancer. Now, the SFS Svet Fanyi? That is good ship. Strong hull. Historic. Proud flag, not some rag no one respects.

Alexei Ruslan: Named in honor of someone much more dignified than whoever owned vessel in the past.

Jiles removes his T-shades. Vickie sharpens her fangs with a nail file. Tony wonders how much longer it will be before the shit hits the fan. Meanwhile, Ivan strokes his chin thoughtfully.

Cancer Jiles: My ship.

Ivan Stanislav: Yes, your ship. We’re getting to that. Patience, little rebenok.

The Red Army heartily chuckles in unison causing Jiles to grit his teeth in disgust.

Ivan Stanislav: Now where was I before such rude interruption? AH! I wanted to ask why you’re not focusing on Chandler Tsonda tonight, Cancer, and instead have chosen to worry about a silly bath toy? My history with him is storied enough, so much so that even I would cheer you defeating him– of course it would be from Captain’s chair of USS… what was it called again?

Tony Gamble: Bandit.

Ivan Stanislav: Yes, Bandit.

Just then a thought enters the mind of Cancer Jiles.

One so good, it can’t miss.

Cancer Jiles: Oh is that so, my comrade? Well, how about I do us both a favor then, and in your honor tonight, Ivan, and for the glory of your wonderful Red Armpit, and most importantly for the last time you ever sit in my chair, how’s about I dedicate my win against Tsonda to you guys. To the Red Army. I’ll even goosestep into Terminal Cancer and have the ref count the three in Russian. Then, you can give me my boat back and bygones can be bygones. Shit, you can even keep Tony if you want, but I’d get it if you didn’t.

Ivan considers this curiously and nods his head. Alexei looks like his eyes are about to fall out of his skull.

Ivan Stanislav: You beat Chandler Tsonda tonight, then yes, I will give you back the ship.

Ivan then grins, looking more like a shark than a bear. Vickie can’t believe it, and is already thinking of ways to interfere in the match.

Cancer Jiles: De–

Ivan Stanislav: But… if you lose? You become a foot soldier in my Red Army and clean the toilets on that ship you desire so.

There is no hesitation. Zero. Most likely because Jiles knows the only way he loses later on tonight is via death, so in essence he’s draft dodging no matter what. But still, he doesn’t even flinch.

Ha.

Cancer Jiles: Deal. Pleasure doing business with you, friend of mine.

Vickie immediately skips towards the door, glee and joy permeating from her being. She’s tired of sleeping on the jet. Jiles soon follows after her. He never turns his back to the crowd though, nor does he skip while doing so. His trot is more of a slither. Right before making his exit and reshading, he stares directly into Tony’s soul, and of course, hits him with that patent pucker.

Tony Gamble: You know where you can plant that kiss.

The moment he exits, both Alexei Ruslan and Tony Gamble turn their attention to Ivan and stare at him like he’s lost his mind. However, the Russian Bear looks surprisingly calm about the whole ordeal.

He is a Hall of Famer.

Then again the room is full of them.

Tony Gamble: There’s no damn way that you’re serious about this, right?

Alexei is shocked that he actually agrees with Tony, but Ivan Stanislav rights an errant medal on his breast and looks at the two other members of the Red Army without a care in the world.

Ivan Stanislav: I am serious. You see, comrades, first we are going to win Alias Title. And then? If Cancer loses, he gets to work for us. And if he wins?

Ivan’s grin widens.

Ivan Stanislav: He can cross Russian border and learn what “cool” really means.

Together, the three members of the Red Army all grin in unison as we move elsewhere.

Nick Stuart: Folks, we’d like to direct your attention to another part of the arena, where a… Gladiator field has been prepared.

Richard Parker: This. Is. Awesome.

We pan away from the ring, into the crowd, and behind them, is indeed a different set. One with… buckets.

And balls.

In fact, there are three rows of three empty buckets, flanked on two ends by larger buckets, full of volleyball.

Nick Stuart: The conditions of Steve Lemieux’s Alias Title reign are simple. A bout, so to speak, of American Gladiators. The winner after the end of three individual events? They win the Alias Title.

Richard Parker: This is an excellent strategy for Lemieux — dare I say, even, genius?

Nick Stuart: How so?

Richard Parker: Guy can’t wrestle worth a damn, right?

Nick Stuart: …I mean…

Richard Parker: RiiiiiIIIIIIGHT????

Nick Stuart: (sighing) Right.

Richard Parker: Well, theoretically, he doesn’t have to use one wrestling move to retain it.

Nick Stuart: Huh.

Richard Parker: Smart right?

Nick Stuart: Yep, gotta admit it. Well, anyway, let’s me our uh… and I use this term loosely… “Gladiators.”

Stepping onto the field are none other than:

LASAGNA BOY MIGUEL.

LASAGNA BOY TODDRICK.

AND.

Jesus H. Christ, it’s

POWERSLAM ANUBIS.

Our Alias Gladiators.

Standing on the edge of the field are Steve Lemieux, our Alias champion, in blue spandex.

And Tony Gamble, our challenger.

In Red.

Nick Stuart: The way Powerball, our first event, works is easy folks. Lemieux and Gamble will have a minute to get as many of those balls from the safety bucket into the other buckets as possible. Each successful bucket counts as a point. The only problem is, our Alias Gladiators will be doing everything they can to stop them.

Richard Parker: LET’S GET IT ON!!!

ROUND 1: POWERBALL

Referee Elvis Nixon calls for the bell.

DING. DING.

Tony Gamble snatches a ball out of the safety bucket and charges towards the very first bucket. Just before he gets there, Miguel cuts him off.

Miguel: WHATCHA GONNA DOOOOO… FUCK!!! BOYYYYYYY—ACK!!!

Tony Gamble absolutely lays Miguel the fuck out with a punch to the throat, and casually tosses the ball in the bucket, before taking off to the other safety bucket for another ball.

Lemieux, meanwhile, has been carefully creeping with a ball in his hands towards a bucket.

He gets laid the fuck out by Powerslam Anubis.

Richard Parker and Nick Stuart: OOF!!!

Meanwhile, Gamble has scored a second bucket, has removed one of Toddrick’s leg braces (Toddrick was destroyed by a DDT from Gamble for no reason at all), and is chasing Miguel around with it, holding a third ball in his hand.

Lemieux scrambles back up to his feet, runs and grabs another ball, runs back onto the field and hangs himself like laundry across the extended arm of Powerslam Anubis.

Steve Lemieux: WHY are you ONLY targeting me??? I will make you any sandwich you want if you’ll just mess with Gamble for a minute!

Powerslam Anubis: The great Powerslam Anubis is not tempted by your sandwich wiles, o woeful beefman.

He stomps right into the sternum of our beloved Hamburger Champion.

Gamble, meanwhile, has boomerang thrown Toddrick’s leg brace, and

DING DING.

GAMBLE 3 – LEMIEUX 0

ROUND 2: THE WALL

Behold, two massive rock climbing walls.

Nick Stuart: Folks… The rules of this one are fairly intuitive. Our champion and challenger in this bout will climb to the top of a 32 foot tall rock wall. Both competitors have randomly drawn the names of one of our Gladiators, and the gladiator they drew? They’ll have to give the challenger a ten second head start before they begin to climb themselves.

Richard Parker: Drawing Toddrick, due to his legs, or Miguel, due to his general lack of athleticism, would seem to be very lucky here.

Nick Stuart: Exactly right, Richard.

Richard Parker: So who did Tony Gamble draw?

Nick Stuart: Toddrick.

Richard Parker: And Lemieux?

Nick Stuart: …Powerslam Anubis.

Richard Parker: …Unlucky.

Nick Stuart: Very.

At the base of the left rock wall, Tony Gamble sits with a red helmet on his head, and safety harness around his groinals. Yes, groinals.

At the base of the right wall, stands the Alias Champion, Steve Lemieux. Blue helmet. Groinal harness.

Elvis Nixon calls for the bell.

DING DING.

Tony Gamble and Lemieux charge towards their respective walls. Gamble, heeps and bounds more athletic than Lemieux, finds the rock wall far less difficult than the champion, who is quite a bit more cautious and deliberate than Gamble, whose strategy is living up to his namesake, with daring moves to accelerate his climb.

DING. DING.

Now the Gladiators can climb.

Toddrick: I’m gonna get yeeeewwwwww~!!

Toddrick shouts up at Gamble, then Gamble looks down. He almost loses his footing — then he realizes, there’s no reason at all to hurry. Toddrick can’t even lift his legs high enough to position them on the rock.

Lemieux, however, is finding out what it means to go toe to toe on a rock wall with a literal wrestling god of judgment. Powerslam Anubis scales the wall almost like a ghost, damn near levitating in a straight up trajectory.

Gamble reaches the top. Throws his arms in the air. He has defeated his Gladiators.

Lemieux, meanwhile, can taste victory. He is a little more than a foot away from placing his hand on the top of the rock wall.

Powerslam Anubis: Soon your ass will be the grass upon which the animals defecate, o crestfallen bovine enthusiast.

He then sends his divine elbow directly into the back of Lemieux’s calf.

Lemieux cries out in pain.

Again! Right into the calf!

And Lemieux lets go, falling away from the wall towards the floor.

Luckily for him, he was wearing his groinal harness.

GAMBLE 13 – LEMIEUX 0

ROUND 3: JOUST

Two scaffolds hang from the roof.

Two pyramids of tables rest under them.

Richard Parker: Alright, now we are cooking with gas.

Nick Stuart: The last round, the last event, the Joust. The totally non-arbitrary way we decided to score this one was simple: IF one of our challengers takes what appears to be little more than a giant pugil stick and knocks off one of our Alias Gladiators? They will be rewarded 15 points.

Richard Parker: Crazy to think that, had Gamble spent more time scoring buckets in Powerball and less time beating the holy spirit out of two of our Gladiators, this could already be over.

Nick Stuart: Indeed.  Would uh… would you like to uh… haha… know who our challengers drew for this event?

Richard Parker: Abso-fuhREAKIN-lutely.

Nick Stuart: Gamble got Miguel.

Richard Parker: Lovely… who did Lemieux draw?

Nick Stuart: Powerslam Anubis.

Richard Parker: El. Em. Ay. Oh.

On the first scaffold, Miguel and Gamble stand. Miguel looks… massive relative to Gamble’s short, athletic frame — but Gamble doesn’t seem particularly worried.

On the second, Powerslam Anubis and Lemieux stand. Lemieux appears to be in the process of shifting the entirety of his butt right into his blue spandex singlet. Powerslam Anubis, on the other hand, appears as he always does: grand, and judgmental.

Elvis Nixon calls for the bell.

DING. DING. 

Miguel: Hope you’re ready to eat shit Gamble! You bastard!

Gamble THONKS Miguel in the head with the pupils stick.

Miguel: AAACK!!! My head!!! You sorry bastard! You rotten sorry bastard!!!

Miguel swings his stick wildly towards Gamble, marching forward, backing him up.

On the other scaffold, a business man is trying to bargain with a god.

Steve Lemieux: Go easy on me?

Powerslam Anubis THWACKS Lemieux with the pugil stick.

Powerslam Anubis: The Great Powerslam Anubis judges thee unworthy of mercy.

Miguel impressively has Gamble backed up to the edge of the scaffold, simply from Gamble bobbing and weaving and backing away from every swing of the pugil stick Miguel has swung.

Nick Stuart: But here, Miguel has found himself in a quagmire, Richard! He has Gamble right where he wants him, but he’s totally gassed. He can’t breathe!

Richard Parker: He might need a damn emergency inhaler, Nick!

Miguel, determined to show this rotten sorry bastard that he always stands on business, leaps toward Gamble to tackle him off!!!

But he misses.

In fact, he doesn’t even reach him.

He just sort of… flops…

Onto the scaffold surface.

It tips to the side.

And MIGUEL AND TONY ARE ROLLING DOWN IT!!!

CRASH!!!

Somebody just went through a pyramid of tables, but Lemieux can’t look to see if he even has a chance anymore. If Tony didn’t fall, the “match” was over anyway.

So Lemieux just goes for it.

He sends a shot towards Powerslam Anubis!!!

Powerslam Anubis sends a shot towards Lemieux!!!

CRASH!!!

By god, there might be a hundred tables shattered beneath the two scaffolds. Who knows? No one got a count.

But standing on top of the scaffolds are

Powerslam Anubis: Your ass has been planted within the soil to grow anew, o woeful son of beef.

And

Vince Howard: AAAAAAAAAAAAND NEWWWWWWWW!!!!! ALIAS CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!!!! TONYYYY!!! THE GRIN!!!! GAAAAAAMMBLEEEEEEEE!!!!

Nick Stuart: Well Richard, safe to say, we will probably never see Alias Gladiators ever again.

Richard Parker: Let’s not be sad it’s over. Let’s be indifferent that it happened.

