ReVival 83
On this night, with what is at stake, with who is set to clash, it would make sense for the Cold Open to be occupied by the very embodiment of COOL.
The King.
The Main Event.
The Manhunter.
The First Ballot Hall of Famer.
The COOLympian.
The SOON to be Golden Bandit.
smaller forehead to boot.
ha.
Or perhaps it would be right for the man who has, for nearly a year, held firm at the top PRIME as Universal Champion, to cut through all of that. Perhaps make a declaration? An assertion of dominance? Of murderous intent to be visited upon The Crumb he sentenced to risking his career through an Almasy afterâŚonlyâŚ
âŚto come back?
The Impossible Reign.
The Breaker of Bones.
The Tearer of Ligaments.
The Winner of Shiny Medals.
First Ballot Hall of Famer.
Wrestler of the Year.
Everyoneâs FAVORITE Boy.
No.
Not him either.
???: This just inâŚon the newsâŚ
Itâs Brandon Youngblood, dressed for the occasion. That occasion is wrestling. This is a wrestling show, after all. He looks up, and as he does so, he slowly lifts his hand up in the air. An open envelope. On the outside, it has, in big bold PRIME blue letters âTOP SECRETâ. It has been torn open.
Brandon Youngblood: Right hereâŚis the lay of the land. Squad Goals roster. All the participants draft eligible. SoâŚif you make it through tonight, JilesâŚ
The very name is sour to his tongue.
Brandon Youngblood: And believe meâŚagainst Cecilworth FarthingtonâŚagainst the Champion of ChampionsâŚ
A light smirk.
Brandon Youngblood: âŚI donât like your chances, cockroach. And I donât knowâŚmaybe I take a front row seat to hear youâŚ
Ooooh?
Brandon Youngblood: Snap.
Uh oh.
Brandon Youngblood: Crackle.
A gleam in the eye.
Brandon Youngblood: Pop.
A nod of the head.
Brandon Youngblood: Worst of luck to you.
He settles into his locker seat, but then, he resets. A tapping of the imaginary clock on his wrist.
Brandon Youngblood: And Max? Tonight? There isnât thirty minutes on the clock.
He focuses on low.
Brandon Youngblood: Bring everything you got. Beg for your title shots. Because when the bell ringsâŚthereâs only one thing thereâs left to doâŚ
The words that follow carry with them all the intended weight.
Brandon Youngblood: Wrestle.
He stands up, cracking his neck, his expression stoic as his eyes narrow.
Brandon Youngblood: Rise.
ReVival 83âŚ
âŚBegins.
Nick Stuart: Letâs jump right into the action, ladies and gentlemen! Our first match will see Crash Jackson welcoming Sport to PRIME Wrestling!
Richard Parker: âSPORT?!â What kinda name is that!? Thatâs what a barber calls a little kid when he sits in the chair! âRight up here, Sport! A little off the top today?â
Nick Stuart: Iâm eager to see the debut of this newcomer, as we havenât got much info on him yet! Letâs head to the ring, where our man Vince is ready to make the announcements.
âJOSIEâS ON A VACATION, FAAR AA-WAY⌠COME AROUND AND TALK IT OOO-VEERR!â
âYour Loveâ by the Outfield hits the PA. Without delay, SPORT steps through the curtain and makes his way down the ramp. He walks with confidence and brims over with positivity, nodding his head to the song while clapping some hands on his way down the aisle.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, hailing from Winchendon, Massachusetts, United States, and weighing it at (muttersincoherentlyunderhisbreathtocoverforthefactthathedoesnâthavethenumbers) POUNDS⌠please welcome, making his PRIME debut⌠SPORT!!
Nick Stuart: Hereâs our first look at the Mass native, who I understand was quite skilled in baseball in his time!
Richard Parker: I can practically smell the chow-dah wafting off him from here, Nick!
The arena lights drop into darkness, save for the backlights in the entryway, as a mix of curious silence and spontaneous cheers comes over the crowd. With haste, a figure emerges from the back and stands head high, fist raised, and strikes a pose for a brief second.
âLEEEETâS GET READY TO RUUUMMMBLE!â
The bell dings as Volbeatâs âA Warriorâs callâ floods the airwaves and brings the lights back up. A chaotic lightshow takes over the entrance ramp, with flashing white and red strobe lights, before Crash jumps in the air and stomps both feet in clear view for everyone to see. He roars violently with a fiery, toothy grin before beginning his frantic descent to the ring.
âFEEL THE FIRE, HEâS ENTERING THE RING!
âHIS MINDSET KNOWS ONLY HOW TO WIIIIIIIN!â
Vince Howard: And the opponent⌠fighting out of Buffalo, New York, United States and tipping the scales at two-hundred and thirty-eight pounds⌠he is the NORTHERN LIGHT⌠CRASH JACKSON!!
Crash reaches the ring while pumping his fist in unison with the beat, being joined by many fans simply out of respect for fist pumping, and scales the stairs at the same hellacious pace before turning around to roar at the crowd again.
âUNLEASHING HIS HELL!
âYOU WONâT EVEN HEAR THE BELL!â
Richard Parker: I hate this idiotâŚ
He leaps the top rope and lands with a thunderous rattle before pacing around the ring and nodding his head repeatedly. He stops in the middle, facing the crowd.
âFEEL THE POWER OF THE WAAAAARRIOOOOR!â
Crash steps towards the crowd, slamming his fist into the air and yelling along with the song.
âFIGHT!
âFIGHT!
âFIGHT!
âFIGHT!â
Nick Stuart: Well, Richard, despite your opinions, the PRIME faithfulâs love and support for Crash Jackson never seems to wane! This young manâs spirit and energy is a constant force of positivity in PRIME!
He turns to the opposite side of the arena and offers the same sentiment.
âLETâS GET READY TO RUUUUMBLE!â
Richard Parker: Ugh⌠this moron has ruined my love for glizziesâŚ
Much more fist pumping begins with sweat flying off his face and arms, landing on the lucky fans in the front row.
âFIGHT!
âFIGHT!
âFIGHT!
âFIGHT!â
The music begins to die out as Crash locks in on his opponent with an alarming stare, holding a violent gaze and snarl that raises red flags all over the place.
Nick Stuart: Seasoned official Jimmy Turnbull is taking the reins on this one! Looks like heâs ready to get started as he gives the cue to the timekeeper!
DING DING
Crash and Sport come out of their respective corners, looking equally charged up. Eagerly, they go straight into the classic collar-and-elbow and begin the struggle for leverage. After a few seconds of listing back and forth, they appear equally matched in strength.
Nick Stuart: Both competitors feeling each other out in the opening moments of this match!
Itâs Crash, with his advantage in in-ring experience, who eventually wins out, trapping Sport into a side headlock and giving him a good squeeze.
Richard Parker: I hear he calls this one âthe Mustard Makerâ.
Nick Stuart: Somehow, I doubt that!
The former shortstop out of Winchendon takes evasive action, wrapping his arms around Jacksonâs waist and attempting to roll him to the mat. Instead the Northern Light rolls forward and puts the newcomerâs back to the canvas.
Nick Stuart: Quick headlock takeover, and now Jackson leans in to put Sportâs shoulders to the mat!
One!
Two!
Sport quickly rolls up!
Richard Parker: Curious to know if this guy actually learned to wrestle before he joined!
Now with ground control, Jackson wrenches on the headlock even harder. Knowing he has to make a move, Sport attempts to twist himself around and get his footing. Eventually, he finds it, and pushes himself up.
Nick Stuart: Sport is working his way back to his feet⌠and Crash Jackson is nodding in support! He wants to see what kind of fight this newcomer can bring!
Richard Parker: He should be more concerned with winning, if you ask me!
Sport backpedals into the ropes, bringing Crash along with him. Using the bounce, he successfully slips out of the hold by pushing Jackson off, but sends him into motion. Crash rebounds and comes back with a flying body press, only for Sport to catch him mid-air!
Nick Stuart: HIPTOSS by Sport, catching Crash Jackson out of the air like a pop fly and putting him on his back! Jackson back up⌠ANOTHER hiptoss by Sport! And now he keeps hold of the wrist to cinch in the armbar!
Richard Parker: I hear he calls this one âthe AAH-MB-AAHâ.
With Jackson seated out in front of him and the right arm in his grip, Sport torques with the shoulder with all his might. Crash winces through a slightly impressed smile, and goes to work trying to break free.
Nick Stuart: Jackson trying to inch his way to the ropes and make the break⌠but no! Sport drags him back to the center of the ring! He may be new to wrestling, but he knows what kind of environment heâs in!
Richard Parker: So long as he doesnât confuse the turnbuckles for bases.
Thinking outside the box, Jackson crawls back through Sportâs legs to get his other shoulder behind the thigh. Then he puts his legs to work, pushing himself off the mat with Sport riding on top!
Nick Stuart: Crash Jackson rising up, with Sport up on his SHOULDERS!
Richard Parker: Setting him up for his patented âBratwurst Bombâ, I see.
Seeing the situation going south, Sport gives up on the arm bar and says âto hell with itâ as he rolls himself forward.
Nick Stuart: NO, WAIT! SPORT with a VICTORY ROLL to counter!
One!
Two!
Jackson kicks out!
Richard Parker: Whereâd he learn that move?! Thereâs no victory rolls in baseball!
Both competitors roll to their feet. Crash explodes with a spinning heel kick, but Sport deftly ducks beneath it. Seeing his window, Sport hits the ropes and extends the arm.
Nick Stuart: Running CLOTHESLINE from Sport⌠off the ropes again, and thereâs ANOTHER⌠and ANOTHER!
Richard Parker: Youâd think after the second one, heâd finally learn to duck!
Jackson rises up again and leans himself up against the ropes. His positioning couldnât be worse as Sport charges again.
Nick Stuart: And ONE MORE that sends Crash Jackson to the outside! Sport is a HOUSE ON FIRE right now!
Crash lands on his feet as he hits the floor, but immediately stumbles back and falls against the guardrail, looking a bit surprised by his opponentâs sudden flurry of offense. Sport earns a supportive cheer from the crowd, prompting him to climb a turnbuckle and fire them up even more!
Richard Parker: Take it down a notch, Mass-hole! You havenât won anything yet!
Nick Stuart: Sport is feeling the energy here in his debut! Even Crash Jackson seems mildly taken aback!
With a look of determination fixating itself across Jacksonâs face, he slides right back into the ring before Turnbull can even get to three on the ten count. Sport pounces, throwing a series of heavy haymakers that force the Northern Light to put up his guard and back into one of the corners.
Nick Stuart: Sport is staying on the offensive here, throwing some stiff looking rights and lefts!
Richard Parker: Punching like the town drunk in his local watering hole! Brawlers are always all guts, with no skill or brains!
With Crash softened up, Sport takes him by the arm and pulls him out of the corner with a certifiably Boston Irish whip. Jackson puts on the breaks and reverses the momentum, sending Sport running into the turnbuckles in his stead.
Nick Stuart: Irish whip now reversed by Crash, sending Sport slamming into the turnbuckles!
Sport connects and comes stumbling out of the corner, walking himself straight into Jacksonâs superkick!
Nick Stuart: Crash with the WIDE LEFT! Sport is DOWN and OUT! Jackson with the cover!
One!
Two!
ThrâNO!! He got the shoulder up!
Jackson pulls Sport right back up to his feet, hooks him around the head, and lifts.
Nick Stuart: Crash with a SIT-OUT SUPLEX to follow it up! Reaches over and hooks the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
THREâNOO!! Sport kicks out AGAIN!
Richard Parker: But something tells me that was strike two!
Sport tries to get up, but before he can make a move, Crash takes him by the legs, coils them around his own, and twists the newcomer around into an elevated scorpion deathlock! Sport moans in pain as Jackson draws back on the hold!
Nick Stuart: Crash Jackson now has the JACKSON SHARPSHOOTER locked in! This is a bad place for Sport to be in!
Richard Parker: Glizzy-boy is about to send olâ SPOILSPORT here back to the showers!
Nick Stuart: Sport is in unimaginable pain right now! But somehow, heâs fighting through it!
Turnbull leans in close to ask Sport if heâs giving in. Sport shakes his head, refusing to tap. Fighting through the pain, he looks to the ropes that are a good few feet away, and begins to crawl his way to them.
Nick Stuart: He sees the ropes! He knows he has to make it to them to make the break!
Richard Parker: Easier said than done!
Through desperation and fortitude, Sport gradually pulls himself inch by grueling inch toward the nearest bottom rope. Seeing the fight in him, the crowd begins cheering him on. Meanwhile, Jacksonâs face fills with shock and disbelief as he struggles to keep him pinned down.
Nick Stuart: What a tremendous show of spirit weâre seeing out of this man from Winchendon, here in his PRIME debut! This is what itâs all about!
Richard Parker: Oh, stop buttering him up, Nick! Heâs probably spent plenty of time crawling on his hands and knees in a drunken stupor, searching for his keys or his wallet or what have youâŚ
Nick Stuart: He started feet away, but now Sport is within inches of the ropes! Can he make the break?!
Sport extends his arm. The bottom rope is still a few inches away from his finger tips. In a last ditch effort, he uses what strength he has left to lurch himself forwardâŚ
âŚand grabs it!
Nick Stuart: HEâS GOT IT! TURNBULL CALLS FOR THE BREAK!
The fans POP, and Jackson releases the hold almost immediately. He backs up from the ropes with the same look of disbelief, and an impressed smile eventually forms on his face. Sport pulls himself back to his feet using the ropes, nodding to the official to confirm heâs able to continue.
Nick Stuart: Thereâs a real fire in this newcomer!
Richard Parker: Or maybe the hotdog halfwit needs to work on his submission game! Thereâs no reason why someone new to wrestling should have lasted this long!
When heâs ready to get back into it, Sport raises his fists. Crash raises his own, and tells the newcomer to bring it. Sport comes out swinging.
Nick Stuart: HERE WE GO! Rights and lefts being thrown from either side as these two put it all on the line!
Richard Parker: Is this the bottom of the ninth, or the seventh inning stretch?
Nick Stuart: Get your head out of the dugout, partner!
Crash eventually wins out the brawl through a battle of attrition. He pushes a winded Sport against the ropes and whips him into motion. Jackson bends over for the back drop on the return, but doesnât expect a forearm to hit him in the back of the neck.
Nick Stuart: Back body drop attempt COUNTERED by Sport! Now he takes Jackson by the waist⌠AND DRILLS HIM HEAD-FIRST INTO THE CANVAS!
Richard Parker: P-AHH-LEDR-AAH-V-AAHH!!
Jackson goes limp off the classic piledriver and rolls over onto his back. Sport flops across his chest into a lateral press.
Nick Stuart: SPORT MAKING THE COVER! COULD THAT BE IT?!
ONE!
TWO!
THRâNO!! CRASH slips out the back door!
Richard Parker: Goofball shoulda hooked the leg!
Sport is sucking air, but staying in motion, pulling Jackson back up by the head and leading him to the corner. An attempt to drive him into the turnbuckle is stopped when Crash braces a leg against the middle pad and quickly reverses.
Nick Stuart: Jackson reverses into a SWINGING DDT! Sport is down, and Crash goes right back to that corner! Heâs going straight for the TOP!
Jackson climbs to the top turnbuckle and carefully sets his feet into placeâŚ
âŚthen, without warning, SPORT BURSTS BACK TO HIS FEET and JUMPS UP TO JOIN HIM!
âRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!â
Nick Stuart: SPORT IS BACK UP, AND NOW HEâS POUNDING AWAY ON CRASH ON THE TOP ROPE!
Richard Parker: The absolute worst place to mount a comeback!
Nick Stuart: Sport trying to turn this into a MASSIVE MOVE here!
Jackson is beaten loopy, giving Sport the opportunity to tuck the head under his arm and set the Northern Light up for the SUPERPLEXâŚ
âŚonly for Crash to get STUCK!
Nick Stuart: Jacksonâs got his LEGS HOOKED IN THE ROPES!
Richard Parker: Purely by accident, I assume!
Before Sport can react, Crash puts his palm to his chest and SHOVES him right off the top rope! Unprepared for the landing, Sport takes a HARD face-first bump and rolls over onto his back. His unfocused eyes are looking up at the lights.
Nick Stuart: OOOH! Sport may be OUT after that fall!
Jackson rallies himself and resets his footing. Without delay, he VAULTS off the top rope into his magnificent corkscrew shooting star press!
Nick Stuart: CRASH DOT COM!! JACKSON GOT ALL OF IT!! HE HOOKS THE LEGS!!
ONE!!
TWO!!
THREE!!
Richard Parker: YYYEERRRR OUTTAA HEEERRRREEE!!
DING DING DING
The crowd cheers as âA Warriorâs Callâ hits the PA once again. Fired up over a big win, Crash pops to his feet and pumps a fist as Turnbull raises his arm in victory. After a few seconds basking in the triumph, he quickly turns back to Sport and assists the newcomer regain his senses.
Vince Howard: The winner of the match, by pinfall⌠CRRRAAAAAASSSHHH JJJAAAAAAAAACKSSSOOOOOOOOOOOONNN!!!
Nick Stuart: A solid showing and a hard-fought win for the Northern Light here tonight, spoiling the newcomerâs debut! Sport had a very impressive showing here tonight, but in the end, Crash was just too much for him!
Richard Parker: Oh please⌠getting an easy win over a wet-behind-the-ears rookie is nothing to write home about, if you ask me.