Tony Gamble lifts both arms in the air from atop the scaffold.

We cut elsewhere.

A trap remix of the Soviet Union national anthem plays over throughout the arena as Kenny Freeman steps out onto the stage, looking surprisingly confident in his chances of winning the match at hand.  Randall is by his side, much to the chagrin of the crowd, as they boo the Master of the Moscowverse as Kenny walks to the ring.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, weighing at a combined 336lbs, representing the Red Army, the Masters of the Moscoververse!!

Arriving at the ring, Kenny steps through the ropes, Ivan staying at ringside to cheer the junior member of the Red Army on!

Vince Howard: And their opponents, weighing at a combined 540bs, “Fair Game” Danny Christie and Big John Pepper!

A truly unholy mash-up of Sweet Caroline and Torn by Natalie Imbruglia hits the speakers.

SWWWWWEEETTT CAROLIIINE

NOTHING’S FINE, I’M TORN

GOOD TIMES NEVER SEEMED SO GOOD

I’M COLD, AND I AM SHAMED,

SWEEEET CAROLIIIINE

LYING NAKED ON THE FLOOR

Danny Christie comes out first, followed close behind by the towering Big John Pepper. Big John smiles a redwood-sized grin at the crowds’ cheering. Christie maintains a focused scowl.

Nick Stuart: No sign of the other Big John tonight, which means Danny will have to do without his father. Will Big John Pepper be an acceptable Big John? How will these two bright new stars work as a tag team?

They get in the ring, and Danny takes his place as the one fighting first quickly. He stares daggers at Kenny and shadowboxes in the corner.

DING DING

Danny and Kenny waste no time locking up. Christie uses his size advantage to throw a headlock on Freeman and drag him to the mat. Christie bounces right back up for an elbow drop on K-Free’s lower back. The Flyin’ Freeman contracts in pain, and Christie goes for another drop – only for Freeman to roll out of the way!

Kenny recovers quickly and lands a kick to Christie’s head that makes him forget the pain in his elbow…and maybe everything else in there. Christie drops to his knees, and Kenny hits the ropes, rebounding with a SHINING WIZARD that rocks whatever was left of Christie’s noggin. Kenny goes for the cover:

ONE

TW-

Decisive kickout from Christie. Kenny grabs Christie and whips him into the Masters’ corner, where Randall is waiting to deliver a fist to the back of Christie’s head! The Realest Motherfucker is in trouble in the corner. Kenny tags in Randall, and the two stomp a mudhole into Christie’s chest.

BOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Vicious attack from the Masters.

Richard Parker: As Bryan Dawkins learned, you go against the Army, you get your face bashed in. That’s what this Christie guy is learning now.

The ref yells at Freeman to get back in his corner, and Randall takes control…for about a second. “This Christie guy” roars and sends a nasty elbow into Randall’s jaw. He takes down the veteran and goes to lock in a full armbar, but Randall holds on to his arm for dear life. Randall, amazingly, counters and rolls into the Christie, pinning him, but Christie reverses.

Nick Stuart: An Impressive comeback from Christie, but one has to wonder why Danny hasn’t gone to this partner yet.

BJP bounces on his feet, slightly shaking the ring in anticipation.

Richard Parker: You just wanna watch BJP spin around, don’t you?

Nick Stuart: It’s so much fun…

Richard Parker: Your bias disgusts me. Now back to the action, The fakest motherfucker has finally decided to tag in Temu Paul Bunyan, and Randall does NOT look happy.

Big John Pepper towers over Randall in all his good mythical glory. Randall musters all he’s got into a clothesline, but BJP doesn’t move. Randall tries again, this time with a standing drop kick that ends up sending Randall across the ring. Still nothing.

He hits the ropes a third time, but this time, shockingly fast, a hand grabs Randall by the throat and lifts him up.

The gigantic John Pepper charges Freeman, who dodges out of the way at the last minute! BJP goes into the ringposts like a truck hitting a streetlamp. He groans in agony and Randall makes sure to choke the big man on the ropes while Kenny distracts the ref.

Before Big John can recover, Freeman nails him with a running double knee to the back that forces his shoulder back onto the ring post.  His opponent vulnerable, Freeman jumps with ease to the second rope and LANDS A SENTON right to BJP’s lower back!

It takes all of Kenny’s 160lbs to roll over BJP for a cover, but he manages.

ONE!

TWO!

Kenny flies across the ring as BJP kicks out. The Big Man takes a step towards Kenny and clutches at his lower back.

Nick Stuart: I think BJP may be hurting from that senton.

Richard Parker: Just as I’m sure Bryan Dawkins is still hurting from that beatd-

Nick Stuart: Is someone paying you to badmouth Bryan Dawkins?

Richard Parker: No, Nick, I do it for love of the game.

BJP clearly wants revenge on the pipsqueak that just showed him up, but he makes the smart decision and tags the Realest Motherfucker, who is fresh as ever. Freeman and Christie rush each other. Kenny strikes first, but Christie reverses into an over-the-shoulder arm breaker, then knees Kenny in the face, dazing the high flyer. Showing off his technical expertise, Christie expertly takes down Freeman and locks in a double chicken wing that makes the boys scream.

Kenny yells in pain and tries to squirm out of the hold, but Christie only tightens it, showing an iron resolve. Kenny sticks his foot out as far as it will go and.. Randall sneaks over and puts Freeman’s foot on the ropes! Christie has to let go!

A frustrated Danny goes ballistic on Freeman, delivering blow after blow to Freeman’s back,  before picking him up and executing a picture-perfect bulldog that smashes Kenny’s face to the mat.

Christie covers

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout!

Christie peels Freeman off the mat and shoves a knee to his chest.

He snaps Freeman down again and locks in a bow-and-arrow, pulling back ruthlessly. Freeman cries out, twisting, reaching for the ropes—but Christie shifts his weight, dragging him just out of reach.

Freeman rolls back, pinning Christie and forcing a break. Christie quickly gets back to his feet, but eats a surprise enziguri from Kenny! Christie is down! Kenny is down! Freeman crawls for his life and leaps to tag his partner while Christie gets back to his feet. Randall runs in clotheslines the momentarily confused Christie once! Twice! Spinebuster to Christie!

Randall celebrates, but it’s cut short by a leg sweep from Christie. But instead of pressing the advantage, he tags in Big John Pepper. This time, BJP doesn’t give Randall a chance to rake his eyes. He wraps his giant arms around Randall and delivers a BELLY TO BELLY SUPLEX that shakes the ring.

Nick Stuart: An IMMENSE move from Big John Pepper. I think Randall may have just been reduced to dust!

Richard Parker: Ref! Do your job and check if Randall is dust!

Randall isn’t dust, but boy is he out of it. Big John Peeps covers:

ONE!

TWO!

Freeman breaks up the pinfall!

BJP scoops up Randall and gorilla presses him over his head to the approval of the bloodthirsty crowd, then throws him effortlessly to the outside of the ring. BJP seems very happy for all the people who have been made happy by his violence. Meanwhile, Kenny joins Randall on the outside to help him recover.  They share a few whispered words, and Randall slides back into the ring as the ref’s count gets to three.

Randall gets back in the ring, and BJP goes to square up. Randall dodges to the side and lands some kicks to the back of his knee. It’s for BJP to go to one knee and give Randall the time he needed to tag Kenny in. Together, Kenny and Randall ascend the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Are they gonna-

They are gonna. Double Frog splash on a standing Big John Pepper puts the big man down! Kenny follows up with a standing moonsault! Big John clutches his midsection on the ground. K-Free hits the ropes, stops right before BJP, and hits a dab before hitting a leg drop!

Nick Stuart: Follow the Freeman!

BOOOOOOO!!

Freeman once goes for the cover:

ONE-

Christie doesn’t give his partner time to kick out before he breaks up the pin. Kenny tags in Randall, BJP tags in Christie.

Now it’s just Randall and Christie in the ring. Randal goes for a kick, but Danny catches it and dragon screws Randall’s knee to the mat. Randall cries out in pain. He doesn’t notice the air has gone still around him as Danny Christie wiiiiiiiiiiinds up.

POP.

Nick Stuart: LEFT HAND LARRY, out of nowhere! Christie knocks Randall OUT COLD!

Christie goes to pin Randall! Kenny moves to break up the pin but he’s intercepted by BIG JOHN who appears of nowhere and grabs Kenny by the throat.

Nick Stuart: BIG JOHN PEPPER HAS JUST CHOKESLAMMED KENNY FREEMAN! KENNY IS OUT! CHRISTIE MAKES THE COVER ON RANDALL!

ONE!
TWO!

THREEEEE!!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Your winners by pinfall, Danny Christie and Big John Pepper!

The stadium roars its approval as the ref raises Danny’s and Big John’s hands in victory.

Richard Parker: This is a sham. That was an impressive as hell performance from Freeman.

Nick Stuart: Yes, Dick, but Danny Christie and Big John Pepper had surprisingly great chemistry as a team that carried them to victory.

The giant BJP envelopes his tag partner in a hug and beams in pride. Christie rolls his eyes but accepts the hug nonetheless. We fade out with the Prime audience cheering for these two newly ascendant superstars.

These production engineers at PRIME are a true marvel. After last show, when they simply trained a camera on Satan Jones as he filmed his live Instagram video, they decided they wanted to create a more immersive experience. So a few plugins here, a broadcasting agreement there, and lo and behold, we are seeing exactly what Satan’s fans are seeing: that is, a close-up of Satan Jones’ devil-horn hair and long pink tongue.

Isn’t technology great?

Satan Jones: Hello my little devils! You are LIVE! WITH! SATAAAAAAAN!

Satan’s eyes are wild as he shouts at the camera. Behind his head we can see a familiar brown swept haircut that belongs to Kris Roswell, but only his hair, so we can’t see what flavor of disapproval he has chosen today.

Satan Jones: And let me tell you something, devils, we are minutes away – MINUTES! – from a showdown of epic proportions. The Foot Soldiers, led by former NFL sensation Kris Roswell…

Kris Roswell: I got cut from the practice squad.

Satan Jones: Are going to get in the ring with Elise Ares and a man so dastardly they can only give him one letter.

Kris Roswell: Four.

The camera very quickly moves to cover Kris, who is looking up at us blankly.

Satan Jones: What?

Kris Roswell: Four letters. T-H-E-D. The “the” is part of his name.

Satan Jones: Articles don’t count.

Kris Roswell: Then why is he listed in the T’s on the roster page?

After a moment the camera whirls back around to Satan’s face – sorry for the whiplash.

Satan Jones: A man so dastardly they can only give him four letters! They are the Pop Culture Phenoms, and they’ve been a force in PRIME and DEFIANCE. So if we want to prove the Foot Soldiers belong, we need to bring everything we got into the ring tonight. And I just know my thousands of followers are wondering our mindset going into the biggest match of our lives! So we’re here to give it to you. So, Satan Jones, how are you feeling going into the biggest match of your life?

Satan’s energetic demeanor softens, as if he is changing his personality from interviewer to interviewee.

Satan Jones: Feels good, man.

Then, he nods at his answer to himself.

Satan Jones: Hell yeah, dude. Hell yeah.

The camera once again blurs as the phone moves and settles on Kris, who is stretching with his leg hooked on a bench.

Satan Jones: Kris! How are you feeling going into the biggest match of your life?

Kris Roswell: Ready. Loose. Excited to kick some ass.

That was a bit more enthusiastic than we were expecting. Than Satan was expecting too, it seems, as he forgot his catch phrase.

Satan Jones: Damn right bro! They’re gonna get something they’re not ready for!

“UNHAND ME, FACELESS OPPRESSORS!!”

In the background, somewhere between five to eight Enemigos can be seen struggling to eject a person from the room (and, presumably, the arena). It’s not immediately clear who they’re manhandling, because the camera can’t quite focus in time.

They are, however, putting up one hell of a fight.

Rezin?: I JUST NEEDED TO BORROW THAT POPCORN-MAKER FOR THE FIGHT AGAINST AUTHORITARIANISM!! I WAS GONNA BRING IT RIGHT BACK!! C’MON, WE’RE ON THE SAME SIDE HERE!!

With a heavy, coordinated push, the Enemigos force the scrum through the doors and into the hallway.

Rezin?: SHUCKS, IS THIS CUZ OF THE MASK?! I WAS GONNA BRING THAT BACK, TOO! But, ya know… FIGHT! AUTHORITARIANISM! OWW!! LEGGO MY BEARD, IT’S STILL FRESH!!

Satan has, mercifully or mercilessly depending on your opinion, not caught all of this in perfect frame. As stated earlier, things were moving too fast. And, if we’re being honest, Satan is a shitty camera man. Still, he takes note of it.