Jackson has Sport back to his feet and is shaking his hand, commending him on the strong first showing and rewarding him by raising a fresh, steaming HOTDOG up to his face. Sport looks at it in confusion, but never one to turn down a good old-fashioned ballpark frank, he accepts the offer, much to the delight of the PRIME crowd.
Nick Stuart: True sportsmanship on display here, ladies and gentlemen! Crash Jackson picks up a big win after going down to Big John Pepper earlier this year! And hopefully, this wonât be the last we see of Sport! Iâm eager to see how this talented athlete will grow here in PRIME! Tonight was a huge first step!
Richard Parker: Lindsay Troy just lets anybody into the company these days, I guessâŚ
Nick Stuart: That wraps up our first match here tonight, but we got many more on the way, ladies and gentlemen!
Richard Parker: But first⌠THE NEWS!
âŚPreviously onâŚ
âŚTHE NEWSâŚ
Max Kael: And that, my Harbinger, is what a Lardroom is.
The Bolognese Bullâs head twists to the side, two dark, bloodshot eyes staring menacing through the holes of his black masks.
The Harbinger: LaaardrooraaaughâŚ
Max Kael: Yeah, keep working on that. Anyway, letâs get you juiced, yeah?
Pulling a pair of goggles over his eyes, Max turns toward a large metal switch. A gleeful, terrible smile parts his face as he yanks down on the large metal lever causing several large sparks to fly free from it.
The Harbinger: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!
Tubes filled with hot, fresh MEAT? Bolognese begins pumping into the bloated muscular body of the Bolognese Bull. His roars are a mix of rage and agony as he is pumped full of the zesty MEAT? sauce.
Max Kael: Oh yeah, I bet that sucks, hot ragu or whatever the fuck it is running through your veins! I got a lot of enemies out there, both in the professional wrestling world AND in the world that exists to support the existence of the professional wrestling world. With⌠like. Amazon and all that stuff. Anyway.
The Mayor of Arkham turns toward a massive, old fashioned dial that youâd expect to see used to control how a nuclear reactorâs radiation output. Max cranks it all the way to maximum causing even more MEAT? Bolognese to BBâs body.
The Harbinger: RAAAAAAAAAAAUGH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH! GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!
As the Harbinger wails and screams there is the soft plink of a phone notification from his pocket. Curious, Max fishes it out and stares at it, a little dumbstruck.
Max Kael: Youâve been live posting voice to text for like.. Two months. Wild but I like your ambition! Keep it up!
Max shoves the phone back into BBâs pocket before marching off.
â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸
THE WON ACTION NEWS theme plays hard and fast as weâre swept to the WON ACTION NEWS STAGE, the center of which is dominated by the NEWS THRONE. Seated on that lofty seat is the Mayor of Arkham himself, Max Kael. He makes a throat cut motion as the music cuts out with a loud record scratch.
Max Kael: Feckless WORMS of PRIME, itâs your lead NEWS anchor and everyoneâs favorite American Politician, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael! Later tonight Iâll be dealing with that blithering barnacle upon the testicals of PRIME, Brandon Youngblood. But before that weâve got a whole NEWS program to get through so lets get started!
The shot pulls back as we see once again that the WON ACTION NEWS INTERVIEW WHEEL is being utilized again this week.
Max Kael: Last week we had Cancer Jiles on the show and boy, that definitely was one of the interviews Iâve had. Who will we have this week?! LETS FIND OUT!
He tries to reach the wheel from the top of the throne but itâs comically far away. Like almost fifteen feet away and so it looks more like Max is attempting to use the force to accomplish his goals.
Max does not have the Force. Yet.
Max Kael: My The Harbinger!
Lumbering onto the stage comes the seven foot tall monster known as the Bolognese Bull, aka the Harbinger of Max Kael.
The Harbinger: RAAAAAUGH! GRAWAAAAAAAR!
Max Kael: Yes-yes, Iâve apologized several times about that already, I didnât know it was your Chinese food. Now be a doll and SPIN THE WHEEL OF INTERVIEWS!
The monstrous beast grabs the wheel and gives it a titanic spin. The glittering wheel of every possible employee in PRIME whirls about like a hurricane before it slows, the little arrow that would indicate who the lucky talent or stage hand might be ticking away.
It slows.
It steadiesâŚ
It stopsâŚâŚ.
Max Kael: Wh- How⌠Cancer Jiles AGAIN!?
Strike up the band because here comes Cancer, and this time, heâs not alone!
Max Kael: Whoa! I donât see her name up there!
Vickie Hall: Suck it, Max.
PRIMEâs IT couple, King Crumb and his Valkyrie, slide onto the news set like an unwanted DM. They of course look the part, electric-blue jumpsuits and enough hairspray to kill an elephant. Max motions to some stage hand, probably someone suffering from Stockholm syndrome, and another chair is brought in for Vickie to sit on. Being Vickie, and being a part of PRIMEâs IT couple, she refuses and instead chooses the lap of her King to sit upon.
Max appears to start to drool, probably imagining the various ways he could eat Vickieâs face.
Cancer Jiles: So, whatâs new?
Max Kael: You tell me, Captain.
Cancer Jiles: Well, I guess you could say I have a big match later on tonight.
Max Kael: You sure do! A match that should be my match Iâll have you know! I was complaining about it on this very show two weeks ago. You stole it from me! I want answers, and if you can not provide them then I simply suggest we switch opponents. You can still have the MAIN EVENT as a sign of good faith. So how about it?! Take Brandon Youngblood off my hands?! Mhmm, mhmm.
The Mayor of Arkham nods.
The King of Crumbs yawns.
His Valkyrie does not.
Vickie Hall: How about I switch what eye that socket goes in?
Vickie pulls out a nail file and starts to sharpen her fangs. Yes, not her nails, but her incisors. She does this while staring into the lone eye of Kael, creating an awkward tension that can only be resolved one way.
Cancer Jiles: Okay, okay. Letâs calm down. Weâre all friends here.
Cooler heads prevail, and the nail file gets put away.
Cancer Jiles: You know, I was sitting around the other day feeling sorry for you because I snaked your title shot, so I gots to thinking. I thought, what could I do for him, and then, after wiping for the second time, it dawned on me.
Max peps up like Jiles is about to drop out of the MAIN EVENT and give him his chance to get even against Cecilworth.
Cancer Jiles: Whereâs Sektorâs kid again? Tell him to bring me my case. Heâll know what I mean.
Max Kael: Her. Chloe Sektor-Kael is a her. Youâre as bad as her Grandfather. That!
Max points off screen toward whoever Cancer is referring to.
Max Kael: Is âNutsackâ Jack Stevens, I have no idea if heâs related, donât ask me.
An impatient Max waves, and again motions to âNutsackâ Jack Stevens. After a few seconds the Nutsack assistant delivers the goods. Vickie leans forward and unzips the bag; pulling out a token from yesteryear.
Cancer Jiles: Do you still remember how to play the âOde to the Banditâ?
The host with the most short circuits at the sight.
The Yolkulelee.
A musical instrument that once belonged to Max Shell, aka yellow eyed Max who is jovial like Bobby Dean and dangerous like Vicke Hall.
Cancer Jiles: Go on. I bet itâs like riding a bike.
The Lord of Kaelsalvania starts to reach out before stopping dramatically. He shakes his head back and forth.
Max Kael: ⌠no. It is⌠too late for that.
Cancer Jiles: Look, itâs still got your name written on it. Come on, play a little bit for us.
Reluctantly Max reaches out, taking the Yolkulelee and turning it to gaze upon words etched into its neck.
Property of Max Shell
Max Kael: This name no longer has any meaning for me.
Cancer Jiles: I think itâs the name of your true self, youâve only forgotten.
Sinking back into his NEWS THRONE, Max holds the Yolkulelee in his hand, looking through it as if deep in thought. For a moment his maddening green left eye flickers yellow before he stands, dropping the Yolkulelee on the throne. He points an accusatory finger at Jiles.
Max Kael: I see what youâre trying to do! Butter me up, get me all cozy and stupid then wrangle me into some kind of cluster-fuck match on your team! Well Iâm not some cheap slut who can be bought off so eas-
The soft, silky sound of the Yolkuleleeâs voice strums across the NEWS STAGE, cutting Max off. Outrage crosses the Lead NEWS Anchorâs face as he looks around to see who DARE play the Yolkulelee in his presence.
Failing to find the offender he looks down realizing it was he himself!
Max Kael: Well. Shit. Looks like I am a cheap slut. ON TO SPORTS!
Kael makes shooing motions to Cancer and Vickie as we cut away.
â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸
Lights. Camera. ACTION!
A burst of pink powder bursts from off screen as a tick-tick-ticking sound echoes through the studio that, if he were alive, would convince Edgar Allan Poe to rename it the âTelltale Heels.â
A familiar shadow emerges from behind the haze silhouetted in black: long black hair falling over shoulders padded like a member of the Ginyu Force and talons that would make Lust herself jealous.
Itâs SPORTS! With Sonja Cuchilla.
The skin around the edges of Sonjaâs lips glistens with glass as bleached-white teeth glimmer on screen. Montevideoâs inaugural Community and Learning Development Coordinator runs a Pepto Bismol-polished fingernail down the length of her cheek.
Sonja Cuchilla: Bienvenida! PRIME. And welcome, the world, to Sports! With Sonja.
Max Kael: Donât forget to mention the SPORTS! nook, it tests well with the Cecilworth Farthington market!
Sonja Cuchilla (ignoring Max): Now we have just wrapped up the Olympics and people have already forgotten about them. Who won the most medals? Who knows?
Why do they call it curling when it has nothing to do with bicep exercises or hair products? Who cares?
Better we leave the real sports to the real athletes, si? Like how MĂŠxico is going to win it all at the World Cup this summer!
A roar can be heard from the arena on the background mics from the NEWS stage.
Sonja Cuchilla: Max, what did you think about this yearâs Winter Olympics?
Max Kael: I was disgusted by the lack of Kaels allowed to participate so, as a matter of political ideology and ideological politics, I protested them.
Sonja Cuchilla: Yes, well, that level of indifference must be why youâve once AGAIN lost track of my one and only Blaze Claymore. Now, rather than being in Arkham getting the help he needs, he could literally be anywhere. Such⌠poor planning on your part, Max.
Max Kael: Poor planning? Lady, do I look like the kind of guy who plans anything? I wasnât planning on shitting my pants but.
He stops, looking thoughtful before shaking his head.
Max Kael: ⌠and I didnât. Looks like not planning is working out pretty well for me.
Sonja Cuchilla: I just⌠I donât understand how you even still have this show with how unorganized you are. I mean, can you help me understand why someone as aloof and incompetent as you is even in charge of a show like this?
Max Kael: The fuck you say to me?
Sonja Cuchilla:Â You lost track of the very person Snark asked youâmultiple times I may addâto take care of in the the very town you run, you were tricked by Kai for weeks if not months, and you claim to love Cecilworth Farthington but what have you actually sacrificed for him? You know, to show him your love?â
Sonja smiles and winks at the camera.
Sonja Cuchilla: Really, Max⌠I think the NEWS could do with a pretty significant upgrade in talent. Donât you?
Max Kael: You talkinâ a big game all the way over there by. By the Sports nook.
Quick smash zoom to Max throwing a thumbs up and a call-me before his sour expression returns, glaring at Sonja who begins to slowly walk toward Max as the camera follows.
She soon finds herself at the foot of the NEWS THRONE looking up at our host.
Sonja Cuchilla: Look at that. Now Iâm over here. By the throne. Right where I should be.
Max peers down at her, furrowing his brow.
Max Kael: Yes, right where you belong. All the way down there.
Sonja Cuchilla: Oh, Max⌠I mean⌠Mr. Mayor. Just like all so-called powerful men, youâve never had to actually work for anything you have; which, oddly enough I guess is why you donât have Cecilworth yet.
Max Kael: What the hell are you doing, reading a Vickie Hall promo from two years ago and replacing JCHâs name with mine? Get an original argument!
Sonja Cuchilla (smirking): But⌠if youâre so confident that Blaze and I arenât threats, that this is all a bunch of âtalkâ, then perhaps youâd like to prove it to the crowd here tonight?
Maxâs left eyebrow raises slightly, the frown on his face twitching.
Max Kael: What are you suggesting, Cuchilla?
Sonja Cuchilla: You and me in the ring. Tonight.
Max cackles.
Max Kael: Thatâs a good one. Iâll have to remember that at Cecilworthâs next social mixer. Itâll kill. Now just⌠do whatever it is you do when youâre not here. I have a show to finish.
Sonja doesnât move.
Sonja Cuchilla: Oh, itâs no joke Max. Bring Snark to be there too⌠so he can see with his own eyes that you failed at getting rid of Blaze Claymore just like youâve failed at getting Cecilworth to love you and youâve failed at being Mayor and youâve failed at being a proper NEWS host.
Max Kael: I canât wait to eat your fucking face, Miss. Cuchilla.
Sonja Cuchilla: Excellent. And speaking of facesâŚÂ I canât wait to see what Snark does to yours when I prove you both wrong. Tootles.
Sonja bows softly and then turns away, walking off screen with the sound of her blade-like heels fading into the distance.
â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸â ď¸
Max Kael: Fuck that bitch, right? Awful woman.
Max clears his throat, plastering that fake smile on his face.
Max Kael: WORMS of PRIME, I wanna end on a more positive note. As you are all probably aware, we recently enjoyed Valentineâs Day. I wanna talk about a subject that rarely gets discussed in PRIME. See this place is filled with villains and monsters and high level competitive athletes. But never any love.
Shaking his head, Max looks a little despondent.
Max Kael: I mean sure, there is a lot of lust in PRIME, but thatâs to be expected. Everybody here is caked up like itâs a baking competition. No, Iâm talking about love, real love, true love. Which is strange because youâd think itâd be everywhere, especially with Valentineâs Day. But nope, everyone in PRIME is a lonely bachelor with no heart-strung prospects. Itâs crazy.
Behind him all the various examples of relationships in PRIME quickly flash by though Max doesnât seem to notice. After all there have been NO examples of love in PRIME. Ever. According to Max.
Max Kael: Tonight I face Brandon Youngblood, the most unlovable man in the world. This guy, let me tell you about this guy. First of all, heâs meaner than a pissed off cur, probably on account of not having any hair. Second, I heard all the hair on his head migrated to his ass crack so you know heâs got a swamp crotch. And that shitâs gotta be like the Amazon. So that probably adds to his meanness.
The Amazon is shown.
Max Kael: But by the power of LOVE!
Max stands as the stage is flooded by light. High intensity transformation music circa 1993 starts to play as Kaelâs body is covered by a sparkling aura. He begins to spin, striking his in-ring pose, both hands raised high above his head.
Flashes of purple and pink are joined by fluttering ribbons that wrap around Maxâs hands and legs. Crackling fluorescent lighting strikes the ribbons as they harden into gloves and boots, with a loud clanging noise.
The transformation continues as more ribbons fly around the NEWS STAGE, crapping the Lord of Kaelsalvania in a tight, formfitting outfit that looks halfway between a school girl uniform and a suit of armor. This is all set in place by more high energy music and crackling lightning.
Max Kael: I WILL DESTROY BRANDON YOUNGBLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!
His transformation sequence finally ends with a bright flash of pink sparkles and more lightning. They loooove the lightning.
And Max stands atop his NEWS THRONE looking no different. He blinks, patting himself down before shrugging.
Max Kael: Honestly I was expecting something different. Huh. Anyway, THATâS THE NEWS!
Vince Howard: The following contest is set for one fall and has a thirty minute time limit. Introducing firstâŚ
A sea of stars dot the big screen. Words fade in:
âLook Upâ
The words fade into space as âCosmic Roadâ hits.
Bobby Neptune strides onstage, his gray eyes take in the crowd with ethereal focus, he is both looking at them and beyond them at once.
BOOM
The screen shows a supernova as pyro shoots off behind Neptune who glides towards the ring with graceful purpose. He enters the ring, climbs the turnbuckle, waits a near-eternity, then raises just one arm. He points to the sky then backflips back into the ring, ending in his corner.
Vince Howard: Standing 6 feet four inches tall and weighing in at 206 poundsâŚfrom Parts UnknownâŚThe StarboyâŚBOOOOOOOOOOOOBBY! NEEEEEEEPTUNE!!
The beat of âRATATATAâ by BABYMETAL and Electric Callboy thumps over the sound system of the arena. Pink and blue lights pulsate throughout in impressive coordination with the music. The vocals soon kick in.
EVERY NIGHT WHEN THE SKY TURNS RED UP ABOVE
I FEEL THE BEAT IN MY VEINS, AND IâM SEARCHING FOR LOVE
YOU KNOW THAT HIPS DONâT LIE, I LEAVE YOU HYPNOTIZED
JUST GIVE ME ONE MORE TRY TO MAKE YOU FEEL THAT VIBE
WHEN IT GOES
(RA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA)
MY BODY IS A WEAPON
(RA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA) WEâRE GONNA HIT THE FLOOR
(RA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA) WEâRE GONNA MAKE IT HAPPEN
(RA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA) NOW GIMME SOME MORE
The light rumble that permeated throughout the faithful PRIMEates packed in the Colonial Life Arena burst into outright raucous cheers as RIA Lockhart steps onto the stage. With an exaggerated cadet cap on her head, her usual heart-shaped glasses on her face and a short leather jacket ending just above a corset that trailed a lace train, RIA soaks in the adoration from the audience.