Satan Jones: I don’t know what that was, but I think I just got 5000 new followers. So, to my new little devils…welcome! I’ll try to get that weird guy in my shows more often. If the Enemigos don’t arrest him, of course.

Kris Roswell: They’re security, not police.

Satan Jones: That’s what they want you to think.

He lets this sit in the air for a moment. Kris shakes his head.

Kris Roswell: Who is they?

Satan clearly didn’t expect this question.

Satan Jones: Uh…

He stammers.

Satan Jones: Well…

He stutters.

Satan Jones: They’re…

He putters.

Satan Jones: They…they are the Pop Culture Phenoms! And we’re going to take them down in two minutes!

Kris Roswell: Good recovery.

Satan kills the feed, and we go ringside.

Hey, look everyone, it’s Vince Howard. Hi, Vince Howard!

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

I said, hi, Vince Howard.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, at a total combined weight of three-hundred and 7 pounds…

The cheek of this dude, pretending he can’t hear me. Doesn’t this sumbitch know I’m omniscient?

“Live for the Night” by Krewella hits the arena speakers as the spot lights shine and the Dusk, er, fog machines blow smoke across the entryway. Appearing in the mist are three figures, instantly recognizable by the PRIME faithful.

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

Richard Parker: Can someone please explain to me why this bit won’t die?

Shut up and let me have things, Richard! God.

Vince Howard: The team of Elise Ares… The D… They are… The POP CULTUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURE PHENOMS!

The group makes their way to the ring, stopping to vamp for everyone whose cell phone is out to take a photo, and even demanding that a few disinterested fans take out their own phones for pictures.

Vince Howard: And their opponents…

“Kick, Push, Kick, Push, Kick, Push…”

Vince Howard: At a total combined weight of four hundred and twenty five pounds…

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

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

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

“Kick, Push, Kick, Push, Kick, Push…”

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

“Kick, Push, Kick, Push, Kick, Push…”

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

“Kick, Push, Kick, Push, Kick, Push…”

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

DING DING

Roswell and The D begin as the legal members from their respective teams, circling at first before the two men lock up. Now I don’t know if everybody clocked this during the Foot Soldiers first match in PRIME, but Kris Roswell has exactly one type of offensive maneuver, and it’s not one that you can hit easily from a lock up unless you get all Dhalsim with your legs for some real bendy-ass kicks. The D does not have this same hang-up, and he connects with a sharp knee strike to the midsection and follows with an arm drag that sends Roswell tumbling to the mat.

Nick Stuart: The D taking control of this one early.

Richard Parker: I’m honestly surprised that move worked, considering kickers don’t need to use their arms.

Nick Stuart: What about punters?

Richard Parker: We do not speak of them, Nicholas! Kickers aren’t people, and punters are even lower than that.

Roswell moves to re-engage, but is felled by another arm drag, and this time The D clamps down and maintains joint control. Roswell is spry, and before The D can exert his dominance over the rookie, Roswell rolls through and up to his feet. He snaps off two kicks in rapid succession, a low kick and a mid kick, but The D dodges the first, catches the second, and pulls Roswell into a quick suplex.

Richard Parker: Uppy and downy foot punches both miss, and that first one looked like it could have been a real shin-tickler.

Nick Stuart: Just call them kicks.

Richard Parker: I will not.

The Director doesn’t waste any time in bringing in his partner, making a quick tag to Elise Ares. Before Roswell can recover, The Leading Lady snaps Roswell’s neck down over the middle rope.

Nick Stuart: Cuban Necktie by Elise Ares!

Richard Parker: And the kicker is flopping around like real… uhhh… floppy… thing.

Nick Stuart: Yes?

Richard Parker: Like an… umm… you know…

Nick Stuart: Eloquent as always, Richard.

Richard Parker: Pancake? No, that’s not it. Carry on. It’ll come to me.

Down on his knees in the middle of the ring, Roswell takes a moment to check his neck and compose himself, but he doesn’t get very long as a spike hurricanrana drives him face-first into the mat. Sending an opportunity to put this away early, Ares makes the cover.

1…

2…

Nick Stuart: And Roswell gets his shoulder up!

Richard Parker: Damn, I thought Ares had him.

Nick Stuart: Still very early in this one to count anyone out, Richard.

Richard Parker: I’m not counting anyone out. I’m counting out the kicker. And like I said last time, kickers aren’t people.

Nick Stuart: Are we really doing this again?

Richard Parker: Nicky, my guy, we’re doing this forever.

Nick Stuart: Oh. Great.

Roswell rolls to his corner and makes the tag to Satan, who quickly storms into the ring. A running shoulder block sends Ares to the canvas. Instead of following-up, Satan charges across the ring and hits a running push on The D, effectively shoving him off the ring apron. For his part, The D takes no damage from the fall, landing awkwardly on his feet and stumbling back into the barricade, and looks more confused than anything else.

Nick Stuart: Satan Jones with another shoulder block!

Richard Parker: Oh, right. I forgot this team knows a whole two moves between them. One guy kicks, and the other shoves.

Nick Stuart: It worked well enough in their first match, Richard.

Richard Parker: Okay, sure. How very Sid Phillips of them. At least powerbombs are actual moves. This? This is how toddlers fight.

Nick Stuart: Fight a lot of children, do you?

Richard Parker: Sir, have you met my nephews?

Satan sends Ares into the ropes with an Irish Whip, and then hits the ropes himself on the far side. The two run criss-cross applesauce across the ring until Satan pulls his arms in close to his chest and barrels the South Beach Starlet over with a massive pounce.

Nick Stuart: Huge move by Satan!

Richard Parker: My man put sprinkles on a shoulderblock and you’re acting like he just… umm…

Nick Stuart: Fans, as you can clearly tell even my colleague has been rendered speechless by that burst of offense by Satan Jones.

Richard Parker: What?! No, I’m not! See? I’m speeching right now.

Nick Stuart: Speeching?

Richard Parker: Speaking! Whatever.

Satan hooks a leg as he goes for the cover.

1…

Only he doesn’t seem as interested in the pinfall as he does trying to remove one of Elise Ares’ shoes.

Nick Stuart: Umm…

2…

Ares’ kickout is as much to keep her feet away from Satan’s grubby little mitts.

Roswell tags back in and connects with a clean roundhouse kick on Ares right off the rip.

Richard Parker: Twirly whirly foot punch by the kicker.

Nick Stuart: One day you’re going to run out of ways to not say “kick.”

Richard Parker: Not in this lifetime.

Roswell backs up and waits for Ares to get back to her feet, then charges forward to try and connect with the UFO. The Leading Lady rolls underneath, almost taking out Roswell’s plant leg, and builds some momentum of her own. As Roswell recovers his balance, Ares grabs Roswell in a front facelock and hits a rope run tornado DDT that sends the rookie sprawling. He tries to get back to his feet, but a corkscrew basement dropkick sends him flying back into a neutral corner.

Nick Stuart: Hot tag to The D!

Richard Parker: Did you know that Tag The D is what I call…

Nick Stuart: My brother in Christ, do not finish that sentence!

The D pulls Roswell up and traps one his arms before driving him to the mat with the Contractual Obligation legsweep face plant.

Nick Stuart: Kris Roswell has really been taking a pounding here these last few minutes, Richard.

Richard Parker: Well fortunately for him his time as a football player has likely trained him to deal with high impact moves.

He shifts his momentum and rolls into a cover, hooking one of Roswell’s legs in the process.

1…

Nick Stuart: That’s actually a great observa-

2…

Richard Parker: JUST KIDDING HE WAS A KICKER!

Ashley Barlow has to quickly pull her hand away from trying to slap the mat a third time, because Satan Jones hits the and plows into The D, which is the opposite of how plowing usually goes when there’s a D involved.

Ahem.

Anyway.

Nick Stuart: Satan Jones just saved this match for his team!

Richard Parker: You know what they say, Nick, Satan saves.

Nick Stuart: Nobody says that!

Richard Parker: Some people do.

Now, having successfully broken up the cover Satan Jones could exit the ring and allow the match to continue. He could do that, but he doesn’t. Instead, he begins laying into The D, which is not normally how laying works when there’s a D involved.

You heard me.

In the fracas that follows, Satan’s shoving strategy evolves somewhat.

Nick Stuart: Satan Jones with a huge lariat that damn near took The D’s head off!

Richard Parker: Where I come from we call that a circumcision.

Nick Stuart: …

Richard Parker: What? What’d I say?

Nick Stuart: …

Referee Ashley Barlow begins trying to get Satan out of the ring, but this particular exorcism is thwarted by Elise Ares entering for her own side to even the odds.

Nick Stuart: This match has broken down, and Ashley Barlow is doing everything she can to try and get things back under control!

Roswell, now back on his feet and working through what’s going on, charges towards the gathered mass of people to try and line up a UFO. The move connects on The D, but only after Satan is forced to duck out of the way to avoid getting hit himself. The momentum of the strike sends The D out through the ropes and to the arena floor, and Roswell himself topples out after him.

Unfortunately for Satan, trying to avoid the move leaves him in quite the precarious position.

Nick Stuart: Extreme Makeover!! Elise Ares just planted Satan Jones with the Extreme Makover!!

Richard Parker: Okay, but let’s be real, when he wakes up from that he’s probably going to be real excited to have had his head stepped on.

Ares reflexively falls on top of Satan to make a cover, just as referee Barlow reflexively hits the mat to begin the count.

1…

Nick Stuart: Neither of these people are legal for their teams!

2…

Richard Parker: I don’t think that’s going to matter in a few seconds…

Just as Barlow’s hand is about to hit the mat for a third time she catches herself and realizes the situation. Instead of continuing the count she begins tapping Ares on the shoulder and waving the count off. The D slides into the ring and the Phenoms begin to plead their case, but Barlow is having none of it.

Richard Parker: Okay, well, isn’t the first time I’ve been wrong.

Nick Stuart: Ashley Barlow ushering Ares and Satan out of the ring…

Richard Parker: Weirdest pantheon ever.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: You know. Ares and Satan? A pantheon? Because of their names?

Nick Stuart: I genuinely cannot with you tonight.

Richard Parker: You say that all the time.

Meanwhile, Kris Roswell has been getting himself into position, albeit one that he’s not used to. Taking a page out of his partner’s book, he ascends the ropes and comes flying off the top buckle just in time for The D to turn around.

Nick Stuart: Flying UFO and it connects!

Richard Parker: All UFOs are flying, Nick! It’s in the name!

Nick Stuart: The D is down…

Richard Parker: They make pills for-

Nick Stuart: SHUT! UP!

Roswell hooks a leg, putting all of his weight on top of The D to make sure he doesn’t kick out.

1…

Nick Stuart: Ares back to try and break it up!

2…

Nick Stuart: But there’s Satan Jones to intercept!

3!!!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: The winners of this match… thheeeeeeeeee FOOT Soldieeeeers!!!

Richard Parker: I can’t believe this, Nick. The Foot Soldiers absolutely stole this one.

Roswell rolls out of the ring to meet up with Satan while the Pop Culture Phenoms try to make sense of where things went wrong.

Nick Stuart: Things might not have looked like they were going the way of Roswell and Jones, but the Foot Soldiers pick up their second win here in PRIME!

Richard Parker: Kickers aren’t supposed to win!

Nick Stuart: Fans, don’t go anywhere, as we’ll be back with more action in just a moment.

And with that, we fade elsewhere.

We cut backstage to see intergalactic, fantastic Bobby Neptune, space guy, staring out a window at the Tijuana sky.  He goes into an almost meditative state. No sound. Nothing can bother him here.

He’d kept to himself the first few weeks at PRIME. But that’s about to change. Why? Because a pair of fellow astronomical travelers are about to cross his path. Well, sort of.

Stepping into frame, watching the proverbial watchman? Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz, better known as the Masters of the Moscowverse. The pair seem to still be reeling from their match against Big John Pepper and Danny Christie, but they are now locked in on the sight of Neptune as Randall turns his attention to Kenny.

Randall Schwartz: Ya know somethin’, Kenny? I’ve been thinking it over. The time has come for the Red Army to really expand its reach. We need to go to the one place that hasn’t been corrupted by capitalism…

His voice trails off as he motions toward the Starboy, before Randall gives his best Tim Curry impression.

Randall Schwartz: Spaaaace!

Neptune turns at the mention of his favorite thing and smiles.

Bobby Neptune: Kenneth Freeman. It’s been a long time. It’s good to see you.

He approaches his old acquaintance.

Bobby Neptune: How have you been? Are you and your companion interested in The Great Beyond? I’d be happy to answer any questions, though I’m sorry to tell you there’s plenty of capitalism in space. The gas planets are actually just giant factories where they manufacture planet-size superweapons and those little cardboard sleeves for coffee cups. They’re privately owned.

We get two very different reactions from the Masters here; Randall furrows his brow in disappointment, and Kenny just gives a confused glance.