The Psychoberry gallops to one side of the stage, encouraging the crowd to raise their volume even further. After a moment, Lockhart takes off to the other side, mimicking her previous action. As the second verse begins, RIA heads down towards the ring. Though sheâd usually be more gregarious, Lockhart puts her game face on as she heads to the ring. On the way, she yanks her shades off and tosses them haphazardly into the audience.
Vince Howard: His opponentâŚfrom Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, weighing 160 pounds!âŚRepresenting VAAAAAAAAE! VICTIS! SHE IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISâŚTHE PSYCHOBERRYâŚRIAAAAAAAA! LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCKHART!
Once ringside, the Rainbow Riot leaps onto the ring apron. She gazes out to PRIMEates before stepping between the middle and top rope to enter the ring, bending at the waist to do so before swinging her outside leg into the squared circle. She starts taking off the various pieces of gear, her focus 100% on the upcoming match.
The music fades.
DING DING
From the very bell, Neptune makes his way to the center of the ring, his movements minimal and not overly telegraphed. If he is expecting to be met in kind, he is solely mistaken, as The Psychoberry absolutely bullrush charges into him. The sudden burst surprises him, as though he wasnât expecting such velocity from this terrestrial being.
He is, however, unable to side step, as RIA, nearly giving up a full foot to Neptune, is underneath him, driving him into the corner as though he was a driving sled on a practice football field. The guttural burst from Lockhart sounds throughout the Coliseo. Forced back, The Flying Object is met with a barrage of forearms snapping into his torso, into his stomach, causing his grey eyes to dart out. Lockhart pushes him back as he instinctively stoops down, and absolutely BLASTS him across the chest with a spinning ridge backhand chop. And another. She spins to hit another, and Neptune feels the blow coming and goes to block it, but RIA stops, throwing herself, her hip, her knee, right into his lower stomach.
Itâs from here that Lockhart grabs him by the neck, by the blue hair, and smashes his head into the canvas. And in the process? She mounts, throwing a heavy assault of forearm strikes aimed directly at his dome.
While she drives in, looking for the homerun shot, Neptune grabs hold and uses a BJJ style arm catch and armbar attempt. Clearly, he learned these combat skills in the IntergalacticâŚWhatsado. Yes. Thatâs it. And whoever is the trainer there, if itâs Flarg Har Nefartar or Brumbles McHoolahan, you know heâs on the level.
RIA quickly wrenches herself out and scurries free. Neptune readies himself for a volley of his own, but as he rises, Lockhart is caroming off the ropes and ROCKS him in the face with a Berry Bomber! And before thereâs any other thought?
She hooks both his legs in the pin.
ONE
TWO
THRâNO
A hammerfist to the ring. She doesnât glower in the direction of Ashley Barlow, but she is definitely not thrilled either.
The aggression on display from The Psychoberry is a little off the beaten path from expectation, especially with someone she doesnât have any animus towards. Then again, the sensations filling her have done a real good job of making her feel animus towards anyone getting into the ring with her. And while Nick Stuart and Richard Parker discuss the potential aspect that this viciousness is shocking to see this early on, all she can do is bare her teeth and continue to be aggressive, launching toward Neptune, smothering him by the head in an attempt at a tie up. The Flying Object is very much grounded, but begins forcing himself up.
Muay thai clinch.
A little too late.
A pick of the leg.
Northern Lights Suplex.
Bridge.
ONE
TWO
THR-NOO!
It is RIAâs turn to kick out.
If Bobby Neptune deals with Space Horses in his Space Ranch, then the fact that heâs trying to wrangle the Rainbow Death Doll probably makes some sense. A sleeper applied, Lockhartâs eyes begin to dart to and fro, trying to find respite, trying to find escape, something, anything. The way she vibrates feelsâŚunsteady. She, however, is up, and with her feet driving into the canvas, she takes vicious steps forward, using the near corner to run up the first turnbuckle, then step onto the second, and then, using her base of power, force the pair of them backward harshly to the canvas. The hold is broken. Both of them begin to rise. Lockhart bounces off the ropes.
Neptune catches her.
Arm drag.
Lockhart is up after being sent across the ring, and another charge.
Neptune drops into position to nail an armdrag.
The Toxic Queen uses the moment to aim for his head with a hellacious single leg forward dropkick. It connects. Neptune tries to pick himself up again.
BERRY BOMBER!
WOAH!
The velocity is such as that it sends Neptune to the ring apron, splaying him all across it. RIA rises up, pumping her fist, roaring to the fans, who give her a very audible roar back. She moves toward him, hands grabbing the ropes, locking to slingshot herself over and hit him with an elbow drop. And she jumps.
And she is over the rope.
And Neptune pulls himself away by grabbing the post yanking his body toward it.
RIA crashes into the ring apron with her elbow, her side, and the dull, painful thud that comes with it. JustâŚwhat the FUCK was that?
Space offense is BULLSHIT.
She crumbles to the outside mats of the Coliseo, grabbing her elbow and wringing her arm as the numbness and tingles shoot throughout it. Her fingers wiggle out and wide. An attempt to ball her fist.
ASAI MOONSAULT!
From the ropes to the floor!
For his part, Neptune, impressive as the move is, canât help but want to get this bout back into the ring. He is a bit wobbly from the Berry Bombs, though, the hip attacks walloping the piss out of him such that it is taking much more energy to get moving that he wouldâve thought.
He goes to pick her up, to roll her into the ring.
RIA, however, keeps hold of him, rolling him up.
Well, thatâs dumb, Lockhart. Youâre outside the ring. A roll up attempt isnât going to help you out hereâ
She instantly breaks the pin.
She is on her feet in a shot.
She jumps and DRIVES her heels into the chest of Bobby Neptune with a double stomp.
Poor Bobby Neptune.
Then again, some might pay for the privilege of getting stomped on by RIA Lockhart.
YeahâŚno. No they wouldnât. Not as in, they wouldnât, but rather, NOBODY is paying to eat that sort of double stomp that is liable to break your goddamn bones. Nobody signs up for that. Especially not in fucking SPACE. Lockhartâs not through, though, and yanking Neptune from the mats, she keeps hold of him and goes for a running charge, shitcanning him into the barricade with all she has. Keeping hold of his blue hair, she does the same, this time, into the ring apron, driving his head against it. Again, and again.
Over and over.
The brawling sensibilities of The Psychoberry are on full display, as is the urgency in her movement. The Starkid is doing all he can to reorient himself, but the onslaught continues unabated, with Lockhart ready to load up for another blow.
And sheâd hit it too, if not for a European uppercut.
A moment of respite. Lockhart, however, is like a wolverine, ready to tear into his flesh once again.
Itâs here that Neptune pushes himself toward Lockhart off the ring apron.
Head collide.
Top of his head with her mouth.
Ouch.
FreakingâŚouch.
The sound is very bone on bone. Very concussion level. Lockhart is wobbly, dropping instantly to a knee, swirling about, taking a swing, but there are five Bobbyâs Neptune. It doesnât matter. Aim for the middle one. She can taste the blood in her mouth. ThatâsâŚa lot of blood.
Bobby Neptune avoids.
A stabbing throwing punch is thrown by Lockhart.
The Starkid avoids, grabbing onto a front facelock and, in the ruckus, the two of them slam into the side of the ring.
The blow causes The Psychoberry to mewl. And as she does? Blood pours from her mouth. Did she bite her tongue? Her eyes are watering. Neptune forces her into the ring.
Aggressive, Lockhart gets up, and tries to take off to the far corner ropes, looking to spring off and waylay into Neptune in some form or fashion.
Instead, the aggression feeds into a Lightspeed Dropkick that gets her right in the head. Staggering. Is it her tongue? This looks uncomfortable. Her head is rocking.
Neptune on the ropes.
He jumps.
Bobbyâs. Comet.
Cover.
One.
Two.
RIA throws her leg to the ropes.
THREE.
It NARROWLY misses.
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: The winner of this boutâŚBOBBY! NEPTUNE!
A raise of the hands. Then, they go back to his ribs.
Lockhart has rolled over, chin against the canvas, bloody lips and teeth showing a sneer. Not at him. At herself. She gets up to her feet, spitting out a gob of blood. Neptune extends a hand to her. She gives it a look. A deep exhale. She shakes it and lifts his hand.
Neptune stays to soak in the adulation.
Lockhart dips out of the ring, making her way up the ramp, about to disappear behind the entrance. When she begins to, we see, for the faintest moment, Angel Quinley appear, grabbing hold of her and sucking her into the back in a massive, massive hug.
ReVival moves elsewhere.
âHeads Will Rollâ by Prep Squad thrums out in the Arena Coliseo, drowning out the steady boos of the Mexico City crowd.
Wafting from the center of the entrance like a bad fart come Snark Darkly and Maximillian Wilhelm Kael. Snark looks like heâs dressed to enjoy a quiet evening in his den, complete with brown cardigan, loafers and tan slacks. His face wears a smile the same way toxic frogs use bright colors to warn everyone. In his hands he cradles that strange, black tome heâs been carrying around for months now.
Max slinks a few feet behind him, his hands folded behind his back as he holds his head up high. Unlike his manager, Max is dressed to wrestle, hands wrapped and black long boys strapped on. Reaching the ropes, Max parts them to allow his elderly manager easier access to the ring. Snark slips in, both appearing quite fluid while also somehow being strangely jarring.
Once Snark Darkly is in, Max quickly slips between the ropes and holds his hands high above his head, a cocky smirk slapping across his face.
Darkly asks politely for a microphone which is delivered to him by Vince Howard himself.
Snark Darkly: Hola amigos aquĂ en la Ciudad de MĂŠxico. ÂĄGracias por invitarnos a sus hogares! Ahora voy a hablar en inglĂŠs porque la base principal de seguidores de mis clientes apenas habla inglĂŠs, y mucho menus un segundo idioma.
There is scattered laughter and some boos.
Snark Darkly: Tonight my client, the Mayor of Arkham, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, will be wrestling TWICE this evening! First, in the following contest where he and I will face Sonja Cuchilla and, allegedly, Blaze Claymore! But we all knowâŚ
That weird smile kind of warbles into a knowing, kinda solemn expression.
Snark Darkly: Max Kael dealt with Blaze Claymore and he just isnât going to be showing up.
The crowd boos as Max and Snark exchange extremely insincere grimaces, as though they were remembering a recently departed friend. After the briefest moment of silence, one might have mistaken it for a pause for effect, the twoâs faces brighten up.
Snark Darkly: So without further delay! Weighing in at a cosmically curious quarter ton, myself, Snark Darkly and Maximillian Wilhelm Kael!
Max claps aggressively and demands the crowd join him. They arenât but it doesnât seem to put a damper on Snarkâs mood.
SabĂa que lo era
Ibas a venir a mĂ
Y aquĂ estĂĄs
The lights around Arena Coliseo go a sickening color of pink as Dani Rideâs cover of Katy Perryâs âDark Horseâ pumps through the speakers and the crowd lets out a muted pop â unsure of what Sonjaâs plan is.
Pero serĂĄ mejor que elijas cuidadosamente
Porque soy capaz de cualquier cosa
De cualquier cosa y de todo
The actress-turned-social media star-turned-civic leader emerges from the back with a microphone in hand, exchanging her boss bitch power suit for something straight out of a Jane Fonda workout video.
Hazme tu Afrodita
Hazme tu Ăşnica y Ăşnica
Pero no me hagas tu enemigo, tu enemigo, tu enemigo
Sonja smiles at the crowd and then looks down at Max as the song fades, holding the microphone to her lips.
Sonja Cuchilla: This is your last chance, Max. Tell everyone how amazing I am and that I am the true star of THE NEWS and, while weâre at it, PRIME. Or else.
Max Kael: I swear on the grave of U.N. Couth, I am going to slap the s-
Before Max can finish Snark cuts in.
Snark Darkly: Sonja! My wonderful other gendered client! Youâre looking radiant tonig-
Now itâs Maxâs turn to interrupt his manager.
Max Kael: No! No-no-no! Sheâs just some jumped up troglodyte trying to steal MY spotlight! So go fuck yourself, Sonja Coochie!
Sonja Cuchilla: Wrong answer. And⌠donât say I didnât warn you.
The lights in the arena go pitch black as the crowd begins to roar, their cheers mixing in with the sound of waves as a deep rumbling thrums through the arena.
Max and Snark look up as, on the center scoreboard, a single pinpoint of white light appears. Itâs small at first, but then begins to grow until it fills the screen and begins to circle from screen to screen â one rotation, then two â the second slower, flickering â then it cuts out.
A pause. A heartbeat.
CHANGE YOUR HEART OR DIE!
A singular explosion of white light and sound â every light in the arena flashing on simultaneously. Itâs blinding. Overwhelming.
A boss guitar riff begins to play as âChange Your Heart or Dieâ by The Midnight begins to play.
FIRE! TICKING LIKE A TIMEBOMB!
A shot of red fireworks explodes behind Sonja, on cue, as she begins to look nervous, realizing Blaze is not, in fact, out joining her.
FIRE! BURNING LIKE NAPALM!
Another explosion, this time a set of white lights along a rampway with no one on it. The color drains from Sonjaâs face as both Max and Snark Darkly nod with pleasure.
FIRE! STANDING AT THE CROSSROADS!
HOW WILL YOU SURrrrrrrviiiiiivvvvvvveeeeeeee
The sound of Blazeâs intro music stretches and warps like sound on a faulty VHS tape leaving the arena, and Sonja in a stunned silence.
Max Kael: Awwww! Somebody doesnât have your back after all.
Faux tears run down Maxâs face as he mocks Sonja.
Snark Darkly: Itâs okay, my dear, plenty of fish in the sea. You look wonderful!
Sonja lowers the microphone and begins to slowly walk down the rampway, thousands of eyes on her every move as she makes her way into the ring. Tears begin to well up in her eyes as she looks from Max to Snark and holds her hand to her mouth.
Max Kael: For starters, donât date men named Blaze, unless you wanna end up with kids like Fred Dick. Second, for a man who calls himself the LIGHTHOUSE heâs certainly left you in the dark. UP TOP!
Max lifts his hand for a high five, well above what Cuchilla couldnât reasonably reach. Sonja steps backward, inching her way into a corner as Max looks prepared to strike with Snark looking on, like a proud parent watching his two children fight over table scraps. She holds up her hands, microphone included, in a defensive posture.
Sonja Cuchilla: IâŚ. IâŚ. IâŚ.
She lowers her hands to reveal shit-eating grin on her face as she turns her back to Max and Snark, facing the crowd.
Sonja Cuchilla: I canât believe you BOUGHT THAT!
BOOOOOOOOO!
The crowd goes absolutely nuclear as Sonja walks calmly up to Snark Darkly and Max gives them high fives, laughing.
BOOOOOOOOO!
It is impossible to make out anything the trio are saying beneath the pure rage coming from all corners of the arena.
Sonja Cuchilla (shouting): OH GET OVER YOURSELVES!
Sonja shakes her head and points out into the crowd.
Sonja Cuchilla: That is what REAL acting looks like, everyone! That is what you have been denied by an abusive, petty, limp dicked asshole who calls himself BLAZE CLAYMORE.
BOOOOOO!
Max Kael: I, ME, MAX KAEL, took that miserable little Blaze cLAMEmore out of PRIME! Out of the equation! Out of this WORLD! He ainât coming back, whatâs done is done. And if he does ever show his face around here again?
Max looks down at his elbow, smirking.
Max Kael: Iâll dispatch him with The Cruelest Strokeâ˘!
Sonja Cuchilla (stepping in between Max and Snark): Well, we all played our part, Max, but what is important is that you all realize you have all been hoodwinked by a SICK, SICK individual and itâs about time you realized that weâve all done you a HUGE favor getting rid of-
Sonja is stopped mid-sentence by a burst of static before the PRIME screens flicker and then come to life showing a hooded figure standing with their back to the camera before stepping forward just enough to reveal that they are standing in the center of the WON News set.
Max Kael: Hey, thatâs MY stage! Who the hell are you, mysterious hooded figure!?
The shot continues to widen as we see that the WON ACTION NEWS STAGE has been set with barrels of gasoline. The Throne in particular has three barrels set up around it with charges. There is a soft, repetitive clicking noise that is revealed to be zippo lighter the hooded figure is holding, flicking it open and closed.
It sounds like the ticking of a bomb.
Max Kael: What the fu⌠Donât you fucking DARE! I JUST GOT THAT NEW STAGE A FEW MONTHS AGO!
Now that weâve seen the set up the camera settles back on the mysterious hooded figure. As they continue to flick the lighter they turn, pulling back the hood to revealâŚ
BLAZE CLAYMORE!
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Crowd goes nuts, wrestling is easy. Inside the ring Snark Darkly looks absolutely disappointed, clutching his book to his chest. Max, on the other hand, has gone red in the face, apoplectic about what is going on.
Max Kael: You SON OF A BITCH! You stay right the fuck there!
Charging out of the ring before anyone can stop him, Max heads for the back in a mad dash leaving Snark and Sonja alone. An annoyed Darkly starts whispering something to Sonja, their attention focused on one another rather than what is happening in the stands just behind them.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea as a roar begins to grow and cameras pivot to show a long-haired man in red sunglasses, white shirt, and blue jeans vault the barricade and slide into the ring.
Blaze. Claymore. Again.
RAAAAAAH!
That got their attention.
Snark turns toward the commotion, but not quickly enough. Blaze is on him â more specifically, his hand is on Darklyâs book.
Then the lights go out.
RAAAAAAH!
Something moves in the dark where Snark used to be. Something much bigger, something that burns the eyes to focus on. The speakers crackle and hiss like lightning is running through them.