Kenny Freeman: Uh, buddy, I don’t think we’ve ever met…

His voice trails off just as he ends that sentence, because that’s when it hits him.

Kenny Freeman: At least, not in this universe. Oh, boy.

This perks The Entertainer up, at least.

Randall Schwartz: My man’s been through the Multiverse, too! This is great. I’ve got so much space stuff to ask you about, bud. First off, is it true you get stretched like spaghetti going through a wormhole?

Bobby’s eyes open wide and he stutters. Then shakes his head and tries to resume the conversation as normal.

Bobby Neptune: Oh…But I thought….I…uh. I must be mixing you up with someone else. I apologize.  My name is Bobby Neptune and I have some experience with the multiverse, only glimpses through a rare portal. I’ve seen versions of our world that were wondrous and monstrous. That’s how the multiverse must be approached, I think, with wonder and caution.

He turns to Randall and says with a calm intensity.

Bobby Neptune: And yes, sir. A wormhole will pull an unprotected object thinner than an atom before it snaps from the pressure. All happens in an instant. It’s like that with tears in the multiverse too. Every rip thins the barrier between worlds til it’s spaghetti. Then one day, with no warning…

He snaps his fingers and lets the sound echo to silence.

Bobby Neptune: Sounds as if you two have traversed the multiversal planes yourselves. Did you take all necessary precautions? Have you met any alter-selves?

Randall looks thrilled to start running down a whole treasure trove of tales.

Randall Schwartz: A whole Council of them! And we went to a world where our buddy Axel was a literal shark, and even one where…

Kenny cuts off his enthusiastic pal with a wave of his hand.

Kenny Freeman: Yeah, we’ve bumped into ourselves. A lot. More than I think I like, to be honest, but we’ve also handled ourselves pretty well in the Multiverse.

Randall Schwartz: We’re masters at it!

Bobby Neptune:  A whole COUNCIL?!?

The previously cool Bobby becomes agitated and begins pacing.

Bobby Neptune: Kenneth, you need to stop, immediately. I’ve no doubt you think you know what you’re doing, but it sounds like you’re breaking at least three interpanterary accords. And possibly endangering the universe itself. You must tell me where every single breach is so it can be closed, forever! Unless…do you have some reason to keep them open?

Randall Schwartz: Of course!

This confuses even Kenny, who gives him a bit of side-eye.

Randall Schwartz: I know a Randall out on Earth-562 that owes me fifty bucks.

Kenny rolls his eyes with a sigh as Bobby narrows his eyes at Randall.

Bobby Neptune: Is that so?

Randall ignores his friend’s reaction to give the Starboy a nod.

Randall Schwartz: Yeah man. As for the breaches, well…

He turns back to Kenny.

Randall Schwartz: Show ‘im the portal gun.

Kenny just looks at him, mouth nearly agape.

Kenny Freeman: We don’t have that anymore, man. You know this.

Randall lets out a heavy sigh.

Randall Schwartz: Ah, nuts. Well, it’s out of our hands…but if you know a good portal gunsmith around the cosmos, we’re more than happy to take a referral!

Bobby drops his head in his hands and grumbles.

Bobby Neptune: I actually do know one, but I’m not referring you!

The spaceman is on the brink of losing his composure.

Bobby Neptune: Take me to the nearest breach, now.

Randall is taken aback by the shift in attitude, but before he can respond Kenny holds him back…and you can see where this is going.

Kenny Freeman: Entertainer, I got this.

Kenny turns his attention to Neptune with a scowl on his face.

Kenny Freeman: Buddy, you ain’t in a position to make demands of us. You ain’t our daddy.

Randall Schwartz: Yeah, you ain’t Iv–I mean, uh, you ain’t our daddy!

Kenny Freeman: You want something from us? You could’ve just asked, but noooo…you had to go and get lippy. I don’t like lippy. All you’re doin’ with that attitude is askin’ for a fight…and pal, I’m willin’ to give you a fight.

Kenny’s face finally softens ever so slightly as he continues.

Kenny Freeman: Now, I’m a sucker for a good wager, so let’s settle this like sporting gentlemen and do so in that very ring.

He points offscreen as if motioning to ringside.

Kenny Freeman: You want us to help you close them breaches, and we want a way back across the Multiverse. Only one of us can get what they want, and if you think you can make demands willy nilly, you can bet your sweet stardust there’s a culture shock waiting for ya.

Bobby matches Kenny’s scowl and meets his gaze head to head.

Bobby Neptune: A match for the fate of the multiverse? You’re on.

The two men square off as we fade to black.

The fans in the arena have settled down once more, for they are anticipating more hard hitting PRIME action. How are they anticipating such a thing? Well, you see, if the ring, at this very moment in time, is Sage Pontiff, who very much looks like he’s ready to commit a fun variety of crimes that are technically legal in the wrestling industry. Sage looks locked and focused on the match ahead of him.

Nick Stuart: This is quite the match we have lined up next. Hayes Hanlon, new Hall of Famer, member of PRIME’s Stable of the Year and last seen in a wrestling ring in a brutal battle with Nate Coleton that saw Hayes fight until he had nothing left and come out the victor during Colossus. You know he wants to take that Coleton momentum further, but standing in his way is Sage Pontiff, who last we saw defeated the former Alias Champion, Blaze Claymore.

Richard Parker: This is what you love to see, Nick, two men, momentum in both their favours, ready to smash each other’s faces in the name of this glorious industry of grapple.

As “Satori Part II” by The Travellin’ Flower band begins to fade away, with Vince Howard looks especially creeped out by Sage on this fine evening, it is replaced by a bit of silence, the silence of course beckons the arrival of Sage’s opponent.

Distorted guitar heralds a black hole emerging on the PRIME*View, dangerously close to the screen; hanging in the void among planets and nebulas.

Sirens accompany as the screen shakes, pulling us in violently, until the lyrics scream throughout the PA system.

“WHEN MY BACK’S TO THE WAAALLLL!!!”

And huge, white block letters fill the screen:

I!!!

WILL!!!

CON!!!

QUER!!!

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

And then, from the ramp, The Event Horizon. He marches forward, those dark eyes focused, ‘stache on point. The eruption of lights and noise makes the building feel like a mosh pit. If the fans are booing, you’d never know.

Vince Howard: FROM WEST LINN, OREGON! STANDING SIX FEET, THREE INCHES AND WEIGHING IN AT TWO-HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE POUNDS!!

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

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

Nick Stuart: Hayes Hanlon has to be one of those guys you have in your “bright 2026” book. He’s got the past form, he’s got the reputation and he’s got the ability to be atop the PRIME ladder once more.

Richard Parker: All of this is true, but when you’ve got a fellow Gluemate holding the Universal Championship, do you want to risk igniting an intrafactional war?

Nick Stuart: I think every single member of Glue is capable of doing that. Even Hank!

Richard Parker: I will thank you for not broadcasting Hank slander on national television.

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

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!
CUT OUT THE PAIN! TO FIND THE POWER!”

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

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!
CUT OUT THE PAIN!”

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

I!!!

WILL!!!

CON!!!

QUER!!!

The Comeback Kid stays for a moment, eyes scanning the arena, allowing the music to reach its breakdown. He hops to the mat and takes his place in his corner, ready to go, taking a last look at Sage Pontiff, before Elvis Nixon makes his final checks ahead of what is promising to be a very sporting battle.

Nixon calls for the bell.

Ding ding

Nick Stuart: And this one is off. I don’t know where it will go but I’m expecting a brawl here.

Richard Parker: These are certainly two competitors that I do believe would have the capacity for murder deep down in their hearts.

The second Nixon calls for the bell, both Hanlon and Pontiff head right for the middle of the ring and begin to throw bombs in each other’s directions. Forearm after forearm goes from anywhere between the top of the skull and the throat, neither man is much caring where their blows hit, they are just happy and making certain that the forearms do hit. They go wild with their hammering as the crowd gets into a frothy furor of excitement and engagement. For those in the higher up seats, the brawl looks like nothing but a series of flying limbs going back and forth, right in the centre of the action. As Pontiff rolls his arm back for a loaded forearm, Hanlon sees an opening and uses his entire weight to drive a dropkick straight into the knee of Pontiff. There’s enough force to send Pontiff down to one knee and that gap is just enough for Hanlon to drive a full force knee into the face of Pontiff. Sage tumbles down and Hanlon leaps on top for an immediate pin.

ONE!

TWO!

Pontiff uses force to kick out, sending Hanlon stumbling back, creating a bit of a space for air.

Nick Stuart: I think when we saw that Hayes Hanlon was facing Sage Pontiff tonight, this was exactly what we were expecting, absolutely no give and brutal strikes from both.

Richard Parker: I’m also expecting an extra long commercial break to clean the canvas by the end of this, that will complete my parlay.

A frustrated former Universal Champion looks towards Elvis Nixon with three fingers held up, Nixon for his part assures Hanlon that it was very much just a two. Hanlon bends over to continue a Sage Pontiff pummeling, but as he leans down, Pontiff manages to grasp each side of the beautiful and pristine moustache, pulling it down as if he was trying to rip chunks out of it. He doesn’t manage to achieve the shortening of the Hanlon facial hair, but he does succeed in giving himself some breathing room. Instead of resisting Pontiff’s force and risking a little disfigurement, Hanlon goes with gravity and this allows Sage to drill Hayes’ face right into the mat. Sage quickly kicks up the his feet and uses this moment to hold his boot down on Hanlon’s neck, with Hanlon still recovering from his canvas kiss.

Nick Stuart: Neither man in this match is small by any margin, but what is deceptive is just how fluid both of these competitors are.

Richard Parker: One is youth, one is… well… Sage Pontiff, which, I’m not surprised he’s still got flexibility. They both know how to use it to their advantage and that’s a rare thing for talent of their size.

Hanlon stomps his feet down on the mat as Pontiff continues to use the tip of his boot to put pressure down on the neck of the PRIME Hall of Famer. Referee Nixon even slides in for a quick check of whether Hanlon wants to throw in the towel as he sees the strain that Pontiff is using on Hanlon’s neck with pinpoint accuracy. Hanlon refuses and uses his free leg to drive a boot right into the bottom of Pontiff. The Tush Push is enough to force Pontiff off of his neck and create enough space for Hanlon to get back onto an even footing on the mat. Hayes challenges Pontiff to rush him, which Pontiff is only dutiful in his response as he rushes in and delivers a boot right into the gut of Hanlon. The force of the boot sends Hanlon into the ropes, but Pontiff is not anticipating the rebound from the kick and Hanlon uses scientific facts like gravity, momentum and force to deliver a lariat that smashes across Pontiff’s jaw so much you’d half expect his lower jaw to by flying into the fifth row by now.

Nick Stuart: What excellent use of ring awareness from Hanlon! He may have grown up in a PRIME ring but this just shows how much he learns every time he’s in there.

Richard Parker: I mean, being aligned with some of the best wrestlers in the industry probably hasn’t hurt his development either. When you think about it, Glue has 4 Universal Champions, Hanlon inclusive. I’d hope he’d learn being surrounded by that.

Hanlon looks pretty satisfied with his attempts to smash in the face of his fellow competitor in ring action, but that look of satisfaction turns into a look of concern when he sees that Sage Pontiff has not left his feet. Instead Sage plunked his weight down when Hanlon came barrelling towards him and managed to stay in place. Pontiff is certainly nursing his jaw and looks like Hanlon did almost tear it off, but he’s still standing. This does not stand well with The Event Horizon, who looks at Pontiff with quite a disdainful eye, roaring an elbow right into his face. Pontiff blocks the elbow and spins Hanlon around, but this momentum gets him a back elbow to the face for his attempts. Pontiff staggers a few steps back but this just provides him an opening to deliver a knee straight to the back of Hanlon’s skull. A wobbly legged Hanlon bounces chest first into the ropes and Pontiff catches him in a bridging German Suplex.

ONE!

TWO!

Richard Parker: Hanlon kicks out! Hanlon kicks out!

Nick Stuart: That knee would have knocked out most of the roster and with a beautiful bridging German to follow, there’s few I know who would find their way out of that.

Richard Parker: That’s why you go with Hanlon, the man has spite running through his core, his veins, basically any part of his body. That’s going to give you that power.

Hanlon rolls back from his shoulders being down and back to his feet as Pontiff tries to not let any frustration within his bones show. Hanlon lays in wait, spry on his feet once more, as Pontiff returns to the fight and gets an uppercut right to his jaw for his troubles. Hammerin’ Hanlon continues to hammer uppercut after uppercut into the jaw of Sage Pontiff, backing him right into the right corner. As Pontiff leans up against the corner to get himself a breath of that delicious air that he needs at this exact moment in time, Hanlon eases himself into the opposing corner and rushes right into Pontiff, delivering a rushing shoulder block into his once War Games team mate. Once he makes contact, he delivers a few more shoulders into the ole gutteroo for good measure.

Nick Stuart: It looks like Hayes Hanlon is seeking a bit of intestinal bleeding in this match.

Richard Parker: According to the laws of wrestling, intestinal bleeding is some of the worst kind of bleeding. Hanlon is consulting the dark wrestling arts to injure Pontiff here and Pontiff is gasping for air.

Hanlon backs off Pontiff, letting him stagger back out of the corner and working out what he’s supposed to do with his opponent now. Seeing that Pontiff is nursing his precious guts and is doubled over at this exact moment in time, Hanlon leaps up into the sky and plants the skull of Pontiff straight into the match with a rather spikey DDT. Instead of going for a cover, Hanlon begins a series of very firm stomps straight into the back of his opponent.

Nick Stuart: In some ways, it feels like Hanlon is trying to prove to Pontiff that he has a bigger violence streak in him.

Richard Parker: Makes sense to me, Nick, have you seen anyone who engages with Glue? They always come back weirder… and violenter… big bunch of violent weirdos if you ask me.

Nick Stuart: Are you saying this as a negative?

Richard Parker: Not at all!

Every time it looks like Pontiff is seeking to get air back into his lungs, Hanlon delivers a boot into the back where he assumes the lungs should be. This continues for a while until Pontiff holds onto a rope and Elvis Nixon kindly asks Hayes Hanlon to stop his lung crimes. Hanlon is only dutiful in his response… until one last boot for boot measure, but after that he’s more than happy to comply with the request from the official.

Nick Stuart: Hayes Hanlon trying to drive all air out of Sage Pontiff.

Richard Parker: From everything I know about Sage Pontiff’s lung capacity, that would be a pretty impressive feat if you ask me.

Hanlon waits and enjoys every moment of seeing Pontiff use the ring ropes to crawl back up to an even base. Hanlon raises his arms out, much to quite a bit of fan displeasure as he leaps from side to side, awaiting Pontiff to meet him.

Richard Parker: He calls that The Hanlon Tickler.

Nick Stuart: He doesn’t and I think you know he doesn’t.

Richard Parker: Never question me, I’m a real journalist.

As Hanlon lays in wait with his arms outstretched, he grabs the groggy Pontiff around the throat, ready to take him on the journey with The Epoch.

Richard Parker: Wait, OH NO, THIS IS ILLEGAL!

As Hanlon hoists Pontiff up, Pontiff drills his legs into the knees of Hanlon, as Hanlon staggers, still trying to keep grasp of Pontiff, Pontiff manages to shift his weight and capture Hanlon inside of a small package.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Ding ding ding

Richard Parker: There’s absolutely no way that was three! Nixon doesn’t know what he’s doing!

Nick Stuart: Looked like a clean three to me.

Pontiff rolls out of the pin and leans against the ropes as Hanlon looks up at referee Elvis Nixon with absolute murder in his eyes.

Vince Howard: You’re winner of this match, via pinfall… SAGEEEE PONTIFFFFFFF!

Nixon raises the arm of Pontiff as an irate Hanlon stares daggers through the both of them.

Nick Stuart: Sage Pontiff showed that he will use any opening you give to him, but you just know Hayes Hanlon will not take this well.

Richard Parker: Hayes Hanlon is about to murder someone, and I blame you, Nick!

We fade out on the eyes of an irate Hanlon as Nixon allows Pontiff to absorb his victory.

ReVival comes back from commercial break to a shot of the Boss sitting behind her desk.

Lindsay Troy: Before I send you all back to Nick and Richard to call Rich’s favorite wrestler’s match, there are two pieces of important business I want to address, both concerning Culture Shock.

A mighty cheer arises from the crowd. Richard Parker groans at the reminder that Cancer Jiles’s match is next.

Lindsay Troy: The first piece of business is the annual cluster match. Since our relaunch in 2022, we’ve given you the affectionately named Murder Rumble, WarGames, and Manhunt last year. Two matches where it was every person for themselves, and one match where teamwork was the key to ensuring victory. So it only seems right that this year, we return to that mindset with PRIME’s first ever Squad Goals Match.

More cheering and anticipated buzzing from the PRIMEates inside Estadio Chevron.

Lindsay Troy: Two teams. One goal: eliminate all members of the opposition. Eliminations can happen by any means necessary: pinfall, submission, knockout, DQ, or countout. Whoever remains at the end wins the match for their team. Now…

The Queen smirks.

Lindsay Troy: As for the participants. You may be thinking I’ll be kicking off a faction war, and you’d be wrong. See, there’s been something else brewing for a couple months now. It all started back at Colossus, when a certain Crumb ducked the challenge of a certain Diamond. And I’m of the mind that all that ducking and dodging’s and sneak attacking’s gonna come to a stop at Estadio Azteca.

RAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

Now the crowd’s catching on.

Lindsay Troy: We’re gonna see Cancer Jiles on one side and Brandon Youngblood on the other. And while I’m sure Brandon won’t have any issues finding members to join his squad, I am very much looking forward to seeing whoever Pizmo can con onto his side. The Bandits are all scattered to the wind, you know.

Her smirk grows. The knife twists even deeper.

Lindsay Troy: Onto the second piece of business. ReVival 80 saw current DEFIANCE wrestler and my brother-in-law, Dan Ryan, announce his retirement from the sport and ask that his last match be in a PRIME ring…against me.

As The Queen’s been speaking, her expression has turned serious.

Lindsay Troy: That announcement was not what I expected when Dan showed up in San Juan the day of ReV 80 and asked for a few minutes of air time that night. There is a lot of history here; professional, and personal. And there’s a lot I want to say, and over the next month or so I think I’ll get the chance to say it. But for right now, after taking the time to give this decision the thought and attention I felt it deserved, I’ll say this. Dan?

There’s that smirk again.

Lindsay Troy: You’re on.

RAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Lindsay Troy: We’ve got a three arena stop in Mexico City starting next show. Maybe I’ll see you there. If not, I’ll see you at Culture Shock.

The shot lingers on her face for just another second or two, then we’re off to ringside.

And after the big announcement…

Nick Stuart: Folks, up next, a massive…MASSIVE…return match.

Richard Parker: Return? Return? It shouldn’t be a return! Chandler Tsonda beat Cancer Jiles in the Almasy! He ended that career! He got the pelt! And the Golden Ticket! What are we doing here? WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE? How can he get away with this? HOW CAN JILES KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS?!

Nick Stuart: Well…

Richard Parker: THIS IS NO ‘WELL’! What ARE WE DOING HERE?! This man was DONE and DUSTED!

Nick Stuart: We would be remiss to not mention that in their first foray, there was contr–

Richard Parker: Controversy? CONTROVERSY? Jiles GOT CAUGHT CHEATING! By the official. Clear as day! Right as rain! We’re going to cry about referees missing calls all over the place, but the time they get it right, it’s controv–

The lights go out.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE

LET THE GALAXY BURN

When light returns, it is in the form of billowing flame, deep with a blue infused reddish hue, filling the PRIMEView and the ReVival staging. And as Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH surges through the audio system, a spotlight focuses central at the height of the ramp. Brandon Youngblood. Black combat short. Red wrestling shoes. Diamond RISE white tee, available at the PRIMEporium. His expression is oddly stoic as he stands at the top of the ramp. Then, he begins his descent down the entrance, the spotlight following him as he does so. Nearly halfway down the ramp, a volley of explosive pyrotechnics deafens.

Nick Stuart: This…is an unexpected development.

Richard Parker: A welcome one. One I’ll take. I’ll take it every day of the week. You got me? You hear me? Me and Brandon, we’re in this for the love of the game…and the love of the game is ENDING CANCER JILES!

Nick Stuart: Except Youngblood has made it clear he isn’t going to face Jiles–

Richard Parker: Only Crumbs truly believe that. Only Crumbs feel that sick sense of desperation flow through them. Disgusting. Slimy. Gross.

No bravado, just patience. Youngblood rounds the ring and makes his way to the commentary desk. A third chair, just in case. Both Nick and Richard stand up. Stuart offers a hand, which is taken and shook. Richard is boisterous, reaching himself out, looking to hug The Diamond.

It…goes nowhere as Youngblood takes his seat and puts on the headset. Parker straightens himself out, as if he definitely wasn’t just shot down.

Nick Stuart: Brandon, nice to have you here.

Richard Parker: A momentous pleasure, as always.

Youngblood shoots a look at Richard, then back to the ring.

Brandon Youngblood: Just want to have the best seat in the house.

Nick Stuart: And with everything going on between you and Jiles–

Richard Parker: You’re just looking for that chance to suplex him over and over again, right? Crush his neck? Get him back for your teeth?

This time, it is a glower.

“I said ‘kiss me, you’re beautiful’

These are truly the last days’”

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

As the PRIME*View displays the words “Model Citizen” in white over a black background, Tsonda swaggers out from behind the curtain. He soaks up the fan’s reaction at the top of the ramp, smirk painted across his face. And amidst the haze of pyro, smoke, and green & gold lights, he sprints to the ring, slides in under the bottom rope, and finally acknowledges his opponent. Tsonda bounces on his toes, mouthing something that’s inaudible to anyone but him.

Vince Howard: This match is set for one fall and has a sixty minute time limit! Introducing first…opponent, hailing from San Diego, California by way of Hanoi, Vietnam! He is the PRIME Hall of Famer! A former Universal Champion! A former Five Star Champion! A former Alias Champion! He is the winner of THE 2025 PRIME ALMASY TOURNAMENT!! Here is THE MODEL CITIZEN… CHANDLER TSONDA!!

Nick Stuart: For the first time since Colossus, Chandler Tsonda is ready to compete in a PRIME ring. Some thought that losing to Cecilworth Farthington, losing a chance to become Universal Champion, would act as a final moment in his wrestling career. However, here he stands, ready to get back into the fray.

Richard Parker: And what a resilient young man. So young. Hey, Brandon, you know about the resilience, right? What’s it like to step into the ring after losing the main event of Coloss–

Brandon Youngblood: I haven’t.

Richard Parker: …wait…

Brandon Youngblood: Chandler is taking a massive first step back. After everything he fought for, after winning the Almasy…his second tournament win in his PRIME career…it all turned to ash in his hands. He might not be what people think of when it comes to resilience…but here he is…ready to go.

Nick Stuart: Seems like a wealth of respect between the both of you–

Richard Parker: And after talking one on one after ReVival 81…

Brandon Youngblood: Let’s just…watch the match…Richard. Let’s just watch the match.

The lights slowly draw to a dim.

Smoke begins to billow at the top of the entrance ramp.

BLACK.

The temperature sharply drops. The air quickly chills. The mood instantly changes.

Nick Stuart: Say, Brandon, your thoughts on what happened earlier tonight with Jiles agreeing to join the Red Army if he’s not victorious against Tsonda?

There is a pause.

Brandon Youngblood: He’s an idiot.

Richard Parker: Truer words.

Up on the Crumbotron a montage of superkicks that seemingly never ends begins to play. It is a literal who’s who– from Parker to Tsonda to Youngblood on multiple occasions to Lady Troy across different promotions. While the video continues to unfold a spotlight suddenly shines down upon the fogged up entrance way. The spotlight is, of course, in the shape of an egg. Next, an invigorating, pulsating, reverberating, electric guitar raucously riffs its way throughout space and time.

Richard Parker: I hate this song.

Brandon Youngblood: I don’t. Every time I’ve heard it in the ring, it was right before stomping those knock off Ray Bans to pieces.

Richard Parker: And suddenly, I don’t hate it as much anymore. Thank you, Brandon.

Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, singer and songwriter of “I am the Cool” begins his serenade…

“I’m the one your mama warned you about,”

“When you see me, I will leave you no doubt.”

“I’m the coolest man that ever walked this earth,”

“I’ve been the coolest since the day of my birth…”

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!! BOOM-BOOM!!

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!

…………..BOOM!

The smoke clears. At the top of the ramp with a Valkyrie on his arm, salt-white wrestling boots on his feet, electric-blue wrestling tights covering his ass, T-shades capable of blotting out ten suns on his face, and the best Alfredo simmer in the business is none other than…

“…I AM THE COOL!”

BOOOO!!!!!!

King COOL and Vickie share a kiss, hit a pose, and then separate for a moment so that Jiles can release a short burst of his poison mist into the air.

Brandon Youngblood: Everything about him…I hate. The glasses. The tattoo. The mist. All of it. All sizzle for nothing more than a fatty chuck steak.

Richard Parker: I said the same thing the last time he wrestled. Well, about the mist, not that I don’t agree with the rest of it.

PRIME’s now returned “IT” couple cozily makes their way down to the ring; exchanging words with a few of the PRIME faithful along the way. Once they reach ringside Jiles passes off the T-shades to his favorite gal, gets a lovely smooch on the cheek for good luck, and slides under the bottom rope.