Then the lights go back on. A split second later. To reveal Blaze Claymore with Snark Darklyâs book in his hands. No Snark. Just his book.
The crowd roars as Blaze looks up from the book and locks eyes with Sonja. The former lovers stand in silence for a beat, but even in a moment like this, Sonja canât help herself.
Sonja Cuchilla: Oh thank God! Blaze! Youâre safe! I knew my plan would work, now we can-
Sonja begins walking towards Blaze but he stops her immediately, holding up the book in front of him like a shield. Sonja stops, frozen.
Sonja Cuchilla: Hey⌠itâs OK. Youâre safe⌠just come here and-
Blaze steps forward, book held outward, as Sonja retreats in kind; her eyes no longer pretending to be scared. They are scared.
In a swift motion, Blaze yanks the microphone away from Sonja, still extending the book toward her like a cross protecting its owner from a vampire.
Blaze Claymore: Not yet, Sonja. Not until I destroy it.
The crowd roars and Sonja takes a step back, mouthing something to Blaze who shakes his head solemnly.
Blaze Claymore: Iâm sorry I wasnât strong enough to protect you before. But now, with this? Iâm going to save you. All of you.
Blaze looks down at the book once more and then back up at Sonja.
Blaze Claymore: Whether you want me to or not.
The Lighthouse drops the microphone onto the mat with a CLUNK and walks toward Sonja, who opens her arms, albeit cautiously, waiting for an embrace that never comes.
Blaze walks right past her, as if she were a ghost, and steps through the ring ropes.
He clutches the book in his hands as he calmly walks to the back, Sonja staring daggers into him as he vanishes behind the curtain.
Backstage at the Argyle position, a production assistant speaks into a headset hurriedly, while several other technicians work at their tables in what is, in many ways, the nerve-center of PRIME when a ReVival is underway. Thereâs several glows of monitors casting blue lights across the area while The Anglo Luchador stands patiently, waiting for his match.
And he looks annoyed
Heâs been here countless times before, staring at the curtain, hearing the rumble of the crowd just on the other side, with a wrestling ring waiting for him. Itâs all very typical. But heâs got a lot on his plate. No sleep. Bothered by a walking anachronism. And now, moments from another fight with the biggest thorn in his side, maybe in his career.
Apologies to âTriple Xâ Sean Stevens.
And speak of the devilâŚ
That seven feet of Soviet history steps right next to him. With Alexei Ruslan just a foot or two behind him, Ivan Stanislav, geared up for their upcoming match, grunts once. The history between The Anglo Luchador and Ivan Stanislav goes back to almost the first day Stanislav returned to PRIME. The Luchador has had the rare opportunity to be both enemy, and ally, to Stanislav in the past.
Ivan grunts, and looks down at TAL.
Ivan Stanislav: Here we go again. Match number⌠thirty-five between us?
TAL: Iâm not in the mood for your bullshit, Ivan.
Ruslan says nothing. He checks his pockets idly, no doubt looking for change and not an innumerable amount of weaponry.
Ivan Stanislav: Bullshit? I have wrestled a great number of competitors in my career, Tom. Most of them I will not try to remember. But you? You have always been a worthy adversary.
A pause.
Ivan Stanislav: I wanted you to know that.
The Luchador furrows his brow, as if he were transported to another dimension.
TAL: Thatâs downright touching. Almost sounds sincere. So youâll have to excuse me if I ask one question.
The Luchador turns to face the Russian giant.
TAL: What mind games are you trying to play here?
Ivan opens his mouth to respond when a familiar voice emerges from around the corner.
Bryan Dawkins: TomâŚ
Letâs just acknowledge for a brief second, how miraculous it is that for the first time in his career Dawkins has identified a masked wrestler by his given birth name. Maybe Dawkins has changed, after all. Now, if only Sykes was still around, we could maybe get some traction on the whole King Blueberry thingâŚanyway!
Alexei immediately bristles upon hearing the voice of the Intense Champion.
After what feels like an eternity, Dawkins rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks. He looks like hell. The bruising turned his face into a watercolor-like palette of blues and purples. His ribs are padded and taped together and his knee is bound by a heavy brace. The Russians beam with pride at their handiwork. Bryan, on the other hand, remains unamused.
Ivan turns slightly and despite his bushy beard, a shit-eating grin bleeds through the bristles.
Ivan Stanislav: Well⌠this is awkward⌠being visited by the man who betrayed us bothâŚ
Ruslan says nothing, while Ivan simply smirks for a moment before looking down at TAL.
Ivan Stanislav: You always know where I stand, Luchador. But that one? He lives with permanent knife in his hand, waiting to stab you in the back. Good luck tonight, Tom. You will need it.
Ivan turns and mutters something in Russian to Alexei, before the Russians give the two Americans some space. Ivan doesnât leave without a last word though.
Ivan Stanislav: See you around, champ.
Dawkinsâ jaw clenches and muscles tense as he exercises the necessary restraint to keep him from causing an international incident in Mexico City. He opens his mouthâŚ
Ivan Stanislav (off camera): DYAAHAAHAA!!
âŚand rolls his eyes.
Bryan Dawkins: âŚwell, that was fun.
The Luchador grumbles and shakes his head.
Bryan Dawkins: Look, TomâŚwe need to talk.
TAL: About?
Bryan Dawkins: Obviously, thereâs a four hundred pound Russian bear in the room. I need to clear the air. IâŚuhâŚyeah. How do I say this?
Dawkins looks off, trying to find the words.
Bryan Dawkins: I fucked up. Yeah, thatâs it. I fucked up bad, right?
TAL: Ya think? I mean, I didnât mind babysitting Crash and Bash after you dipped on them, but Everybodyâs Heroes were doomed from the start because you had to go join him.
Bryan Dawkins: LookâŚTom. I wasnât in a good place last year. At the time, it felt like I had nowhere to turn. I made a decision that felt like it would get me the result I needed. Was it selfish? Sure. But at the time, it made sense. Go where Max was last and use that to my advantage.
The Luchador pinches the bridge of his nose and bows his head.
TAL: I get it, but you didnât have to maul the boys to get back at Kael. You know that, right?
Bryan Dawkins: I meanâŚyeah, Iâd be lying if I said I didnât drink some of the Kool Aid. And in my mind, it was all a means to an end. Honestly, if I was put in the same situation today, I donât know that I would be in the frame of mind to make a different decision.
The Intense Champ almost shudders at the realization. He was in deep.
Bryan Dawkins: I know I need to come to terms with that. Thatâs not on you, thatâs on me. I justâŚI need you to know that if shit goes sideways out there with Ivan, Iâll be there. We both know what theyâre capable ofâŚ
Dawkins extends a fist toward his masked friend turned adversary turned friend? I mean, the gesture is nice, but nobody is gonna blame TAL if he blows the Former Flyinâ Hawaiian off. Most would, and arguably should.
But he doesnât.
TAL: Just donât do anything stupid, alright? You might end up flying through drywall, or worse.
Dawkins cracks a slight grin.
Bryan Dawkins: âŚI mean, Iâd probably deserve it.
With that, we move elsewhere.
âHELLO MY LITTLE DEVILS!â
AAAAHHHHH what a jarring cut! We see a close up of Satan Jonesâ pock-marked face. Heâs screaming, his tongue is out, and weâre terrified.
Satan Jones: Youâre LIVE! WITH! SATAN!
An extra tongue waggle for emphasis.
Satan Jones: And itâs a special one, my little devils. Not just because weâre once again backstage at the greatest wrestling spectacle on the planet. And not just because my boy Kris Roswell got a haircut.
There is a quick pan of the camera to Kris Roswell, who indeed is sporting a shorter version of the brown windswept style he has had since showing up on PRIME television. The former kicker smiles confidently.
Kris Roswell: Uptown Rooster Club in New Orleans.
Again we are whiplashed back to Satan, who nods.
Satan Jones: Lookinâ good, buddy. But no, this is special because it is the first time weâve ever had a special guest!
Satan pivots so that the camera focuses behind his shoulder, where former Alias Champion RIA Lockhart stands. Still covered in sweat from her match, the Psychoberry takes a swig from a water bottle.
RIA Lockhart: You practically dragged me over here after I got through the curtain. I have no idea what in the good goddamn is happening here, but fuck it.
If Satan is embarrassed that his desperate booking skills are being revealed, his smile doesnât show it. After all, he has a catchphrase to deliver.
Satan Jones: Hell yeah, RIA. Hell yeah.
After a moment, confusion clouds his face.
Satan Jones: My first question â has anyone called you RI-RI before?
Lockhartâs eyebrow flicks upward while a scowl slides across her lips. Jaw muscles tighten while her arms cross on her chest.
RIA Lockhart: My sister. My girlfriend. There may have been others. Is there a particular reason youâre asking?
RIAâs posture? Not exactly giving off warm, inviting vibes. But still, she remains in place for wherever this volley might be going. Plus, it didnât necessarily seem like olâ Satan might be picking up on her less than pleased state.
Satan Jones: It was the first thing that popped in my head. Donât worry, Iâll wait until weâve known each other for longer before calling you that.
Maybe he did pick up on it!
Satan Jones: So, RI-RIâŚ
Or not. What? Theyâve known each other longer than they did before!
Satan Jones: You just finished an awesome match with Bobby Neptune. Heâs supposedly from another planet. So I have to ask, while you were in the ring with himâŚ
He pauses, as if knowing this question isnât going to be well received.
Satan Jones: What did his feet smell like?
Lockhart just blinks. A few times. She closes her eyes, taking a deep inhale before practically growing while exhaling. Ria rubs her forehead before slowly opening her peepers again.
RIA Lockhart: Why⌠IN THE FUCK⌠do you think Iâd notice that?! Iâm doing my damnedest to keep my head above water lately and youâre asking me about some dudeâs feet?! Why donât you go up and take a sniff for yourself?!
Welp. If there was anyone in the vicinity not paying attention before (not likely), they certainly were now with that outburst. But for his part, Satan smiles.
Satan Jones: I will if that coward Lindsay Troy ever books him in a match with me.
Oh, Satan. Youâre going to regret that whenever you have Lindsay as a guest on Live With Satan.
Satan Jones: Anyway, you mentioned your head being below water. For all the fans out there who struggle in their daily lives, do you have any advice or breathing tactics youâd care to share with our audience?
RIA looks over to Kris Roswell, who has stood so that he is also in the shot.
Kris Roswell: Heâs trying to pivot his account into a mental health channel. This week, anyway.
RIA stays still for a moment. But with a roll of her eyes, her muscles seem to relax.
RIA Lockhart: Slow, deep breaths. In. Then out. It helps center oneself when things start to feel overwhelming. Kinda gives you a minute to get grounded. It wonât fix your problems, but it can give you enough pause to at least make it through short moments until you can talk to someone or find a way to decompress.
Satan Jones: Let me give that a try.
Kris Roswell takes a few steps back, giving his tag team partner a wide berth. RIA momentarily wonders why, but she soon realizes as Satan swings his arms outward as he takes an enormously exaggerated breath in, then pulls them in as he breathes â almost spits â out. Both Kris and RIA look disturbed, but Satan is calm.
Satan Jones: Wow, that really does work. Thanks for the advice, RI-RI!
Judging by the look on RIAâs face, this interview canât go on much longer unless it is going to end with Satan on the floor. Somehow The Devil Himself picks that up too, as he nods.
Satan Jones: All right, and my final question: what can the PRIME-ophiles at homeâŚ
Kris Roswell: Donât call them that.
Satan Jones: âŚexpect to see from RIA Lockhart in the coming months?
Any and all annoyance radiating from RIA seems to dissipate with that question. She just⌠stands there. Deep reflection? Quiet anger? No matter what, thereâs an unreadable aura surrounding her. Lockhart looks off, away from the current scene.
RIA Lockhart: Iâm not even sure. It feels like Iâve been in neutral for awhile now. Iâve gotta find a way to shift things into drive. Something⌠Someone⌠Iâm not even sure yet.
Without so much as a wave, Lockhart turns to wander away from the scene. Satan watches her go, and for a fraction of a second, genuine empathy appears on his face. Weâve all been there, looking for direction, trying to figure out what comes next. Even if we have devil horns for hair and a weird obsession with shoes and feet.
And then the host Satan is back.
Satan Jones: All right! What an amazing guest! We wish RIA all the best and hope she finds her stick shift soon.
Is that what he got from her words?
Satan Jones: Anyway, thatâs all we have time for now. We donât have a match tonight, but there are refried beans on the catering table and Kris and I want to see if we can fart loud enough to summon Big John Pepper to the locker room.
Kris Roswell: No we donât.
Satan Jones: Good bye, my little devils! Or as they say here in Mexico, arrivederci!
Kris facepalms as we cut to ringside.
Nick Stuart: Well Richard, itâs certainly been quite an episode of ReViVal so far. What do we have next?
Richard Parker: Two old bastards. One sleepy, one Russian, â both kinda batshit crazy. Thatâs RIGHT! Itâs the Anglo Luchador taking on Ivan Stanislav!
âThe Soviet National Anthemâ by the Russian Red Army Choir erupts as Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Rulsan emerge from the backstage area. Stanislav and Ruslan raise their arms, side by side, roar at the crowd, and pointedly make their way towards the ring. Stanislav points and jaws at several fans along the way, while Ruslan points and hawks at the greatness of the Russian Bear.
Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Alexei Ruslan! He hails from Arkhangelst, Russia! Standing 7 feet tall, weighing in at over 400 pounds! The RUSSIAN BEEEEAAARRR⌠IVAAAAAAANNN!!! STAAAANIIIISLAAAAAV!!!
Stanislav steps over the top rope and thunders into the ring. He raises his arms over his head and bellows at the camera.
Generally custom for shows, esp. for big matches. Generic entrance for when Iâm swamped at work:
The lights go out in the arena, and a big murmur goes up in the crowd, excited for whatâs next. Then the PRIMEView lights up to show a Japanese man with impeccable combed-over black hair, a square jaw, and a towel around his neck emphatically saying a phrase in his native tongue. The translation is in subtitles:
âPRO WRESTLING IS A SACRED SPORT!â
RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
A spotlight shines on the curtain, and a beat later, The Anglo Luchador jumps out, dressed in a green tracksuit with a purple towel around his neck, pumping his fist into the air. He jogs in place at the top of the ramp for a moment before bounding down to the ring, slapping hands. He gets to the ringside area, strips from his entrance gear, throwing each piece into the crowd before sliding into the ring.
Vince Howard: And their opponent, weighing in at 211 pounds and hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He is the first Intense Champion of the ReVival, the Last Son of Tenochtitlan, and the Spear of Huitzilopochtli⌠The AngloooooâŚ. LUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCHADORRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!
RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!
Nick Stuart: Richard?
Richard Parker: Yes?
Nick Stuart: What the hell is Alexei Ruslan doing?
The bell hasnât even rang yet, but Alexei is on the ring apron, shouting at the official, listing grievances about Ivanâs recent matches, blaming the refs.
Richard Parker: Seems to me like heâs just doing his damn job. Someone has to be looking out for Ivanâs interests when he works for a company that CUH-LEARLY has it out for him!
Elvis Nixon: Alexei, get off the apron! Iâm not ringing the bell until you get off the apron, Iâm notâ
Alexei is suddenly pulled off the apron.
He turns around to explain his actions to Ivan, only
Itâs not Ivan.
Itâs TAL.
BOOT TO ALEXEIâS GUT!!!
âŚ
KARELIN DRIVER TO ALEXEI RUSLAN ON THE COLD FLOOR!!!!
Nick Stuart: Oh. My. God. Alexei Ruslan is dead.
Richard Parker: Hahahaha!!! Jesus!!! Uh, overreact much Tom?
Nick Stuart: And now look at Ivan!!!
TAL climbs up to his feet, looks up!
Nick Stuart: The Russian Bear drops off the apron with an axe handle smash!
Richard Parker: And now heâs pummeling away at the Anglo Luchador!
Itâs true. Whatever fury lies dormant in Ivanâs heart has come to the surface and he is unleashing it. Why the Anglo Luchador did that is anyoneâs guess, though it probably has something to do with any number of frustrations he has going on, and in any case, heâs currently running away from Ivan in order to escape Ivanâs iron fists.
Nick Stuart: Folks, by rule this match cannot start until both of these guys are in the ring.
Richard Parker: Match hasnât even started and already TAL has, potentially, murdered poor Alexei Ruslan, but has also shown himself to be a coward by running away from justice.
Nick Stuart: Alexei Ruslan isnât dead, he just⌠looks dead.
Richard Parker: Look at his body and tell me there isnât a non-zero chance heâs dead.
Nick Stuart: Heâs⌠heâs not dead. Heâs not dead heâs just⌠heâsâ heâs⌠mangled a little.
Richard Parker: A LITTLE!?!
Nick Stuart: Heâs, heâs, heâs⌠I meanâŚ
TAL, however, it appears was not running merely to escape Ivan, but also, to create distance to start some offense of his own. He climbs onto the apron.
Nick Stuart: Elvis Nixon is begging TAL to come back in the ring.
Ivan, like a dreadnaught on the ocean, approaches. Slowly, but make no mistake, he sees red. Like a bull. So when TAL runs across the apronâs length towards Stanislav, the Russian Bear actually throws, possibly, one of the hardest haymakers heâs ever thrown in his life.
But it doesnât stop TALâs hurricanrana attempt.
What stops that?
Is a powerbomb by Ivan StanislavâŚ
Straight to god damn HellâŚ
Right onto the steel steps.
Richard Parker: There are now two dead bodies outside of the ring, and my thirst for revenge is quenched.
Nick Stuart: Aww, so happy for yew.
Richard Parker: That seems insincere.
The Anglo Luchador arches his back on the steel steps, falls to the floor and writhes around. Ivan, meanwhile, wastes no time attempting to inflict further punishment on him, dragging him up to his feet by his arm.
Short arm clothesline by Ivan!
NO! The Anglo Luchador ducks it! Ivan turns around!
Enziguri! TAL damn near takes Stanislavâs head off, but the Russian Bear doesnât fall.
If you make a tree fall in a sold out arena in Mexico, and everyone hears it cuss in Russian, does that mean you take the advantage?
TAL is keen to find out, as he does a falling dropkick straight to Ivanâs knee, and Ivan does indeed shout a Russian curse word as he falls, wincing, grasping at his knee.
Richard Parker: Ivan doing his best impression of the only funny cutaway scene in Family Guy history.
Nick Stuart: Wow.
Richard Parker: What?
Nick Stuart: Nah, I just totally agree with you. Surprised is all.
Richard Parker: Wow.
Nick Stuart: Thatâs what I said.
The Anglo Luchador hears Elvis threatening to just call the match, and he sighs, rolling into the ring.
TAL stands up to his feet.
But Ivan is still outside the ring, slowly climbing to his feet.
And TALâŚ
Heâs got theâŚ
Craziest look in his eye.
He suddenly runs across the ring.
Elvis Nixon pleads with him not to make his job harder.
TAL ignores him, charges the ropes, and
TOPE SUICIDA!!!
âŚ
OH MY GOD IVAN JUST POWERSLAMMED TAL INTO THE FUCKING GUARD RAILS!!!
Elvis Nixon sighs.
But before he can just surrender and call for the bell, Ivan pulls TAL up to his feet and rolls him into the ring like a damn carpet.
Then, the Russian Bear, finally, steps back into the ring.
DING!! DING!!
Nick Stuart: Well, the match has finally started but it seems like the damage is done.
Richard Parker: I know. Poor Alexei. Heâs literally still dead on the ground.
Nick Stuart sighs audibly.
Immediately, Ivan has TAL up to his feet and trapped in his arms, squeezing the life out of him with a bear hug. Further, heâs ragdolling him around, adding additional joint damage to the pain heâs inflicting.
The Anglo Luchador knows all too well that if he has any ideas of escaping this situation, itâs going to require bell claps to Ivanâs ears.
So he starts.
Bell clap!
Bell clap!
The Bear hug loosens.
Bell clap!
Elbow!
It loosens further!
Elbow!
Elbow!
BIG HEADBUTT BY IVAN!!!
Back to the Bear hug.
Nick Stuart: Frustrating to say the least.
Richard Parker: No doubt, and when you fight that hard to escape just to find yourself right back in that position, it can be one of the most demoralizing and effective holds used against you when facing Ivan.
Nick Stuart: I hate how right you are.
Richard Parker: Yâalways do, Nick.
But the Anglo Luchador, as all of us know, has never been keen to surrender. Itâs just not who he is. Tom Battaglia is a lot of things. Some even accuse him of being Rip Van Winkle. But one thing he definitely isnât, besides RVW, is the kind of guy who isnât gonna fight to his last, dying breath.
And so, he does something that surprises everyone.
No bell clap.
No elbow.
He leans as far back in Ivanâs arms as he can, practically folding himself backwards at a good 45 degrees from the chest up.
Then, both fists.
Hard.
Right to Ivanâs nose.
Which busts open immediately.
Ivan letâs go of the bear hug, wiping blood away from his face.
Right jab.
Left jab.
Right cross!
Ivan staggers back into the turnbuckles.
Cartwheel by TAL!
Flying backfist!
Ivan stumbles forward!
INTO A SMALL PACKAGE BY THE ANGLO LUCHADOR!!!
Elvis Nixon makes the count!
ONE!!!
TWO!!!
IVAN KICKS OUT!!!
BUT TAL KEEPS HIS ARM AROUND THE NECK!!!
GUILLOTINE CHOKE!!!
Nick Stuart: Oooh, thatâs cinched in real tight!
Richard Parker: Zero chance Ivan taps given poor Alexeiâs condition.
Nick Stuart says nothing because Richard Parker is right.
In what might be the most impressive display of strength of the night, Ivan wills himself to his feet, bringing TAL, who keeps the guillotine choke locked in despite the fact that Ivan barrels towards the turnbucklesâ
And SLAMS The Anglo Luchador into them like a crash test dummy.
TAL does let go, and heâs met with a right hook to the gut, and a headbutt to the forehead for his troubles!
Richard Parker: Donât look now, Nick, but Tony Gamble is heading towards the ring!
Itâs true, Gamble is marching down the entrance ramp. He stops to check on Alexei, who seems to be slowly coming to.
Meanwhile, Ivan whips TAL into the ropes, and charges him, meeting him just as he bounces off the rope with a MASSIVE LARIAT!!!
Ivan makes the cover!!!
ONE!!!
TALâs FOOT IS ON THE ROPES!!!
TWO!!!
ELVIS NIXON DOESNâT SEE IT!!!
TONY GAMBLE SHOVES HIS FOOT OFF THE ROPE!!!
Nick Stuart: NO!!!!!!
THREEEEEEE!!!!
Nick Stuart: THIS IS LARCENY!!!
Richard Parker: BAHAHAHA!!! The Red Bandit strikes again!!!
Vince Howard: HEEEERE IS YOOOOUR WINNER⌠IVAAANNNNN STAAAAANISSSSLAAAAVVV!!!!
TAL is back up to his feet, absolutely furious. He gets in Ivanâs face. But Ivan is through. He shoves TAL away and goes to check on his friend as we cut away from ringside.
Simon Tillier: Here we are, guys and gals, for another *thrilling* interview! Just ignore the fact that weâre on the BRINK OF WAR and complicit with a TOTALITARIAN CAPITALIST SOCIETY! Anyway, thanks to the powers that be, âRhymin'â Simon has been THANKFULLY removed from Vae Victis duty so that he can get the RAW story on the unsung heroes of the PRIME locker room!
Big John Pepper blushes.
Simon Tillier: BIG. JOHNNY. PEPPAHHH.
Big John Pepper: Hey. đ¤
Simon Tillier: So, you think The Anglo Luchador is Rip Van Winkle. Have you even considered the possibility that Rip Van Winkle is just a euphemism for the innate desire of the working, blue collar man to sleep all day and ignore his kids?
Big John Pepper: I donât just think heâs Rip Van Winkle, Simon. I KNOW heâs Rip Van Winkle. You spend with decades of your life, partying, vibing, exploring national parks together, seeing rainbows and cotton candy skies and fighting bears and beating ninjas half to death with another man, you tend to recognize them years later. As for the rest of your question, I canât comment.
Simon Tillier: Why not? Worried youâll alienate a key demo?
Big John Pepper: I donât know what a euphemism is. But, more importantly â someoneâs demonstrating a key around here?
Simon Tillier: What?
Big John Pepper: Keys.
Simon Tillier: âŚKeyes?
BJP sighs. Places his massive paw on Simonâs slender shoulder.
Big John Pepper: Young man, you have a lot to learn about life. I donât have all the answers. I canât âdemoâ the âkeysâ to success for your life, if thatâs what youâve been getting at. But I do know one thing: You never run from who you are, and you donât lie to your own kids. I donât know why Rip is running from himself. I donât know why he is hiding behind a mask, behind a fake name. But I do know this: for him to lie to his family about who he really is? Thatâs not the Rip I know. Heâs broken. But thatâs fine, because Iâm his best friend, and Iâm going to mend him right up, andâ
As if on cue, The Anglo Luchador, looking hella beat up after his match with Ivan Stanislav walks into the shot. His eyes shoot figurative lasers through the holes in his mask. Figurative and not literal because if he shot literal lasers, heâd be in a Mortal Kombat game or at least in something like, I dunno, The Asylum? That still open in another pocket universe? No, but seriously, he looks like he wants to be anywhere but Arena Coliseo right now.
Big John Pepper: Hey Rip. đ¤
TAL: Can it, hayseed.
Both Simon and Big John are taken aback at the curt nature of The Luchadorâs greeting.
TAL: I just got out of the ring with a man made out of literal Russian bricks, and this was after he and his lapdog annoyed the piss out of me before the match. I havenât had a good nightâs sleep in months. My son wonât stop talking about the goddamn Center City Mothman, and to top it all off, MY FAVORITE TAQUERIA HERE IS CLOSED BECAUSE OF A LISTERIA OUTBREAK, SO IâM GOING TO ASK YOU POLITELYâŚ
The Luchador stops himself, realizing he is doing the opposite of asking anything politely. Maybe in Germany his tone would be considered polite, but theyâre not in Germany. Theyâre in Mexico. The kind of vim and vigor in his voice are reserved for Donald Trump or California âburritos,â not for lucha libre.
TAL: âŚsorry, Iâm going to ask you politely to cut the shit and stop referring to me as Rip Van Winkle, okay?
A blood vessel above his left eye tics through his lucha mask. He breathes slowly but heavily and angrily. Somewhere in the distance, El Chupacabra drops the goat he was aiming to feast on because The Luchadorâs aura has sent shockwaves throughout a 50-mile radius of the Capital District.
Big John Pepper sighs.
He looks TAL dead in the eyes.
Swallows. Frowns.
Big John Pepper: I vow to you, until the day I leave this realm, I will NEVER stop referring to you as Rip Van Winkle.
He grits his teeth.
Big John Pepper: You wanna try it, come whet your horn.
The Luchador raises his hands like he is going to choke a fool. Simon Tillier jumps back out of reflex. He raises his hands to come within a hairâs breadth of Big Johnâs throat until he stops and pulls back at the last moment, shaking his head.
TAL: No, no, you canât do this. I canât do this! It sends a wrong message.
The Luchador starts giggling, and as the brook rushes downhill and gains momentum before turning into a mighty river, his giggles turn into full-blown Mark Hamill Joker maniacal laughter. Big John and Simon look at each other. One of them is more scared than the other, and itâs not the affable bearded tall tale either.
TAL: No, hahahahahaha no. This calls for something more appropriate. Something thatâll send a clear message.
The Luchador breaks laughter and offers his hand to Big John, nodding and smirking all the same.
Big John Pepper: A man never turns down a handshake with an old frieâ
Before Big John can finish his sentence, The Luchador grabs his wrist violently, swings him around, andâŚ
Simon Tillier: Dear God.
Atomic.
Wedgie.
The Luchador breaks back into his maniacal, exhaustion-driven laughter.
Big John Pepperâs eyes widen.
He looks like a man disturbed. And he has been. Disturbed by his own underwear, by the hands of his dear friend. He winces. Reaches down his pants, adjusts, wipes a tear from his eye.
Big John Pepper: That was the most painful AND the most embarrassing wedgie youâve ever given me. But of course, you realize, that I must retort.
TALâs laughter is cut dreadfully short. For he, too, experiences an atomic wedgie of great proportion, underwear up his spine.
Big John Pepper: Bahahahaha!!! BAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!
Both men grab each otherâs underwear.
They wedgie each other AGAIN.
Laughing maniacally, staring angrily into each otherâs eyes.
We cut away.
Backstage.
We see Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz talking outside the Red Army locker room, with little overheard from the discussion aside from the very tail end.
Randall Schwartz: Listen, Kenny, whatever happens next, I do NOT want to end up stuck in a shark cage again. I donât care, the metal really does a number onâŚ
The Entertainerâs voice trails off as he notices someone approaching. This immediately makes a sour mood even worse for Schwartz, who furrows his brow as he motions his friend to the incoming intruder. No, not an Intruder, justâwell, you get it.
Randall Schwartz: Well if it ainât olâ Starboy himself.
Bobby Neptune still in full gear from his match enters frame.
Bobby Neptune: Kenny Freeman, we need to have a conversation.
He looks to Randall expecting him to leave. When that doesnât happen he sighs and continues.
Bobby Neptune: Do you remember last show when I thought I knew you and approached you like an old friend? Itâs because we are old friends Kenny, in another universe. I donât know how it happened, all I do know is I am not this universeâs Bobby Neptune.
He pauses.
Bobby Neptune: Iâve somehow been transported through the multiverse either by accident orâŚ
He darts his eyes between Kenny and Randall.
Bobby Neptune: âŚon purpose. Be honest with me, Kenny, did you have anything to do with this?
Kenny takes just a moment to think on this, motioning to himself as he responds.
Kenny Freeman: Me? Buddy, Half the time I go on those misadventures, I donât even know what my right hand is doing.
He motions to Randall, the âright handâ in question, who simply nods in agreement.
Randall Schwartz: Itâs true. Sometimes Iâll start a sentence and I have no idea where itâs going. If Iâm lucky thereâs food involved at the finish line.
This gets a look of confusion from Kenny, who presses on.
Kenny Freeman: So, if you think youâre not supposed to be here, that sounds like a problem you need to take up with your Squad of Bobbys.
Randall Schwartz: Yeah, take it up with your S.O.Bâs you S.O.B.!
Randall chuckles at his dumb joke, as if telling himself he is very clever, but Bobby is not amused.
Bobby Neptune: Do you not hear yourselves??
An irate Neptune grabs Kenny by the shoulders.
Bobby Neptune: The cosmos is a joke to you, huh? Is me being lost in the multiverse a joke to you too? The Kenny I knew in my home universe would never.
Kenny is now the one furrowing his brow at this, that last statement ruffling his feathers somewhat.
Kenny Freeman: Buddy, Iâve talked to a lotta Kennys in my time. The one you knew is either uninterested in this whole mess youâve gotten yourself into⌠or heâs dead in a ditch somewhere.
Randall Schwartz: And we know a thing or two about dâ
Randall stops himself when he notices the glaring side-eye from his friend.
Kenny Freeman: Either way, pushing my buttons is not gonna help you solve your problems. All itâs gonna do is get me mad, and that wonât help either of us now will it? So do me a favorâŚ
Kenny reaches out toward the Space Cadet before lightly shoving him away.
Kenny Freeman: âŚand shove off, or Iâm gonna shove our agreement up where your favorite star of choice donât shine. You feel me?
No response at first from Bobby, which gives Randall an opening to chime in.
Randall Schwartz: Do you feel him, sir?
Bobby Neptune: Will you shove off!
Bobby pushes Randall harder than he means to. Randall just stares at the Starboy, blinks twice, and scowls at Neptune before shouting with fury.
Randall Schwartz: Ah, hell nah!
He charges at Neptune before Kenny yanks him back, keeping The Entertainer from squaring up and presumably getting his butt kickedâŚbut donât tell Randall that.
Randall Schwartz: Iâm a whoop that aaaaaass, son! Let me at âim!
Bobby squares up, expecting a fight.
Bobby Neptune: So itâs two against one huh? Iâve beaten worse odds. Gimme your worst.
Randall starts tying his hair back with an invisible (as in imaginary) hair tie before putting his fists up.
Randall Schwartz: You heard the man, letâs throttle âim Kenny.
Kenny lets out a heavy sigh, also getting into a fighting stanceâŚbefore the locker room door opens, revealing Alexei Ruslan.
Alexei Ruslan: What in the world is going on here?
The agent of the Red Army quickly takes notice of Neptune standing there, ready to go at it with the Masters.
Alexei Ruslan: And what are you doing here? This is Red Army territory, and you are not welcome here.
Bobby Neptune: Isnât it obvious? Iâm in conflict with your subordinates over control of the vast and infinite multiverse. Are you here to join them in their foolishness?
He adjusts his stance to include a possible strike at Alexei. The Masters look poised to defend Ruslan, but the agent just shakes his head.
Alexei Ruslan: This is all very unnecessary. Kenny, Randall, there is important business inside to be had with Starshy Praporshchik.
The pair nod in response, glaring at Bobby as they enter the locker room. The door slams shut in the face of a visibly angry Space Cadet before ReVival rolls on.
Nick Stuart: Well, that certainly was an interesting encounter, wouldnât you agree, Richard?
Richard Parker: I⌠yes. Yes is my final answer.
Nick Stuart: AND WHAT A MATCHUP WE HAVE FOR YOU NEXT!
Richard Parker: Christ Almighty, Nick! Warn a guy next time. This isnât a demolition derby where cars smash into each other willy-nilly. Itâs a professional, historical pastime where men and women throw their hands and feet into each otherâs faces willy-nilly.
The Black Heart of Prime pounces immediately like a feral cat in heat as he launches himself at the two-time Universal Champion.
The lights in the Arena Coliseo go out as a single spotlight falls upon the second level of the entrance stage. Stepping into that light is Snark Darkly, this pale, moon-faced assassin of joy isnât smiling but, for the first time, looks quite cross. The man is clearly still reeling from the loss of his precious book by Blaze Claymore earlier in the evening.
Snark Darkly: Introducing my client⌠he hails from Arkham, Massachusetts⌠Standing at six-foot-four-inches and weighing in at two-hundred-sixty-five-pounds!
The pillar of light vanishes but Snarkâs voice continues. He is joined by the ominous first notes of âHeads Will Rollâ by Pep Squad.
Snark Darkly: He is the reigning and defending Mayor of Arkham, the Lord of Kaelsalvania, the BLACK HEART of PRIMEâ˘! Maximillian. WILHELM. KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEL!
The lights in the arena come back up as Max Kael can be seen standing in the center of the lower entrance ramp. He holds his arms up high in the air as Mexico City pours down the boos.