Nick Stuart: Is he really going to act like the person who retired him isn’t even in the same ring as him and just come– yup, forget I was even asking.

Jiles doesn’t acknowledge his opponent, or the referee which all things considered is saying something. Instead, like Nick was alluding to, he pops up to his feet, walks across the ring without breaking his spiteful stride, exits between the top and middle rope, hops down off the apron, and in doing so takes the most direct route that there is to the commentary table.

Nick Stuart: Here we go.

The COOLympian gets right up in Brandon’s space, almost begging his oldest adversary to take a shot at him. Then they start to verbally spar back and forth, with Richard Parker even entering the frey. However, before things can escalate to blood sport, Jiles pulls out of harm’s way and rolls back into the ring, probably having remembered that if he loses he’ll have to shovel shit in more ways than one.

Nick Stuart: Gentlemen, please! The match hasn’t even started yet. Let him lose first. Some decorum, please.

Parker collects his notes and gathers himself. The Last Diamond cracks every knuckle in both of his hands to calm down.

Some.

Brandon Youngblood: You’re right, Nick. Let’s watch him join The Red Army first.

Inside the ring King Crumb has already begun to instruct the referee on the do’s and don’t for tonight’s matchup. Of course, senior official Jimmy Turnbull is having none of it and orders Jiles to his corner so he can ring the bell.

Richard Parker: Good on you Jimmy! Don’t take any of his shit!

DING DING

Jiles continues to give his instructions to Turnbull, completely unawares.

Not the smartest play.

Tsonda explodes over, dropkicking the side of Jiles knee. A weird buckle. An odd yelp. The COOLympian grabs at his knee as he falls to the canvas, and for his part, Tsonda grabs hold of the ankle and swings his body, driving the side of the knee into the canvas. Again. And again!

This isn’t going to go long. Tsonda hasn’t been in the ring since Colossus, and to be truthful, that period away can create a frothing of the mouth. Wonderful thing, that. A lift of Jiles up from the canvas and a front face lock.

Golgotha.

Drop.

Hook of the leg.

ONE

TWO

THR–NO!

Nick Stuart: Tsonda ON FIRE out of the gates–

Richard Parker: DESTROY HIM!

Brandon Youngblood: Tsonda is ascending those ropes fast…real fast…and Jiles is grabbing at his knee…there might be more damage going on there than any of us can realize–

Richard Parker: Is that EMPATHY?

Brandon Youngblood: It’s observation. If you bring up a replay, there is a buckle and an extension on the side of the knee. Whether that’s a strain or a tear, something is going on–

Nick Stuart: THE MODEL CITIZEN! THE MODEL CITIZEN!

Richard Parker: RIGHT to that knee!

Brandon Youngblood: Getting a new Red Army member–

ONE

TWO

THREE

THREE

NO!

Jiles wraps his arms on the ropes, but there is a depth of pain washing over him. He pulls his lower body from the impact point, and for what he’s worth, tries to beg off Tsonda, who acts incredulous as he narrows the gap.

The one good leg of Jiles goes right for the nuts.

Do not pass go.

Do not collect $200.

Jiles gets caught, and Tsonda, laughing, drops the offending leg.

Better watch out, because it’s going to come right for you…

Tsonda catches it again, only to toss it aside and drive his elbow into the thigh and knee of Jiles bad leg. A quick grapevining around allows The Model Citizen to exhale and put one of his hands behind his head, as if he is on vacation, all as Jiles scrambles and struggles. It’s only when Cancer manages to fish hook Tsonda that Chandler takes the proceedings seriously again, throwing a back elbow that hits Jiles right in the bridge of the nose, then rising up and forcing The COOLympian to his feet, only to dragon screw leg whip him back to the canvas.

Bravo, Chandler.

Richard Parker is literally in tears.

Vickie Hall is too, her hands smashing into the ring apron. It’s then that she reaches down, inside a little sack she had velcroed to her ankle, pulling out a pair of brass knuckles. Jiles is already on the lookout. She goes and slides them into the ring.

The crowd ROARS.

Youngblood is in the ring, and his feet are on the knucks.

Turnbull looks towards him. The Diamond points to the brass underneath his foot.

Jiles is apoplectic.

Tsonda wastes no time, grabbing The COOLympian in a front chancery, lifting him up and dropping him in a falcon arrow before rising up and kicking him over with blows to the hips. Turnbull retrieves the knuckles and puts them in his pocket, all as Youngblood leaves the ring, narrowing his steps toward Vickie Hall, who begins back pedaling. Turnbull’s attentions are taken onto Hall, and as Tsonda stands over Jiles, readying for his next assault…

COOLYMPIAN YOLJK!

The spray connects and blinds. Jiles pulls himself up to a stand, readies the band, and–

TERMINAL

CANC–

Wait.

He…he can’t extend the leg.

He can’t extend the leg and he collapses.

Tsonda’s hand aggressively rack over his eyes, trying to get the Yoljk out. Turnbull is unaware, and is busy focusing on calling Vickie Hall off and banning her from ringside. Youngblood returns to commentary.

Richard Parker is losing his mind, pointing to the ring, at the miscarriage of justice unfolding.

Jiles rips his fingernails along the back of The Model Citizen, grabbing him a rear naked, lifting the two up. The moment he sees Turnbull turn around, he thinks about the staining of the mist, and hides the evidence as best he can, holding Tsonda’s head down in a front face lock, holding him there, running the point of his elbow against the back of Chandler’s neck. It’s from there that he lifts him up, swinging him over for a quick suplex, and hooks the near leg.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

And before Turnbull can even see what is going on with Tsonda’s face…

Jiles smothers him. Grabs hold of him. Hides his face from the world. You know, as one does. It’s then that Tsonda throws his head back, connecting with King COOL, grabbing hold of him and dropkicking him right in the face. Jiles springs up, and goes to throw Terminal Cancer–

But AGAIN can’t extend the leg enough, and Tsonda grabs hold of him, lifting him onto his shoulders, looking to swing him around and hit him with a Narcissist’s Noose–

Jiles gets out of it.

Falls behind.

Grabs hold of the tights and pins Tsonda to the canvas.

ONE

TWO

THREE

DING DING DING

The booing is deafening, and while Tsonda kicks out right after the very last second thanks to the deadweighting leverage of Jiles, Turnbull is calling for the bell.

Jiles is quick to roll out of the ring.

Youngblood is off commentary, and is roaring at Turnbull for missing the obvious tight grab.

Here, Diamond, here’s some YOLJK for you–

Well, that didn’t go anywhere, and Jiles hobbles up the ramp, because not only is Youngblood ready to crush his head, but so is Tsonda. Mist covered all over his face, Tsonda shakes his head, then shoots a glare at Brandon.

Youngblood is halfway up the ramp.

Vince Howard: Your winner…CAAAAAAAAANCER! JILES!

The two Hall of Famers lock eyes as Jiles surely runs into the arms of Vickie.

ReVival moves elsewhere.

The feed switches over to the back. Simon Tillier, professional wrestling’s one and only punk rock backstage interviewer, wearing his patched up sleeveless blazer and brandishing his trusty microphone.

As the camera happens upon him, he has a phone pressed up to his ear. He doesn’t seem to recognize that it’s rolling.

Simon Tillier: How am I supposed to know what he was planning to do with that popcorn-maker!? I’m just passing along the information that he was seen here tonight!

He waits a beat to hear the response.

Simon Tillier: …yeah, okay, Trutt, I’ll let you know if I know more. Now do you mind? Some of us have some actual backstage reporting to do!

Tillier hangs up and stuffs his phone in his pocket. Then he pivots and looks mildly surprised to find the camera on him.

Simon Tillier: OH HEY! What’s up, PRIME-ates? “Rhymin’” Simon Tillier here, in the thick of it and getting down to the REAL stories in today’s world of professional wrestling. That being said, here we are with the obligatory pre-match what have you. Let’s hear from one of the meatheads being featured in tonight’s main event… the defending champion, Kerry Kuroyama.

The shot widens to include the reigning Five Star Champion of PRIME as he steps into the frame.

Simon Tillier: Kerry?

Kerry Kuroyama: Simon.

The Emerald Apex glows with an unreal sense of self-assuredness. His body moves with a loose swagger, but his gaze is eager and focused. Absolute gameface. The BEAST is hungry.

For the occasion, his robe and tights have been made in the college navy, action green, and wolf grey colors of the Seattle football team. Symbols of his success and dedication to the craft of wrestling are on full display, with one shoulder supporting the weight of PRIME’s historic Five Star Championship and the other holding a towel.

Simon Tillier: I guess here we are once more, with you minutes away from going out to compete in the main event. But while the last one back in Monterrey may have ended in disappointment, it doesn’t seem to have had any major effect on your confidence.

Kuroyama shakes his head.

Kerry Kuroyama: I don’t have time to dwell on disappointments, Simon. Scott and I tip our hats to the Glue. They earned the right to sit back and watch the show in the suite, and bully for them. But as for me? Tonight, Simon, I’d much rather prefer to be in that ring. Rather than watching, I’d rather be WRESTLING in the main event once again, so that I can continue proving to the world what can be accomplished through the glory and inspiration of VAE VICTIS. One battle doesn’t determine the outcome of a war, Simon, and this soldier will keep fighting until it’s won.

Simon Tillier: I suppose it’s only right to move on to the next battle then… only tonight, so much more is at stake. As we all know, the Five Star Championship is on the line. Along with that, a lengthy reign that is getting quite close to breaking the two-hundred and ninety-four day record set by Don Winters.

Kerry silently nods as the junior reporter lays out the stakes.

Simon Tillier: Coincidentally, that previous record began with the defeat of your opponent… the former Five Star Champion and current Tag Team Champion with Daytona Diamonds, “The Legend” Rob Williams.

The resolve in the champion’s face only seems to intensify as the name of the challenger is spoken out loud.

Simon Tillier: The first time the two of you crossed paths was in the first round of the previous Almasy Tournament, in what would be the first of many successful title defenses that would establish you as one of the most dominant champions and figures on the PRIME roster of the ReVival Era. And tonight, Williams has a second chance to retake that title when he meets you in the ring…

A bestial hunger flickers across the eyes of the Emerald Apex.

Simon Tillier: As all of this weighs on you now, on the cusp of going out to the ring for one of the most important fights of your career, what is going through your mind? How is the Five Star Champion handling this kind of pressure?

After a beat, a smile spreads across Kerry’s face.

Kerry Kuroyama: Mountains don’t crumble under pressure, Simon. The weight only makes them harder.

He turns in toward the mic and stares down the camera.

Kerry Kuroyama: Make no mistake… Rob Williams is one of the meanest sons of bitches to ever step between the ropes. Anyone who’s stood in there against him could tell you the same, myself included. In any fight in a bar, or a back alley, or a prison yard, I’d put my money on Rob in a heartbeat. But in that wrestling ring? I am the apex! I am the gold standard! I am the paragon of professional wrestling excellence! Call me Mr. Five Star, Simon, because everything I do gets nothing short of a perfect score!

Simon Tillier: Actually, I find the whole “star ranking” system to be kinda arbitrary and sophomoric. Plus, it presents an unrealistic standard of–

Something catches Simon’s eye off-camera, making him stop mid-sentence.

The camera whirls around where we see Scott Hunter standing off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, foot tapping, frowning and shaking his head “NO” like Lee Treviño in Happy Gilmore.

Simon straightens up.

Simon Tillier: Uh, nevermind, you were saying?

Kerry ignores him, and begins pointing down the camera.

Kerry Kuroyama: ROB… I recognize what you went through to get here. No lucky lottery drawing this time. You earned this shot tonight because you fought for it. But in doing so, you put yourself in MY WAY of making history. So don’t expect mercy to be given in that ring, and don’t expect any punches to be pulled, and know that I expect absolutely nothing less from you.

He unslings the belt from his shoulder and holds it up.

Kerry Kuroyama: Nothing less than FIVE STARS, Rob! That’s what it means to go out there holding this! When you carry this belt, you settle for NOTHING LESS than one-hundred and one percent! The legacy of this championship was etched in moments of pain, punishment, and perseverance, and tonight will be no different! So show me you want to make history, Rob… because I am living to make headlines!

The championship returns to Kerry’s shoulder. Simon stands to the side, nodding along.

Simon Tillier: Bold words from the Five Star Champion, mere minutes away from this pivotal title defense.

Kerry walks out of frame, but Scott Hunter shows up in his place, a stern expression staring daggers at Simon Tillier.

Simon Tillier: Uhh… hey Scott.

Scott Hunter: (frowning deeply) Simon’s always talking. He never seems to shut up. Crack him in the head.

Simon Tiller: What the – -??

Scott Hunter: HAAAAIIIIIIKUUUUUU!!!!!