Off with your head
Dance til youâre dead
Heads will roll.
Heads will roll.
Heads will rollâŚ
On the floor.
Max begins to slowly march toward the ring, swaying from side to side with the beat of the music. He rolls his shoulders back, lips pulling back into a vicious snarl as he surveys the hostile crowd.
Glitter on the wet streets
Silver over everything
The riverâs all wet.
Youâre all chrome.
Dripping with alchemy
Shiver stop shivering
The glitterâs all wet.
Youâre all chrome.
Max reaches the ring, hopping down off the ramp as he begins to slowly circle the ring. His wild, sickly green eyes glower out at the audience, as if heâs searching for someone. He stops occasionally to ask if anyone has seen Blaze Claymore, to which heâs often just told to fuck off.
The men cry out, the girls cry out
The men cry out, the girls cry out
The men cry out, oh no!
The men cry out, the girls cry out
The men cry out, the girls cry out
The men cry out, oh no!
Oh-oh! OH!
Oh-oh! OH!
Making a full circuit of the ring Max scrambles back to the stage, posing once again with his hands held high over his head. His chrome teeth glimmer brightly beneath the arena lights while his green eyes feel like theyâre pulling light into them. Hard to describe, just roll with it.
Off, off, off with your head!
Dance, dance, dance til youâre dead!
Off, off, off with your head!
Dance, dance, dance til youâre dead!
Off, off, off with your head!
Dance, dance, dance til youâre dead!
Off, off, off with your head!
Dance, dance, dance til youâre dead!
Wiping his boots off before stepping between the ropes, Max climbs to the nearest corner, roaring loudly as he both of his hands high above his head. As his music slowly fades, Max jumps down and moves to his corner to wait for the match to start.
The Arena darkens once again. The shift in ambiance has the fans rising to their feet. And thenâŚ
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
LET THE GALAXY BURN
The roar that follows is primal. Unrelenting. Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH surges through the arena, and as it does, the ramp and the video wall underneath the PRIMEView glow a stark red before turning black, the Tower of Babel logo cutting through the dark, prominent and surging. The PRIMEView comes alive with the PRIMETron of Brandon Youngblood. Across it is a variable whoâs who in the sport of professional wrestling, countless who have walked the hallowed halls of PRIME, and in them, a staggering constant; they all wilt before raw, unbridled physicality and domination. Suplexes. Strikes. Spinebusters. The highlight reels of catching and destroying would be challengers. The championships won. The accolades minted.
Sets of red and white laser lights from on high and below cut through the air, and then, The Dream Killer arrives. Youngblood is in no hurry, stalking his way onto the ramp, eyes forward and focused. His expression is stoic. Stone. Reaching the point before the descent, he stops, surveying the crowd at his flank. His arms fold across his chest, his head high up and his chin pointing forward.
From both sides, the loud bang and blinding white of pyro explodes in powerful bursts.
As the smoke bellows, he slowly paces forward, the arena lights now back on in full. Once to the arena floor, he stops, staring at his opponent in the ring. After a few tense moments, he walks to the steps, making his way up them, his dominion whole on the ring apron. At the halfway point, he steps between the ropes, taking the center of the ring.
Vince Howard: And his challengerâŚhailing from Bandera, Texas by way of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada⌠weighing in at 265 pounds⌠he isâŚTHE DIIIIIIAMOND! THE TOWER OF BABEL! HE IS! BRAAAAAAAANDON! YOUNGBLOOOOOOOOOD!
Impossible to read is Youngblood as he holds court, and as he glowers at Kael, still hugging the corner, as his head tilts to its side.
Nick Stuart: This is the first time weâve seen the Diamond in action since he faced off against Coral Avalon at Colossus 2024 â you have to wonder if his body is fully healed.
Richard Parker: If he were smart like Max he wouldnât have to worry about that, Nick.
Nick Stuart: How so?
Richard Parker: Metal teeth. Canât lose one of those babies or the whole thing just falls out. And if you break a hand? Boop. Just print yourself a new one. Body falls apart? Boop. Regenerate.
Nick Stuart: Stop saying âboopâ like that.
DING DING!
The Dark Heart of PRIME leaps out from his side of the ring like a feral cat in heat, clawing and scratching at the two-time Universal Championâs face, his fingernails catching some skin, but not enough to draw any old blood from Youngblood.
The returning fighter grabs a hold of Kaelâs arm, yanks upward, and flips his opponent head over heels and onto his back!
A burst of air gets knocked out of Kael on impact as Youngblood follows, looking for a headlock but Kael slithers away, rolls backwards onto his feet just as The Tower of Babel rises into a standing position.
Nick Stuart: Looks like these two are trying to feel each other out. It has been awhile since they last met and that meeting wasnât kind to either of them.
Richard Parker: But look how slow Youngblood is to get up and how fast and spry Max is! This will be over in no time at all!
OOOOO!
Youngblood clocks Kael with a vicious slap across the chest, sending the Black Heart of PRIME to his knees!
Kael tries to recover but Youngblood grabs Maxâs head and tosses him across the ring like a rag doll.
Nick Stuart: BIEL TOSS! Looks like you may get your wish, Richard!
Youngblood stalks after his prey as Max pulls himself up by the ropes.
Nick Stuart: Max and Youngblood are nearly identical in physical abilities but Youngblood is handling him like a pizza early on in this match.
Richard Parker: Just donât let Dawkins down here.
Nick Stuart: What? Because of the pineapples?
Richard Parker: No. I just donât like the guy.
Youngblood begins throwing strikes at the recovering Kael, but Max manages to pull the top rope down with him and let it go, snapping like a rubber band back into Youngbloodâs face!
The Tower of Babel staggers backwards and gives just enough room for Max to launch himself forward and drive his fingers into the gullet of Youngblood!
Nick Stuart: S.E.M.B! Max is going for a power move early here. He knows the longer Youngblood stays in this match the tougher it will be for him to win!
Richard Parker: Ugh. Imagine your fingers touching where that tooth used to be.
Max wraps his legs around Youngbloodâs waist as he drives his fist into his mouth, prompting Ashley Barlow to watch and see if Youngblood is going to tap!
Nick Stuart: Youngbloodâs eyes are watering as he tries to pry Max from his body, but Kael is stuck like a barnacle to him and- OH GOD!
Youngblood grabs a hold of Maxâs legs and falls forward, dropping both to the mat before the Brandon gator rolls his way on top of Max, fingers dislodged, and secures a combination head and armlock!
Nick Stuart: Barlow is on the mat and Max is screaming in pain as Youngblood spits, trying to get the taste of Maxâs fingers out of his mouth.
Richard Parker: Thatâs illegal! Disqualified! Disqualified!
Youngblood torques Maxâs body, prompting another scream of pain.
Nick Stuart: I donât think Max can take much more of this! Heâs gotta tap!
Tap! Tap Tap!
The fans are loving seeing one of PRIMEâs biggest names back in the ring in more than a year!
Ashley Barlow watches closely, but not close enough! Suddenly Youngblood releases the hold and jumps to his feet, his eyes wide.
Richard Parker: What just happened Nick?
A trickle of blood is dripping from the tip of Youngbloodâs nose as Max retreats to the corner, spitting red from his mouth.
Nick Stuart: I think Max just bit off a tip of Youngbloodâs nose, Richard! But Barlow didnât see it!
Max smiles back at Youngblood, drops of his opponentâs blood still visible amongst his chrome teeth! The Hall of Famer runs at full tilt towards Max and finds himself slamming into the turnbuckle as Max gleefully hops over the top rope and out of harmâs way!
Youngblood swings his massive arm backwards and CONNECTS with the side of Maxâs head as Kael drops to the outside. Youngblood reaches through the middle ropes to get at Kael but suddenly recoils in pain!
Richard Parker: Did Max take another chunk out of him!?
Nick Stuart: No! Youngblood is rubbing his eyes now. Barlow is checking on him as he is yelling something and pointing in the direction of Max, who has made his way back into the ring.
Kael holds the side of his head as Barlow is shaking hers and telling Youngblood she didnât see anything. Frustrated, he turns away and RIGHT into the waiting arms of Max Kael â more specifically the head of Max Kael!
The Black Heart of PRIME is unloading against the Diamond of PRIME as he headbangs his opponent, sending him backwards â until he doesnât! Youngblood catches wise after the fifth cranial collision and ducks, gets his arms under the chin surprised Kael and launches him airborne.
Nick Stuart: Papa Plex with the Front Chancery! Youngblood rolls over, placing his arm over Kaelâs chest!
ONE!
TWO!
T- KICKOUT
Nick Stuart: Kael got a shoulder up, but Youngblood was ready for it! He yanks his opponentâs arm backwards, getting Max up into a seated position. Heâs driving his knee into the small of Kaelâs back and the Mayor of Arkham is in a bad way here!
Richard Parker: Come on Max!
Ashley Barlow is asking Max if he wants to quit and Kael shakes his head, which only causes Youngblood to drive his knee in deeper! And now the referee is demanding Youngblood break the hold!
Nick Stuart: Look! That extra push from Youngbloodâs knee got Max just close enough to get a toe on the ropes! Barely! And Brandon is FURIOUS!
Youngblood releases the hold but stays on Kael, dragging him back to the center of the ring by his ankle. Max kicks wildly, catching Youngblood in the thigh, and scrambles to the corner on all fours.
Nick Stuart: Kael is trying to create any distance he can but Youngblood is stalking him down!
Youngblood charges into the corner but Max gets a boot up! The Diamond catches it, shoves the leg aside, and DRIVES a forearm into the side of Kaelâs head that rattles the turnbuckle!
Richard Parker: Thatâs excessive, Nick! The man was defenseless!
Nick Stuart: Defenseless? He bit off part of the manâs nose earlier!
Richard Parker: ALLEGEDLY!
Max slumps in the corner as Youngblood backs up, motioning for him to get up. The crowd is on their feet. Kael pulls himself up on the ropes, wobbling, and Youngblood moves in and drives his boot into the gullet of Max Kael!
The Black Heart of PRIME is flailing as Barlow begins counting!
ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SI-
Barlow steps between the pair, calling Brandon off before he can disqualify himself and tries to argue with the referee about the count.
Nick Stuart: Seems like Youngblood may have a little ring rust, Richard.
Richard Parker: Thatâs what I meant earlier, Nick! Brute force isnât enough to win all matches â you need cunning! You need adaptability! You needâ
SLAP!Â
OOO!
Nick Stuart: The Red Right Hand of Communism!
Richard Parker: Well, depending on your politics I suppose.
Nick was not, in fact, referencing anything to do with politics, but instead the MASSIVE slap across the face that Max just delivered to Youngblood as he was distracted arguing with Ashley Barlow!
Max wrings his stinging hand as Youngblood steps through Barlow to grab a hold of Kael and LIFTS HIM VERTICAL.
Nick Stuart: Full Nelson Slam! No- Wait!
Richard Parker: Too much force! Too much momentum! Too much MAX!
The force of Youngbloodâs lift actually sends Max somersaulting up and over Brandonâs back, placing him in the perfect position for a QUESTION MARK KICK TO THE BACK OF THE HEAD!
Nick Stuart: Youngblood is down!
Richard Parker: HAH!
Kael slaps his elbow and jumps upward.
Nick Stuart: ARKHAM HELLBOW for insurance as Max goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
Nick Stuart: Youngblood gets a shoulder up and Max canât believe it!
Richard Parker: Just an involuntary reflex, Nick! Max will get him the next time!
Max gets to his feet as Youngblood is still trying to remember where he is and the Black Heart of PRIME has just resorted to kicking the shit out of his opponent!
Richard Parker: Thatâs a sound strategy Nick!
Youngblood gets his arms up to protect his face, waiting for the right moment, and THERE! The two-time Universal Champion grabs a hold of Maxâs ankle, twists, and pulls Kael down to the mat!
The two begin to get to their feet at the same time, but itâs Youngblood who strikes first, grabbing at Kaelâs shoulders and driving him to the mat with a high crotch takedown!
The Diamond of PRIME follows through and rolls Max up into a pin!
ONE!
T- KICKOUT!
Youngblood doesnât let up, grabbing Max up off the ground and straight into a headlock, rolling through into another pin.
ONE!
TW-KICKOUT!
Nick Stuart: Youngblood is relentless here! Heâs not giving Kael a second to breathe!
Youngblood hauls Max up again, but this time he holds him there, nose to nose. A thin line of blood still trickling from where Kael took his pound of flesh earlier. Brandon snarls something at Max that the cameras donât pick up, but whatever it is wipes the smile clean off the Black Heartâs face.
Richard Parker: Maybe donât antagonize the guy who eats people, Brandon!
Kael fires a desperate palm strike that catches Youngblood on the jaw â but the Diamond barely flinches. He shakes his head slowly, almost disappointed, then wraps his arms around Maxâs shoulders and drops his head down.
And then he SCREAMS!
Richard Parker: What did I just say!?
Youngblood raises his arms in shock as Max smiles, wiping his lips, and then shoves Brandonâs head down, hooks the arms, and WEAPON OF MAX DESTRUCTION!
Richard Parker: Diamonds may be unbreakable, Nick, but Youngbloodâs neck isnât!
Nick Stuart: Max with the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THR- NO! KICKOUT!
Nick Stuart: Youngblood rolls backwards and Max canât maintain a grip on his opponentâs forearms!
Both fighters step apart, creating distance as Youngblood rubs his arm, eyes burning a hole through Max Kael who smiles and mimics picking food out of his teeth before his eyes dart over Youngbloodâs shoulder.
Suddenly, Max falls to the ground and is writhing in pain!
Nick Stuart: What the heck?
Richard Parker: Delayed trauma, Nick! Itâs a real thing! Look it up.
Nick Stuart: You know I wonât.
Youngblood rolls his eyes as Barlow goes to check on Max.
BOOOOOOO!
Nick Stuart: Oh for Christâs sake!
Cancer Jiles is already halfway down the ring by the time the crowd and announcers realize what is happening as PRIMEâs own COOLYMPIAN slides into the ring behind a distracted Youngblood!
Nick Stuart: Turn around! Turn around!
Richard Parker: Stay right there! Stay right there!
Too late.
CRACK!
With the sound of a splitting tree, Jiles connects his foot with the nape of Youngbloodâs neck â exactly where Max just attacked seconds ago, dropping the former Universal Champion to the mat in a heap.
Cancer rolls out of the ring before Youngblood can even hit the mat, which cues Max to suddenly kip to his feet. Healed.
Richard Parker: Thank God Max is OK! I was worried there for a second!
Nick Stuart: You need help.
As Ashley Barlow turns around, she sees the aftermath of Cancerâs attack, looking around for a reason why Youngblood is suddenly down and out but Jiles has already made his exit!
Max saunters over to Youngbloodâs motionless body and slowly, casually, lowers himself down for the pin â the crowd is furious!
BOOOOOOO!
A clearly frustrated Barlow drops to the mat and goes for the count.
Nick Stuart: Youngbloodâs return match canât end like this!
ONE!
TWO!
Richard Parker: Oh yes it can, Nick.
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Vince Howard: Your winnerâŚ. MAAAAAAAXXX WILLLLLHELMMMM KAAAAAAEL!
BOOOOO!
Max pops up, brushes his hands, and exits the ring with Snark Darkly in tow as Youngblood is only just now starting to come to with Ashley Barlow continuing to check on the Hall of Famer.
Nick Stuart: Cancer Jiles may have gotten revenge on Youngblood here tonight, but I think the King of Cool just signed his own death certificate here tonight.
Richard Parker: Canât argue with you there, Nick. And I wonât because we have a commercial to get to!
The house lights of Arena Coliseo blink out, as the spotlights drown the stage in red while the opening lyrics of âSmile For Himâ pierce the darkness.
##WHEN THE LIGHTS GO DOWNâŚ##
Tony Gamble steps out onto the stage, the newly won Alias title draped over his shoulder. Bathed in red and pelted with boos, the forever smile never fades. He pats the belt three times before making his way down the ramp. He ignores the insults from the members of the crowd at ringside, drunk with bravery from the safety of the barricade that separates them. Even the extended middle finger from the 9 year old girl in pigtails falls to bother him, because the aura he farmed by adding another championship win to his resume protects him like the warmth of a motherâs hug.
##CASHIN CHECKS FROM A HOSTILE CROWD##
He climbs the steps slowly, methodically making his way across the apron before stepping between the ropes without wiping his feet. He makes his way to the center of the ring, then lifts the title off his shoulder and straight up into the air. The boos from the crowd nearly drown out the music, but the final lyrics of the song are unmistakable as he turns to face each side of the ring for a few moments at a time.
##BET IT ALL ON THE GRIN##
Tony stands there as the music ends and the only thing left is the crowd, the confirmation of their disdain for him is uplifting. It feeds him like a newborn child nursing after a nap, strengthens him like the sun does the Man of Steel, and they are none the wiser. He finally drapes the title back over his shoulder and heads toward the ropes, motioning for a microphone with his hand as if he is already holding one. His wish is granted, and as he brings it to his lips while returning to the center of the ringâŚthe crowd gets louder.
He pauses, nodding in approval as they attempt to silence him. He lifts the microphone once more, and this time they start to stomp their feet as well.
Tony Gamble: IS THIS THE LOUDEST YOU CAN GET!?
Gamble doesnât care, in fact he encourages them to get louder.
Tony Gamble: COME ON, THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE GREAT ARENA COLISEO!
Surprisingly, the crowd gets louder, and he can feel the ring shake a little beneath his feet from the stomps.
Tony Gamble: Iâm really disappointed in you all, but then what should I expect from Americaâs toilet.
Drinks and snacks start getting thrown toward the ring after that comment. Tony kicks a hot dog drowned in ketchup away from his feet, hoping security can keep Crash from running out here and eating it off the floor.
Tony Gamble: I almost didnât make it out here. The stench of poverty made my stomach churn the moment I stepped off the plane, but I fought through it because there was no way I was going to deprive you people of seeing what greatness truly looks like. I cupped my hands around my nose and just inhaled success, and I immediately felt so much better.
Seeing that they could not stop him from continuing, the boos get softer and the foot stomping comes to an end.
Tony Gamble: Iâm not going to stand here and say that winning this title was a hard thing to do, because when you look at who my opponents were and the type of stipulation Steve had chosenâŚwell, lets just say I want to commend him on what fight he did put up, but the ending felt inevitable.
He lifts the title into the air once more.
Tony Gamble: At Eighty Two I became the first ever three time Alias champion, but that wasnât the only record broken that night. No, you see, by winning this championship I have now had more title reigns than anyone else in PRIME.
He returns the title to the comfort of his shoulder.
Tony Gamble: So I thought to myself, what match stipulation could I give this title to return it to its former glory. What could I do to prove that taking this title from me meant you did your best, and truly earned the right to say you beat the GREATEST GAMBLE OF ALL TIME!!!
He pauses, taking a moment to let those words soak in.
Tony Gamble: I decided it would be a submission match, where the only way you can win is to make me submit or pass out from the pain. Because if you donât, I guarantee the last thing youâre going to do isâŚ
A brief pause as the lights go out.
Tony Gamble: âŚSMILE FOR ME!
His entrance music hits once more, as the arena is bathed in red. Tony tosses the mic on the mat before dropping, then rolling out of the ring.
Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is for the Intense Championship! Introducing first, the challengerâŚ
âSatori Part IIâ by Flower Travellinâ Band begins to play through the arena as the lights dim and dharmachakras of various colors swirl over the crowd.
Vince Howard: Hailing from Joshua Tree, California and weighing in two hundred and one pounds⌠He is⌠Saaaaaaaaaaaaaage PON-Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiifff!!!
Pontiff emerges through the curtain and begins the walk to ringside, moving like the remnants of a half-remembered dream as the music begins to build. He vaults up onto the apron and steps through the ropes, allowing himself to move in time with the sound of his theme before settling into position in the corner.
Vince Howard: And his opponentâŚ
The arenaâs lights fade to black momentarily before exploding in a pyrotechnic display of orange and teal fireworks. Some good old fashioned white ones are thrown in for good measure.
âWOO HOOâ
âSong 2â by Blur blasts through the PA, the homage to the glory days of the early 2000s serenading the crowd to sing along. Out steps Bryan Dawkins, clad in his signature white sunglasses with orange and teal lenses and flashing a little smirk to the PRIME faithful.
Vince Howard: Hailing from Hilo, Hawaii and weighing in tonight at two-hundred and thirty-two pounds⌠He is the defending Intense ChampionâŚ
He slowly makes his way down the ramp, offering a fist bump or high five to the occasional young fan along the way, before picking a young fan at ringside who gets to be the lucky recipient of an official pair of Bruhâs sunglasses. After blessing the kid with new shades and offering a fist bump, he slides into the ring and hops to the near turnbuckle to raise both fists to the air and follow it up with a flash of the Shaka.
Vince Howard: Bryaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan DAW-Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiins!!!
He repeats this ritual three more times, making sure that each corner of the PRIME universe gets a glimpse of the Bruh, before hopping down and assuming a fight-ready position in his designated corner.
DING DING
As soon as the bell sounds, Pontiff offers a namaste gesture to Dawkins, then spreads his hands slowly in a palms up gesture towards the Bruhâs battered body. This, accompanied by a wicked grin, sends a clear signal that this is anything but a gesture of peace.
For his part, Dawkins wastes no time in getting the match started. He moves in and grabs Sage in a hard collar-and-elbow, using his momentum to drive Pontiff back into the corner. Before referee Elvis Nixon can force a break, the Intense Champion puts his hands up and slowly starts to back away.
The move is a feint. No sooner does Nixon slam on the brakes does Dawkins fire off a hard body shot to the cornered Pontiff. This is followed by a forearm strike, and then a second that lands all the harder, as if the champion is trying to beat the smirk off of Sageâs face. The champion pulls the challenger out of the corner and right into a short-arm clothesline.
Pontiff doesnât stay down for long. He bounds right up to his feet. The Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience ducks under another lock-up attempt by Dawkins, springboards up to the second rope, and then corkscrews back towards his opponent in a move an awkward body press.
Nick Stuart: Pontiff trying to get some momentum, and thereâs Dawkins with the counter!
The Bruh-turned-communist-defector-turned-Bruh uses Pontiffâs own momentum against him, torquing his own body and bringing the challenger down with a snap powerslam.
Nick Stuart: The champion with the cover!
1
Richard Parker: Heâs got to be insane to think that this is going to beat Pontiff.
2
Nick Stuart: And the challenger with an easy kickout at two.
Richard Parker: Of course, the pineapple dork decided to make an enemy of Ivan Stanislav and the entire Red Army, so Dawkinsâ sanity was already pretty questionable.
Nick Stuart: The champion made his intentions pretty clear, Richard. Itâs no wonder why he decided to strike out on his own again.
Richard Parker: The man needs a grippy sock vacation, Nick. Maybe heâll take the hint the next time Ivan sends him to the ER.
Despite the kickout, Dawkins maintains his grip on Pontiff. He shifts his weight, establishes his base, and turns a front facelock into a heavy vertical suplex attempt. The challenger tries to counter with elbows, but Dawkins breaks his grip and lunges in with a headbutt that sends Sage stumbling.
With a little space between them and his opponent reeling, Dawkins measures his opponent to try and finish this one early.
Nick Stuart: Dawkins has the challenger lined upâŚ
The champion moves in, looking for that patented pump kick, but things do not go according to plan.
Nick Stuart: And the knee buckles! Dawkins planted on his left foot, and it looked like his knee was about to give out there, Richard.
Richard Parker: I donât think thatâs a knee issue, Nick. I think itâs more a case of general traction.
Nick Stuart: A case of what now?
Richard Parker: Iâm just saying that if Dawkins was wearing the grippy socks that maybe he wouldnât have missed.
Nick Stuart: He didnât miss, Richard. His knee buckled. Thereâs a difference.
Richard Parker: All the more reason to take a nice, long vacation. Preferably to a place where the brainworms that caused him to leave the Red Army can be removed.
Pontiff doesnât waste any time in trying to capitalize. Elvis Nixon moves over to check on the champion, who is currently testing his knee to make sure he can put weight on it, and Pontiff uses the distraction to build up a little speed and throw a nasty chop block that brings the Bruh right down to the mat.
Richard Parker: Not sure why Elvis is so upset about that. Iâm pretty sure that was a legal move.
Nick Stuart: Probably because he was trying to make sure that the champion wasnât injured.
Richard Parker: Itâs the Intense Championship, Nick. You donât win this title by kissing. You win by beating the hell out of your opponent. Kissing would be a very different belt.
Nick Stuart: UmmâŚ
Richard Parker: And whatever that belt would be, someone should book Colton and FLAMBERGE for it right away.
They really should.
Nick Stuart: UMMMâŚ
Shut up, Nick, you let me have this!
Dawkins manages to get back to his feet, but Pontiff picks the leg immediately and snaps him back to the ground with a dragon screw. The challenger follows up with a series of stomps to the injured knee, but Dawkins is able to make his way to the ropes to temporarily break the offense.
Richard Parker: Do you know what would help the champion right now?
Nick Stuart: No, and Iâm not sure I care, but I know youâre going to tell me anyway.
Richard Parker: A bunch of people outside the ring to make sure that his ass is covered.
Nick Stuart: Way to make my point for me.
Richard Parker: Like imagine if there was one really big dude⌠like seven feet tall, maybe four hundred poundsâŚ
Nick Stuart: Okay, I see where this is going.
Richard Parker: âŚwhoâs built like a bear and whose arms might as well be their own space program given how many people he can yeet right out of PRIME. Did you know that Ivan invented the word âyeetâ? I learned that recently and thought it was pretty cool.
Nick Stuart: He did NOT invent the word âyeetâ.
Richard Parker: You sure? Because I read an old copy of Think Red, andâŚ
There is an audible click as Richardâs mic is temporarily cut off.
Meanwhile, back in the ring, Dawkins is using the ropes to pull himself up to his feet, but heâs not yet willing to put any weight on his left leg. Pontiff, whose grin has exploded into a malignant smile, builds up some steam and throws his entire body like a cannonball into Dawkinsâ wounded knee.
Richard Parker: Not cool, Nick. Not cool at all.
Nick Stuart: I regret nothing.
Dawkins collapses, and his instinct is to try and roll out of the ring, but heâs cut off by the challenger. Pontiff grabs him by the ankle and drags him towards the center of the ring before turning the champion over in a single leg crab.
Nick Stuart: Single leg crab by Pontiff, and Dawkins has nowhere to go.
Richard Parker: Thatâs a cangrejo de uno leggo for our Spanish-speaking fans.
Nick Stuart: âŚ
Richard Parker: What?
Nick Stuart: Never do that again.
Pontiff cranks the hold back to the point where he almost topples over onto the mat, but he manages to maintain his balance. Dawkins fights back as he digs his fingers into the mat to try and pull himself towards the ropes, but before he can get there Pontiff readjusts and drags him back closer to the center.
Richard Parker: Be honest though⌠Youâre surprised I know the word for crab.
Nick Stuart: Iâll be even more surprised if youâre not given at least a written warning about cultural sensitivity.
Richard Parker: I could have said crabbo.
Nick Stuart: You could have also said nothing. Nothing would have been fine.
Richard Parker: Meh.
Dawkins once again manages to pull himself towards the ropes. This time, instead of trying to drain more of the championâs energy, Pontiff grabs Dawkins by the ankle and begins lifting and spiking the injured knee into the canvas over and over. Not content with the damage done so far, Pontiff executes an inside springboard â almost slipping on the top rope â and connects with a twisting senton to the back of Dawkinsâ legs.
Nick Stuart: Sage Pontiff putting his own body on the line to try and bring the punishment to Dawkins, and you can tell by the expression on his face that move took its toll on him as well.
Richard Parker: That is⌠not the vibe I get from the way Pontiff looks right now, Nick. This is the expression of a man who just freebased ayahuasca and talked to god.
Nick Stuart: Do you even know what ayahuasca is?
Richard Parker: Nope!
Nick Stuart: And⌠freebasing?
Richard Parker: No idea!
Nick Stuart: So just making things up as you go, then.
Richard Parker: You know it!
Nick Stuart: Well, that clears up nothing. Thanks for that, Richard.
Richard Parker: I aim to please.
Pontiff is first to his feet, and when Dawkins makes it to a seated position the challenger catches him with a low Namaste mule kick that lands flush on the championâs jaw.
Nick Stuart: Now itâs Pontiff with the cover!
Richard Parker: And for the fans at home this is a smart cover, unlike earlier, because this is how you wear down a man when you have a man to wear down.
1
Nick Stuart: I know I say this every week, but please stop talking.
2
Richard Parker: Shanât.
Dawkins manages to get his shoulder up, but the challenger continues to press the advantage. While Dawkins begins to rise, Pontiff hits the ropes to get some momentum, measuring his opponent to possibly connect with a Cosmic Resonator.
Nick Stuart: OOOOHHH!!!
But heâs cut down mid-run by a surprise lariat by the champion. The Bruh pulls Sage up quickly, grabs him in a waistlock, but then pauses for a minute before landing a belly-to-belly suplex.
Nick Stuart: Richard, I donât know if you caught it, but Dawkins had to change up his rotation on that suplex just now. Normally heâd plant on his left foot to take Pontiff over, but because of the damage to his knee he was forced to move in the opposite direction.
Richard Parker: Cool I guess?
Nick Stuart: Iâm not sure that he was able to get all of it as a result.
Richard Parker: Well, if he had the grippy socks then he wouldnât have stumbled. You know, because theyâre so grippy.
Nick Stuart: I thought we were past this.
Richard Parker: You thought YOU were past this. I have just begun.
Nick Stuart: Hate that for me.
The champion gets to his feet first, flexing his knee to test it for stability. One hand reflexively moves to his core, where his taped ribs are smarting from the pivot on the last suplex. Seeing this, Pontiff charges in to try and regain the advantage, but the Bruh scoops him up, pivots â again on his right foot â and spikes the challenger down with a spinebuster. Pontiff rolls outside to create some distance between the two men, and Dawkins is quick to follow.
Nick Stuart: Not sure if this is the best idea, Richard. A fight outside the ring is sure to favor Sage Pontiff.
Richard Parker: If I bring up the point from earlier about how that wouldnât be the case if Dawkins had, oh, I dunno, the entire Red Army out there with him, would it make you mad?
Nick Stuart: Mad? No.
Richard Parker: Good to know.
Nick Stuart: Moderately annoyed? Yes.
Richard Parker: Hrm. I can work with that.
No sooner do Dawkins feet hit the floor is he clobbered with a running koppo kick. The strike itself is messy, but it sends the champion into the nearby ring stairs.
Richard Parker: For the record, you donât get to say âI told you so.â
Nick Stuart: And why not?
Richard Parker: Look, just because you said the thing about Sage getting an advantage first doesnât mean we werenât all thinking it.
Nick Stuart: Whoâs âweâ?
Richard Parker: The royal we.
Nick Stuart: Ah.
Richard Parker: Also the Spanish announce team.
All of whom wave to Nick, but only the fans in attendance can see it. The cameras are still focused on the action on the floor.
Fresh off his counterattack, Pontiff grabs Dawkins by the ankle and slams his leg against the lower ring supports, then follows with another Namaste, this one designed to spike Dawkinsâ knee against the ring post. Unable to defend himself, Dawkins is powerless as Pontiff positions the ring steps so that the championâs leg is trapped between them and the ring.
Nick Stuart: No, dammit! This is a manâs career that weâre talking about.
Richard Parker: Honestly, Sage would be doing him a favor, because the alternative is âmurdered to death by Russians.â
Nick Stuart: What murder doesnât result in death?!
Richard Parker: I can think of one. I believe the French call it âla petite mort.â
Nick Stuart: I am not asking what that means.
Good call, Nick. Also donât google it on a work computer.
Pontiff gets a running start and once again tries to cannonball his body into his opponent, but Dawkins is able to get his leg free at the last moment, and this time Sage is sent flying into the unforgiving steel.
Elvis Nixon is letting all of this play out without trying to intervene. Intense Title matches, yâall. Sometimes the rules get a little relaxed.
Nick Stuart: Sage Pontiff could have ended Bryan Dawkinsâ career, but instead he crashes and burns against the ring steps!
Richard Parker: Crash and Burn?! Where?! Donât let Charles Beckett near the coffee!!
Nick Stuart: Itâs a figure of speech, RIchard.
Richard Parker: No, itâs just good advice.
Nick Stuart: âŚ
Dawkins, now limping a bit, pulls Pontiff to his feet and then sends him right back to the floor with an overhead suplex on the outside. The Bodhisattva lands on the ground with a wet smack of sweat soaked skin against the padding, but Dawkins doesnât relent. He pulls Pontiff back up to his feet and hurls him into the ringside barricade.
Nick Stuart: Both men out here in front of â WATCH OUT!
Dawkins pulls Pontiff up and attempts to powerbomb him through the announce desk, but his knee gives out before he can get Sage fully up and Pontiff is able to slip free. Despite the damage heâs recently taken, Pontiff connects with a wheel kick, and then hops up onto the ring apron. He rings the length of it and launches himself like a missile, driving his knees into Dawkinsâ chest with a meteora that sends the champion flying into the barricade.
Nick Stuart: Fans, Iâm sorry for my outburst, but for a moment there it looked like Richard and I were about to become collateral damage in this match.
Richard Parker: You were about to become collateral damage.
Nick Stuart: What?
Richard Parker: Iâm immune to ringside violence because everyone loves me.
Nick Stuart: Everyone⌠what?
Richard Parker: No one denies this, Nick. No one denies this.
Pontiff rolls Dawkins back into the ring, then heads to the corner and begins ascending the ropes.
Nick Stuart: Pontiff to the sky looking for the Electric Feel!!
He leaps. Twists.
Nick Stuart: NO!!
And crashes onto the mat as Dawkins rolls out of the way.
Richard Parker: Well⌠shit.
Dawkins quickly slides into position looking to put this one away and locks in the Dâarce choke.
Nick Stuart: Bryan Dawkins has that submission locked in and heâs not letting go!
Pontiff struggles, trying to find a way out of the hold, but every time he manages to get close enough to the ropes to extend a limb and break the hold Dawkins rolls the two back towards the center.
Richard Parker: This is illegal. This is a travesty. This isâŚ
Nick Stuart: Yes?
Richard Parker: UmmmâŚ
Nick Stuart: Go on.
Richard Parker: Shenanigans!
Elvis Nixon raises Sageâs arm, checking to make sure he can continue, but when it falls limply to the mat thereâs only one thing he can do.
Elvis Nixon: Thatâs it! Ring the bell!
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: Thatâs it! Thatâs it! Bryan Dawkins has survived the always-dangerous Sage Pontiff and scores his first defense of the Intense Championship here tonight!
Richard Parker: And for his troubles do you know what he gets?