Scott hauls off and headbutts Simon right on the bridge of the nose. Simon goes down like a sack of potatoes. Scott nods, turns, and walks away.

The Whorehouse.

Rob Williams sits, head down – greasy locks of long, gray hair hanging in his face. He’s shirtless and, for some reason, oiled up.

On either side is a Lasagna Boy.

They’re rubbing his shoulders.

Toddrick: Who’s my big boy? Who’s my big boy that’s gonna become a double champion tonight? Hmm?

Rob Williams: Grunt.

Anna Daniels: He’s telling you to aim lower, boys.

The snark sounds like it’s coming from a tin can and for good reason. For the second time in a row, the madam of the Whoresmen is not physically available. In her place is Dale Earnhardt.

Well, a cut out of Dale Earnhardt with her face on it and the phone duct taped to our lord and savior’s chest. It somehow wheels around as if to overlook the proceedings.

Miguel: Just relaaaaax. Has anyone ever told you that your musculature is very impressive? So impressive. So impressive.

Rob Williams: Grunt.

Daytonio Diamantes steps into the frame, adjusting his rhinestone lucha mask like it’s a sacred thing. He stands tall, chest puffed, clearing his throat.

Daytonio Diamantes: Hola. Yo… soy… Daytonio. Muy… uh… fuerte. Muy… peh-li-gro-so?

Fred Dick steps into frame from behind him. He wears a badge. It reads: Trainslaughter.

Fred Dick: Hello. Yo boy, I’m Daytonia. Fire. My… Sam Pelligrino?

He points to himself with both thumbs, nodding with absolute confidence. Fumbling at his wasit, he produces a tiny, dog-eared pocket phrasebook. The kind you’d buy at an airport gift shop. “Spanish for Beginners”. He flips it open, licks his thumb, and squints hard at the page.

Daytonio Diamantes: Ro…ber…to. Tú eres… muy… im… por… tan… te… peh… peh… peh… peh-lea-dor.

Fred Dick: Row your boat? Er, Robert. You are my important labrador.

He glances up, proud of himself. Please note, despite not being Daytona Diamonds even a little bit, he still very much has a Daytona Diamonds accent. Weird, right? In the background, Anna is trying not to laugh.

Daytona Diamonds: Sí. Peleador. Muy bueno.

Fred Dick: Yes. Labrador. My good.

Rob’s annoyance is palpable, but he doesn’t raise his head.

Back to the booklet. He traces the line with a thick finger, lips moving before the sound comes out.

Daytonio Diamantes: Ke…rry… Ku…ro…ya…ma… es… uhh… muy… peh-li-gro-so. Pe…ro… Ro…ber…to… es… MÁS… peh-li-gro-so. Tú… ga…nar. Tú… cam…pe…ón. Pron…to.

Fred Dick: Kurry Kurryama is my Sam Pelligrino. Robert is VERY Sam Pelligrino. You garner. You champion. Pronto! Hurry yo’ ace up neow!

Daytonio Diamantes: FREDDY, THAT AIN’T WHAT I FUCKIN’ SAI– uhh. I mean… no. No. Eso… no.

Rob Williams: What the fuck are you two on about?

Rob pushes the Lasagna Boys to the floor as he stands, shaking off the.. rage? Sadness? Hard to tell. Either way, he ain’t fucking happy.

He takes a few breaths, closing his eyes and squeezing his nose – after which he addresses Toddrick and Miguel.

Rob Williams: I’m sorry, boys. It hurts me to hurt you. I didn’t mean nothing by it, I just got a world of problems crawling up my asshole. Here, let me help you up.

Rob holds out a hand to either Lasagna Boy. They look at one another, at Fred, and back at each other.

Rob Williams: Well come on, goddamnit. Take my hand.

Carefully, with paranoia creeping through their nervous system, the Lasagna Boys reach for Rob’s hand. As Rob attempts to pull them up, the Boys get an unexpected surprise from a speeding Muse-timidator coming up from behind, trying to push them up.

Cardboard Dalnna Danihardt: What Daytonio meant to say was Kerry’s dangerous. But you’re even more so. And you will be champion soon. Right, Daytonio?

The tone in those last words are a nudge to the masked man as if to say “we’re trying to help you, ya fuck nugget”.

Cardboard Dalnna Danihardt: And honestly, when don’t you have issues? If you need help, just ask for it, for fuck’s sake.

The frustration in her voice only emphasizes the constant attempts to hoist up/run over the Lasagna Boys.

Cardboard Dalnna Danihardt: Goddamnit, Miguel! We already died from one crash. Don’t need your brick wall ass making it a two-fer! Pull!

Rob Williams: I just. I don’t even want to do this. I don’t want the belt, I don’t want any of it. I just want some fucking peace.

Rob exits the room silently, head held low.

The hallway outside the Whorehouse is a stark contrast: dark, quiet, and moody – just like Rob.

He sits in the quiet whispering a prayer he hopes no one is listening to, squeezing his eyes and clicking his metaphorical heels.

When he opens them a man is standing before him  smirking.

The electric blue suit. The dapper blonde hair. Those judgemental eyes.

Rob Williams: You ain’t real.

Cooley: Never said I was.

Cooley strikes a match and lights the joint hanging from his lips. He snorts, blowing smoke out his nose,

Cooley: You still wondering if you’re the bear or the pot?

Rob lets out an exhausted sigh.

Rob Williams: I’m tired, brother.

Cooley just nods.

Cooley: Yeah, but tired ain’t dead.

He tosses the smoking match ar Rob’s feet and leans in close. For a moment, Rob can feel his friend holding him close and whispering in his ear.

Cooley: Peace ain’t quiet, Rob – it’s what’s left after the fight.

Just like that he’s gone.

Rob cracks his neck and straightens up.

“Man in the Box” is beginning to play over the PA.

Rob Williams: No rest for the weary,

He begins the march out to the ring – all alone.

Nick Stuart: An incredible night of action already tonight, and coming up next, the Five Star Title is on the line. “The Legend” Rob Williams looks to get a mark of revenge against the man who eliminated him from the Almasy Invitational, Kerry Kuroyama.

Richard Parker: I’ll tell you something right now – by the end of the year, Rob Williams is going to end the year absolutely draped in titles. DRAPED in ‘em.

Nick Stuart: To your point, Williams is a current tag team champion alongside Daytona Diamonds and has the opportunity to become a rarely seen double champion tonight. He’s a former Five Star champion in his own right, so it’s fair to say he knows what it takes to come out on top when the lights are brightest.

Richard Parker: Nothing brighter than the main event of ReVival.

The opening riff of “Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains rips through the silent arena. Fire lights up the entrance ramp and Rob Williams steps out from behind the curtains.

One might expect Rob to have back up as he makes his way to the ring. Surprisingly, he does not. Instead, just pure focus as he tries to loosen up his stabilized wrists.

He continues down the ramp, head down, hair hanging in his eyes. At a few points along the way he stops in his tracks. He looks out into the crowd as if something catches his attention, but he doesn’t directly look at anyone. He steps into the ring, and as he does…

…

The lights dim. The pressure drops. A peal of THUNDER rolls through Estadio Chevron.

“BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
“BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
“BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
“BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!”

On the PRIMEview, the skyline of Seattle, Washington is drawn out by a point of light, a la the intro to Frasier. Then two bold words flash below in vibrant blue and green colors.

S E A T T L E ‘ S
B E A S T

Bolts of green LIGHTNING strike the stage, sending up a volley of multi-colored pyrotechnics! When the smoke and fire clears, the Emerald Apex himself strides out onto the stage, arms held high and championship belt on full display around his waist.

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

Kerry Kuroyama holds the pose and basks in the reaction.

A moment later, Ami Troy steps out through the curtain to join him on the stage.

Her mood is quite visibly SALTY. Her shirt tonight reads “I’M JUST HERE SO I WON’T GET FINED”.

And Kerry, as oblivious as a golden retriever, stands there stupidly grinning from ear to ear.

Nick Stuart: The Five Star Champion is the image of total confidence before this raucous Tijuana crowd! What an ovation for “The Emerald Apex” Kerry Kuroyama as he makes his way to the ring!

Richard Parker: These Vae Victis snobs are so full of themselves! He’s acting like he’s already got the match won! I can’t wait for Rob Williams to knock that smirk right off his face!

Nick Stuart: I’m told that tonight, Kuroyama is wearing the colors of the Superbowl winners, the Seattle Seahawks, paying tribute to his hometown team!

Richard Parker: Oh wow, what an ingenious statement to make! Show up in a city known for its love for SOCCER wearing the colors of the champions of a sport they DON’T WATCH! What a moron…

Nick Stuart: I should say that Ami Troy looks reasonably nonplussed by his choice in apparel…

Richard Parker: Then she should blame the Patriots for putting a twelve-year-old in the quarterback position! That POOR CHILD!

Kuroyama scales the steps and walks the apron for a beat to pump a fist to the crowd, then steps through the ropes. Ami begrudgingly follows him in as Kerry posts up on a turnbuckle.

With a sharp grin, the Five Star Champion slowly grabs the shoulder of his robe, building anticipation to the moment he tears it off for the dramatic tattoo reveal. Down behind him, Ami notices the corner of the satin mantle touching the canvas, and “accidentally” steps on it.

On cue, the Emerald Apex tears off the robe in a quick, fluid motion. But with the corner stuck under Troy’s boot, it doesn’t fly very far. Instead of clearing the ring, it listlessly falls across his head and shoulders.

Kuroyama’s head, hidden beneath the navy and lime satin fabric, turns in either direction in blind confusion. The fans cackle at the epic botch. The Merry Mischief Maker grins in triumph. Undeterred, the champion unfastens his title belt and holds it up, proudly posing before another volley of pyrotechnics with his upper body completely ensconced beneath his robe.

Richard Parker: What an idiot…

Nick Stuart: Even with egg on his face, the Five Star Champion takes it in stride!

Richard Parker: I think all that time hanging out with Scott Hunter has caused his IQ to lose a few points!

Kuroyama drops off the turnbuckle, casually pulling the robe off as he goes to his corner and paces in anticipation of the bell.

Vince Howard stands in the center of the ring with a mic in hand, ready to make the formal announcements.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the main event! The following contest, scheduled for one fall, is for the FIVE STAR CHAMPIONSHIP of PRIME!

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the challenger… he hails from Decatur, Georgia, USA, and weighs in at two-hundred and forty pounds! Here tonight representing the POOR WHORESMEN… he is a TAG TEAM CHAMPION of PRIME WRESTLING… “THE LEGEND”… RRROOOOOOB WIIIIIILLLLIIIIIIAAAAAAMMMS!!!

A mixed, but loud, reaction rises from the crowd. Williams doesn’t acknowledge it, continuing to stare daggers across the ring at the champ.

Vince Howard: And the opponent, accompanied to the ring by “The Merry Mischief Maker” AMI TROY… he hails from Seattle, Washington, United States, and weighs in at two-hundred and thirty-two pounds…

Kuroyama faces the turnbuckles with his head down. The dragon on his back stares back at the challenger standing across the ring.

Vince Howard: Representing VAE VICTIS, he is the EMERALD APEX… Seattle’s BEAST… AND, YOUR REIGNING FIVE STAR CHAMPION OF PRIME WRESTLING…

Kerry raises the championship high overhead. The PRIME Faithful ROAR.

Vince Howard: KEEERRRRRRYYYYYY KUUROOYAAAAMAAAAAA!!!

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

The champion advances to the center of the ring where he hands over the belt to the official, who holds it up to all four sides of the arena before handing it over to Vince on his way out of the ring. The challenger also comes out of his corner, and two opponents continue to stare each other down while standing only feet apart.

Referee Ashley Barlow signals for the bell!

DING DING

Nick Stuart: It’s main event time and the Five Star Title is on the line! An Almasy Invitational rematch between The Legend and The Emerald Apex!

Williams thumbs at his nose and snarls at the champion. Kuroyama, self-assured and confident, bounces on his feet and looks for the lock up. Rob’s not looking for a technical dance here tonight, he’s looking for a fight, and foregoing the full lockup, he grabs behind Kerry’s head and starts throwing rights! Kerry responds in kind!

Soon the champion shoves the challenger off and uses the space to run towards the ropes, picking up a head of steam. Williams drops low and goes for the body block, but Kerry, perhaps learning his lesson from his entrance, nimbly kicks his feet high enough to hop over. Kerry rebounds on he opposite ropes, looking for even more momentum, and Williams hurries to his feet and positions like he’s looking for a shoulder block. Kerry leaps high in the air and kicks his feet wide to go over Williams once again – but Rob’s scouted it! He catches Kurroyama on his shoulders in powerbomb position!

BOOM!

Williams plants him with the early powerbomb and goes for the cover!

ONE!Noooo! Kerry gets the shoulder up! He’s up to his feet quickly and ducks a hellacious lariat from the challenger! Kerry counters with a back elbow! Now a forearm from the champion! Another! He backs Williams into the ropes and starts hammering these strikes in!

Nick Stuart: A bit of a slugfest so far, partner!

Richard Parker: These two have fought each other a TON in recent years, between singles and tag matches. The Poor Whoresmen and Vae Victis can’t stand each other. There’s nothing Rob Williams wants more than to become a double champ and to knock off some of Kuroyama’s shine.

Nick Stuart: Kuroyama, looking for something big here, front facelock applied, maybe a gourdbuster here? He’s got Williams up – no! Williams counters! He’s trying to headbutt his way out of the situation, or drive a shoulder, something! Unorthodox technique – Kerry’s forced to disengage, and

SLAP

OHHHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: OHHHHH MYYYYY!

Richard Parker: There was some STANK on that slap from Kerry! Alright, kid! Show me something!

Rob’s face completely whipped to the side and there’s a red handprint forming on his left cheek. If this were a lesser man with a weaker jaw, he would have crumpled in a heap with how hard he just got slapped right on the button of his temple – but Rob Williams is made of stronger stuff. Uglier stuff. Nastier stuff.

Even as Kerry has completely frozen in his post-slap-follow through, even as Rob slowly turns his head back to the champion to discern where in the sam hill that much pop came from out of Lindsay Troy’s future son-in-law, we see the calculations in the eyes of both men. Kuroyama’s cracking a grin. Williams’s rage is bubbling up.

The goading grin of Kuroyama works – almost too well – as Williams launches himself towards the champ. Kerry counters beautifully and executes a Snap Dragon Suplex! Dazed, Rob gets back up, only to be Snap Dragon’d again! He’s down on the mat and Kerry pounces! Cascadian Clutch applied to the champ! Ashley Barlow checks on Willliams, but he shakes his head no!

Nick Stuart: Submission attempt from the champion! Come to think of it, I’m not sure – has Rob Williams ever tapped out in a PRIME ring?

Richard Parker: I have it on good authority that training with and hanging around the Poor Whoresmen is like the ultimate bootcamp for putting your body through any and all types of torture. You could cut body parts off these people – literally – and they wouldn’t quit.

Nick Stuart: Kerry’s got plenty of all around ability, and to your point, he may need to dig into some different tricks to hold onto his title tonight.

For all the playful bickering between Ami and Kerry about the Super Bowl, now that things have gotten surrius in the ring, Troy is rallying behind her guy, playing to the crowd to bring out some more cheers for the Apex.

Ashley Barlow checks on the challenger once again, who once again shakes his head no, and with a bit of effort, he makes his way to the ropes. Kuroyama, the sportsman, releases by the count of 2 and gives some space. The Tijuana crowd is rolling with all the action tonight and with Ami’s antics, and Kerry decides to lean into the fact that professional wrestling is sometimes a fun and joyful thing. He twirls a finger in the air around like a lasso and shouts:

Kerry Kuroyama: OLÉ!

OLÉ!!!

He air-lassos one or two more times, measuring Williams, who is still shaking the cobwebs out a bit. Finally the Legend gets vertical and turns towards the center of the ring, just in time to be on the receiving end of a double-twisting Squall Line Lariat! Williams is sent flipping through the air, landing on his stomach! Kuroyama pushes him to his shoulders and hooks the near leg!

ONE!TWO!NO! Williams kicks out!

Richard Parker: Did he really think that was going to be enough for the win??

Nick Stuart: Probably not, but Kerry Kuroyama is an A+ student of the sport, and he knows as well as anyone the value in forcing your opponent to exert all the energy it takes to kick out of a pinning predicament!

Kerry presses his advantage and locks in the double underhooks, perhaps looking for the Black Tahoma Breaker…Rob dead weights him and drops down to a knee! Kuroyama struggles with him, looking to get the leverage he needs, when Rob plants his feet, engages the lower body, and sends Kerry flying off with a Back Body Drop! Kerry splats to the mat! Rob charges the ropes and rebounds…Kerry gets to his feet…RUNNING LARIAT FROM WILLIAMS! Kuroyama does a flip of his own, landing on his back!

Rob clocks where Ami is standing relative to the ring, and chooses the corner that’s completely opposite of her in order to climb to the top turnbuckle. He slowly rises and measures the downed champion. Ami shouts as loud as she can to try to get Kerry’s attention, but to no avail – FLYING ELBOW DROP TO THE CHAMPION CONNECTS!

BOOM!

Richard Parker: We’re gonna have a new champ!

Nick Stuart: Here’s the coverrrrr!

ONE!TWO!…NO!! Kuroyama gets the shoulder up!

Rob Williams is displeased at this and he lets Ashley Barlow get an earful. Her responses do not do anything to assuage the challenger – after all, there was nothing wrong with her count. Meanwhile, Ami’s entire focus is on Kerry as she slaps the apron, looking to rally her guy back into this match. Kerry’s looking for the numbers of the two trains that just hit him on the mat and hears the familiar voice he holds so dearly. He turns his attention outside the ring and sees Ami cheering him on, and gives her a steady nod of assurance. Ami nods back, and their gaze lingers a bit.

Nick Stuart: A touching moment between two of PRIME’s most beloved- oh no, hang on, whoa whoa WHOA NO.

Perhaps it lingered a bit too long.

Between their special little moment, between Williams and Barlow’s argument, no one saw where Anna Daniels came from. But she’s here now, and she’s behind Ami Troy, and she’s got a steel chair.

WHAM

Which has been cracked across her back.

Nick Stuart: Where did SHE come from??

Richard Parker: She’s evening the odds, pal! Vae Victis has been violently ganging up on Rob Williams all night!

Nick Stuart: In what universe??

Ami yelps out and winces, slowly lowering to the floor. Anna’s never been happier in her life because she got to hit a Troy family member. Kerry is absolutely WHITE HOT with anger at what he’s seen, and he scrambles to his feet and makes his way to the ropes –

BUT HE’S CAUGHT BY WILLIAMS! Surprise School Boy roll up!!

ONE!TWO!

Nick Stuart: He’s gripping the tights! …THREENOOOO!! KERRY ROLLS THROUGH! He’s still alive!

Richard Parker: THAT WAS THREE!

Nick Stuart: Ashley Barlow says that was only two! New life in Kerry, maybe a new sense of urgency, look at his eyes, he’s LIVID! ANOTHER SQUALL LINE – NO, WILLIAMS DUCKS! Williams now – big boot to the stomach! He’s grabbing he hair, he’s going for that set-up!

Richard Parker: He’s going for Old Time Rock And Roll!

Kerry’s fighting tooth and nail to avoid the predicament. Meanwhile, Scott Hunter and Clay Byrd are charging down the ramp after the events that unfolded on the outside. Clay points to Ami and Scott runs to check on her while Byrd makes a beeline for the Time Lord, who’s still equipped with a chair. He may be three times her size, but that rarely matters to maniacs. Byrd looks to engage but has to keep some space while Daniels swings steel at him.

Meanwhile in the ring, Kuroyama has somehow found a way to escape Williams’s clutches, shoving him away. Williams stumbles a bit, and Kuroyama launches forward – Release Tiger Suplex connects! He mounts Williams and starts throwing straight hammering rights as Williams covers up!

Scott has Ami up on the outside – she’s putting on a strong face, but that chair shot clearly did some damage. Hunter, usually a cheerful good boy, is equal parts concerned for his friend and pissed off at Anna Daniels, who continues to do her best to fend off the hulking angry cowboy that’s decided “fuck it, I’m grabbing the chair right out of her hands”. His focus is a bit split between Ami, Clay, and Kerry, and so he doesn’t see the next bit coming.

WHACK

“Daytonio Diamantes” and Fred Dick are out here too, and the roided out sparkly luchador just waylaid Scott Hunter with a kendo stick! Fred starts punching at Scott and it’s a two on one assault! Scott shoves Ami out of the way to get her out of danger – Ami, not one who necessarily needs saving, has a plan of her own. She sees that Anna and Clay are fighting over that steel chair, and she decides to get a little revenge, chop blocking Daniels down! Clay grabs the chair and considers going to work on Daniels, when Ami points to Scott, who’s on the wrong end of a two-on-one. Clay nods and goes to join that brawl as Ami and Anna begin scrapping.

Nick Stuart: Absolute chaos on the outside!

Richard Parker: No kidding – we were saying it earlier, these two groups DESPISE each other! A lot of bad blood!

This is a LOT for Ashley Barlow to have to manage, as much of a pro as she is. She’s doing her absolute best to keep her focus on the in-ring match as six people have decided now is the optimal time for a gang fight on the outside.

It’s unclear if the two competitors in the ring know just how chaotic things have become on the outside. Rob Williams has groggily made it to one corner of the ring, only to be met by the charging Yakuza Kick of Kuroyama!

BANG!

Rob drops face-first to the mat. Kerry often uses this time to signal for what must go down as one of PRIME’s most impressive maneuvers, the Kuroyama Driver (I or II, take your pick), but he’s distracted. Ashley Barlow is distracted. It’s easy to see why.

Ami Troy and Anna Daniels are in a hair-pulling, biting, ugly scrap. Clay Byrd and Daytona Diamonds are all but swordfighting with their respective weapons. Scott Hunter and Fred Dick are talking incredible amounts of shit and brawling around the outside. If Ashley Barlow had her druthers, she’d eject all six of these rabblerousers, but it’s like corralling cats out here.

Kuroyama’s attention splits between his love, his best friend, and his mentor all doing their damndest to work together to stop these assholes from properly interfering in this main event match; a part of his heart warms, a part of it worries, but in a moment of epiphany, he gets it – Vae Victis isn’t just about having each other’s back. It’s about getting it done in the ring. These three are doing the first part so Kerry can finish the second part. He turns his attention back to Rob.

Or, better said, where he left Rob.

In the confusion, Williams slipped out of the ring, though no one else seems to have caught this. Kerry doesn’t clock where he’s gone. Barlow is trying to stem the chaos as best she can.

Kuroyama’s eyes frantically dart from side to side, looking for the challenger –

THONKKKKK

– who blindsides him. The heavy plates of the Five Star Title crack the back of Kerry’s head, and he drops. Heavy boos rain down at this, but honestly, the crowd has been generally loud and chaotic all match and all night, so this doesn’t necessarily register to Barlow.

Williams drags Kuroyama to the center of the ring and shouts out.

Rob Williams: REF!!!

He hooks both legs and desperately hopes to get Barlow’s attention – he gets it. She sees the pin attempt and swings around.

ONE!Scott’s eyes bulge, but Fred stops him with a low blow.

TWO!Ami tries to crawl beneath the bottom rope, but Anna Daniels has her legs. Clay and Daytonio both hit each other in the head with their respective weapons and fall like trees in the woods.…THREE!!DING DING DING

“Man In The Box” blasts through the arena speakers as boos absolutely rain down. Some rowdy fans begin throwing trash into the ring, at the Whoresmen, at anything they can reach. Anna is the one who retrieves the “disposed” Five Star championship belt and straps it around her FYTT partner’s waist – eagle-eyed viewers will note a dark red spot, about the size of White Castle slider, on the center plate that wasn’t there before.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner…aaaaand NEWWWWWW Five Star Champion! “The Legend,” ROOOOOOB WILLLLLLLIAAAAAAAAMS!

BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: The Whoresmen have stolen the Five Star Championship tonight – and this makes Rob Williams a double champion!

Richard Parker: Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. I pegged Kerry Kuroyama as a moron from the very beginning!

Nick Stuart: This is an absolutely disgusting display from the Poor Whoresmen – it all started when Anna Daniels blindsided Ami Troy on the outside, then the chaos completely skyrocketed. The Five Star Title is supposed to be about celebrating the technicians of the sport, and the Poor Whoresmen had to create an absolute circus atmosphere in order to capture the championship from one of PRIME’s best!

Richard Parker: That’s a long way to say Rob Williams outsmarted Kerry Kuroyama, partner.

Nick Stuart: Well, that’s because that’s not what I was saying. I’m sure there will be some MASSIVE fallout from this result here tonight, so be sure to tune in live in two weeks for ReVival 83 as we begin a series of shows from one of the beating hearts of professional wrestling, Mexico City! We’ll see you then!

All four Whoresmen are celebrating together in the ring as more trash and more jeers pour in from the crowd. Kerry’s not looking well, unsteady on his feet and glassy-eyed. Scott and Clay are doing their best to help navigate him to the back, presumably straight to the medics. Ami stares flamethrowers into the ring, and were she not more concerned with Kerry right now, she might have instead chosen to cut a motherfucker – but for now, she chooses to slowly follow the rest of Vae Victis up the ramp.

FADE.

TO.

BLACK.