Nick Stuart: I swear to god if the words âgrippy socksâ come out of your mouth againâŚ
Richard Parker: Would you rather I say sticky toes?
Nick Stuart: âŚ
Richard Parker: âŚ
Nick Stuart: âŚ
Richard Parker: Okay, yeah, that was NOT the play.
Inside the ring Dawkins pushes himself up to his feet and celebrates with the title held high overhead, as a dejected Pontiff begins to make his way back up the ramp.
Richard Parker: Maybe we should, like, cut to something else? You know, before everyone starts thinking about what I just said and it gets real awkward?
Nick Stuart: Or we could just let you stew in it.
Richard Parker: Nicholas Stuart, how very dare you!
Fortunately for Richard, we do in fact fade elsewhere.
Backstage, Lindsay Troy is sitting behind her desk. A knock comes on the Steel Door OâDoom, but before she even has a chance to look up from the papers on her desk, the handle is turning, and the door is opening. Her eyebrow shoots up in annoyance that someone is choosing to open the door without approval, but she isnât surprised once she sees her brother-in-lawâs face appear.
Dan Ryan holds in place for a moment, with only his head visible.
Dan Ryan: Nice office. Nice desk.
Lindsay Troy: Thanks for knocking.
Dan Ryan: I believe in good manners.
She makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a âriiiiiiightâ as he pushes himself the rest of the way in and looks around her office.
Dan Ryan: I do like what youâve done with the place, though. And by place, donât mean your office. I mean PRIME. Itâs a hell of a machine youâre running here. Very impressive.
Lindsay Troy: If you were in the mood to give a âdaddyâs proud of youâ speech, youâre not my father, and Cecilia isnât here tonight.
Dan shrugs.
Dan Ryan: Fair enough. I know I sprung the whole âlast matchâ thing on you, and your âDan is gonna screw me over somehowâ antennas are probably sticking straight up, so I thought Iâd swing by and we could talk about it for a few minutes before I go out and find myself some questionable Mexican food.
The Queen leans back on her belt throne and relaxes, just a bit.
Lindsay Troy: Some notice mightâve been nice, yâknow.
Dan Ryan: I know, but I was going for dramatic effect. Actually, I wasnât entirely sure your audience would care if I showed up in a PRIME ring to make that announcement, so it was nice to get the reception that I did. Iâve managed to mill around backstage a little bit, caught up with some old faces, meeting some new ones. Stayed away from that Russian, though. My shoulder still hurts anytime I just think about Rocky 4. Thanks for having my back for that match, by the way.
He looks at her directly, and her face softens into a smirk for a moment.
Lindsay Troy: Someone has to keep Alexei Ruslan in check.
He smirks back, nodding a bit, then the expression fades away.
Dan Ryan: Lindsay, hereâs the thing⌠Everyone knows my past, your past⌠our past. I want to be clear here. Iâm not looking to get a leg up on you in any way. Iâm not planning some sort of switcheroo or fake out. That match with Ivan proved something to me that Iâve been pretty sure about for at least a year now. My time in the ring is coming to an end. I can still fight, but God knows the day after is becoming less and less worth it. I just want to call my shot while Iâm still healthy enough to do so, and it took me about half a second to decide I wanted to go out with you there in the ring with me. I know I said it during my announcement. But I mean it. No tricks. This matters to me. Itâs important. Youâre family, always will be. I know you donât like talking about pesky things like âfeelings,â so Iâll leave it at that. I just wanted to come in here and say it to you face-to-face.
Lindsay Troy: (sarcastically) Yes, Iâm the one who doesnât like to talk about âfeelings.â
She considers his words for a moment before continuing.
Lindsay Troy: Hmm. Family or not, I think I know enough to know that Iâll believe all this when I see it. But if youâre serious, and this retirement is really it for you, for really real this time, no takesie-backsies, then maybe after Culture Shock, you and I can meet up in my Vegas office and talk about what life looks like for Dan Ryan in PRIME after the ring.
He nods his head; his expression stays neutral. His eyes wander a bit, looking around the room.
Dan Ryan: I donât mind that. I earned my reputation. I wonât back away from it. Everyone changes eventually, though. If I were the same person I was even a few years ago, I would have wasted my time. I donât think I recognize that dude anymore. All the more reason to know itâs time to walk away, let the younger ones do it. I wonât miss the aches and pains. Iâll miss everything else, but I wonât miss that.
Lindsay Troy: Alright, well, go get that Mexican food. You could run into some gastric distress, and Iâd really hate for you to miss that.
Dan smiles and turns to go, but stops before reaching the door.
Dan Ryan: I rented a place out in the hills outside the city for the next month if you and Wade feel like stopping by. Itâs your standard basic overpriced villa with infinity pools, too many televisions, a staff, an elevator, and a big gaudy iron gate that keeps the riff raff out. Thereâs also a single guest suite all decked in pink. Thatâll be your room if you decide to come out. Actually, thereâs not, but I can paint it if you like. Iâm not planning on getting my security deposit back anyway.
Lindsay Troy: (shaking her head) Weâll try to stop by. Sounds just like Wadeâs style.
Dan gives her a little wink and a point, then disappears back through the door. Lindsay looks back down and starts reading again.
Lindsay Troy: (to herself) I do like pink, thoughâŚ
Donât worry everyone the Clownfish toking newly promoted manager Jack Marley is roaming the backstage area with a determined red eyed look on his face. Ok, sorry, I am not exactly sure what a determined look on his face looks like. He sure looked like a maniac when we was snapping Toddrickâs leg brace, but after a long sesh with a recycling box, a water color, and a gas mask everything ended up in a haze. But hey, we are all mature right? Heh, nah.
Jack stops in front of a door and nods his head and without knocking, opens the door. Inside is the Mustached God Hayes Hanlon, The Jolf Legend Joe Fontaine, The Enlightened Lizard Man FLAMBERGE, and That Minotaur Owning World Champion crazy Brit Cecilworth Farthington. fabby is in the corner protecting the Glue awards, even if you knowâŚeverything probably needs to be protected from him.
They all turn and just stare at Jack who was obviously not invited to enter the Glue Club.
Jack Marley: GLUEDAY TO YOU!
Silence.
Jack Marley: Friends, glueminati, countrymen, lend me your ears. I am not sure if you have heard, my mons, but my dear friend Steve Harrison is still missing!
Jack pauses and his eyes seem to gloss over.
Jack Marley: I still have nightmares about that day. (Laughs awkwardly) Nothing a little jolf with the high-ron wonât fix, right?
Cecilworth looks to the rest of his Gluemates and ponders this situation.
Cecilworth Farthington: FLAMBO, this isnât you right? I mean, it seems like you but it also doesnât seem like you at the same time!
FLAMBERGE: Ouais, look, I get it. When it was Zapp, sure, it was me. When it was Rose? Sure, it was me. But this time â non non. Steve, he is in the glue orbit. The glorbit. And I would never do anything to hurt anyone in the glorbit.
His are hidden behind yellow plastic sunglasses, so unfortunately, we donât have any clue on how heâs blinking right now as he tries to sound Legit As Hell Not The Primary Suspect, Seriously You Guys. Farthington pauses in his own thoughts.
Cecilworth Farthington: Wait, why did you come here, Jack? Thereâs a list of people Harrison probably pissed off with counterfeit goods but he was only a benefit to Glue. Like he was more or less Glue-adjacent.
You can see Farthingtonâs eyes roll back into his head as if two different train thoughts were colliding into him at the same time.
FLAMBERGE: Adjace-glue?
Cecilworth Farthington: Glue-jacent.
Farthington looks at Jack once more, trying to comprehend this suggestion.
Cecilworth Farthington: So you come in here to tell us that our Gluejacent friend is in danger and you dilly dally asking us instead of dawning a deerstalker and Sherlock Holmesing this shit? That is shameful behavior, Jack.
Jack blinks.
Blinks.
Blinks.
Rubs his eyes.
Jack Marley: Oh, I am definitely on the case butâŚuhâŚI have some complications, you know?
Jack stares into space again as his eyes gloss over.
Jack Marley: THE BLOOD! THE BLOOD! (He shakes his head and then smiles again and continues) I more was hoping yall could keep an eye out for him or hook a new PRIME wrestler up with some sweet sweet edibles to help me go deep into my inner well of knowledge.
Farthington stares at Jack.
Cecilworth Farthington: Jack, weâre a SOLVENTS business. Well weâre a wrestling business but we have a solvents side hustle. This is not an edibles room. Does Hayes Hanlon strike you as an edibles fella?
The Marley Man looks at Hanlon and the sheer annoyance showing on Hayes face makes Jack drop his eyes and he shakes his head no towards the champ.
Jack Marley: No, Sir Farthington.
Farthington looks at Jack with a âyes, this is my name, continueâŚâ facial expression.
Jack Marley: Sorry, just been going through a lot and not been sleeping much, mon.
Farthington gives a smile at the âmonâ in a âah, yeah, we owned that island, do we still own that?â way. FLAMBERGE stands up with a shot.
FLAMBERGE: IT WAS NOT ME, JACK MARLEY.
The Frenchman looks around the room and sees only confused faces, a sort of âyeah, we obviously heard you beforeâ confusion.
FLAMBERGE: I would never, not ever, not in the million years, EVER, do any harm to ANY PERSON in the Extended Cinematic Glueniverse, dâaccord? Have I brawled with Brandon Youngblood at a press conference, yes. Have I beaten the ass of Ate Olto in many parking lots and hallways to both of our detriments? Sure. Would I choke out Steve Harrison or anyone in this room if I thought they really deserved it? Without hesitation.
Jack and the Glue Boiz all raise an eyebrow at this.
FLAMBERGE: That is all.
He sits back down.
Jack blinks again, but they have become slower as if any second he could pass out. He rubs his eyes and nods at FLAMBERGE even though he looks a little confused at what he had just heard. He sighs and then turns to walk out the door.
Jack Marley: Good luck, champ and good talking to all of you Gluemaniacs! Let me know if you see anything or hear anythingâŚI know itâs a long shot, monâŚbut it isnât like I have anyone else to ask outside (he pauses and gulps) The Octopus.
He puts his head down and then turns and looks at fabby.
Jack Marley: You owe me a hotdog still!
He gets to the door and heads out as The Glue just watches him go and fabby looking worried about having to buy a hotdog.
âStranger Fruitâ by Zeal & Ardor blasts through the arena to a chorus of cheers. Scott Hunter and Clay Byrd step through the stage as pink sparks circle the arena.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is for the PRIME Tag Team Championships! Introducing first, the challengersâŚat a combined weight of five hundred and forty poundsâŚrepresenting VAEEEEE VICTISâŚTHE SCOTTSTER, SCOTT HUNTERâŚAND THE COWBOYYYYYY COLOSSUS! CLAYYYYY BYYYYYYRD!
Both men are pretty surrious in their expressions if weâre being honest, shoulder to shoulder, all business. Clay acknowledges the positive fan reaction and pumps up the crowd a bit as Scott climbs the ring steps.
Nick Stuart: Itâs a bit of an unusual combination tonight, partner â normally when Scott Hunterâs in a tag team match, itâs with his fellow VVingman, Kerry Kuroyama.
Richard Parker: Well thatâs just about as perfect of a segue as you could have given me, partner, because to that point, neither Kerry Kuroyama nor Ami Troy are here tonight. Something about Kerryâs head being turned to goo by that belt shot from Rob Williams last ReVival, I hear.
Nick Stuart: I wouldnât be so cavalier with a wrestlerâs health, but yes, we are all wishing Kerry a swift recovery. Tonight, Clay Byrd steps into the tag team arena and the belts are on the line.
Richard Parker: And last time we saw HIM tag with a Vae Victis teammate, it was with Henry Keyes! I tell ya, I donât know that I like this teamâs composition, but Vae Victis has earned a tag title shot and these are the men who will compete for the belts tonight.
âPussy Controlâ by Prince blasts through the arena speakers as purple pyro shoots out around the stage. A huge chorus of boos roars down from the crowd.
Vince Howard: And their opponentsâŚat a combined weight of five hundred and thirty poundsâŚrepresenting THE POOOOOOOR WHOOOOOOREEEESMENâŚPRIME FIVE STAR CHAMPION, ROOOOOOOB WILLLIAMSâŚAND THE RHINESTONE LUCHADOR, DAYTOOOOOOONIOOOOO DIAMANAAAAATESSSSS!!!
Both men have belts over shoulders, Rob notably with two to Daytonioâs one. Diamantes is a-whoopinâ and a-hollerinâ as boos shower down all around them. Heâs a ball of energy, amped and juiced to the gills. Also, rhinestone mask, canât forget that.
Daytonio Diamantes: WOOOOO, YOU BOYS LIKE MEX-EE-CO? YEEEEE HAWWWWW!
Rob, serious and scowling as ever, marches towards the ring and locks eyes with Clay Byrd.
Behind them, the ever-enigmatic Anna Daniels, the Street Cat Fred Dick, and Toddrick and Miguel of the Lasagna Boys are keeping things nice and unclassy behind the tag champs. So many taunts, so many naughty unprintable words. Theyâre at risk of a pissed off fan or two hopping the rail and jumping them, which of course they love.
Nick Stuart: The Poor Whoresmen, always dangerous, always coming for their opponents with numbers. A united front.
Richard Parker: The Five Star title match last ReVival turned into absolute chaos, and no doubt the Whoresmen would be just fine if history repeats itself tonight. They LIVE in chaos.
Both teams have made it to their corners and Referee Jimmy Turnbull holds the tag team championships high in the air before signaling for the bell!
DING DING
Nick Stuart: The tag team championships are on the line and there is no love between these two factions! Here we go!
Scott Hunter is in the ring for the challengers, and heâs got a very serious look on his face. Daytonio Diamantes starts things off for the champions as Rob Williams confers with Anna, Fred, and the Lasagna Boys, who are all outside the ring in the Whoresmen corner.
Scott aggressively charges towards Daytonio and immediately engages him with a tight collar-and elbow, looking to muscle him into a corner. Diamantes is caught off guard for a moment, but only a brief one, and soon his chemically-assisted muscles give him the advantage. He transitions to a side headlock and starts throwing heavy punches into Scottâs midsection. As he dramatically winds up for a real doozy of a punch, Scott breaks out of the headlock and reverses into a rear hammerlock! Scott reaches over, wraps Daytonioâs neck, and plants him with a standing neckbreaker!
Scott tries to follow up, but Daytonio grabs a handful of mullet and yanks to gain advantage. Diamantes peppers in a couple stiff knife edge chops, backing Hunter into the Whoresmen corner, and Rob Williams blind-tags in. Diamantes throws a few shoulder tackles straight into Hunterâs abdomen as Jimmy Turnbull starts the five count. He makes it all the way to four before Diamantes finally disengages, and the two get into a big of an argument, Diamantes saying heâs abiding by the letter of the law. As they argue, Toddrick hops to the apron and pulls back on Hunterâs hair some more, allowing Rob to throw in some big boots to the guts.
Nick Stuart: And to the shock of no one, the Whoresmen are fighting dirty. They have a notable numbers advantage tonight.
Richard Parker: Thatâs right, Kerry Kuroyamaâs not here tonight, he and Ami Troy arenât in town. Itâs just Byrd and Hunter out there, two on SIX, really. And to the Whoresmenâs credit â why NOT use every tool you got? Titles are on the line!
Toddrick releases his grab before Turnbull can see it. Scottâs in pain, and he looks pissed about it. Rob Williams scoops up Hunter and looks for the Brainbuster â and it connects! He hooks the near leg!
ONE!TWO! HUNTER WITH THE SHOULDER UP! He sits up with a burst of energy!
Williams goes for a right hand â Hunter catches it, and throws a stiff-as-shit HEADBUTT!
CLONK
Nick Stuart: Oh man, that one hurt to WATCH!
Richard Parker: Both guys are gonna feel that one tomorrow!
Hunter shakes his head and the fire is still there in his eyes. A lump is immediately starting to form on Williamâs forehead. He throws a dazed left to Scott, who ducks and swings his head again.
CLONK
Rob is dropped to a knee, and Scott essentially shoves Rob into the ropes with his boot, tangling him up. He begins to throw a bunch of stomps into Williams, and itâs become his turn to receive Jimmy Turnbullâs five count. Clay Byrd shouts something at Scott, snapping him out of blind rage mode and stopping the count at three.
Nick Stuart: A little wild to see this out of Scott Hunter â a more violent and aggressive side!
Richard Parker: Look at him â even heâs a little surprised, I think.
Clay motions to Scott to âtake it easyâ and reaches his arm over the ropes, offering to tag in. Scott doesnât go for his corner at first â he taps his fingers to his hairline checking for blood, thankfully finding none. He hears the Lasagna Boys from the far corner practically cat-calling him, which draws his attention and anger. Clay shouts back at him, and Scott angrily begins making his way to the VV corner â only to be stopped by Rob Williams! Hunterâs eyes go wide as heâs thrown across the ring!
Nick Stuart: German Suplex from Rob Williams!
Williams shakes the cobwebs out a bit, touching his own forehead â there might be a little red there, and definitely some quail egg-sized lumps. He angrily stomps towards Hunter and in a fluid, technically satisfying motion worthy of the Five Star Title, he swings Hunter up and plants him back down with a hellacious Powerbomb!
Rob drags Hunter by the boot into the Whoresmen corner once again. Byrd is not happy with this and he makes like heâs going to step into the ring to stop this bullshit, to which Turnbull puts the kibosh. While the ref is distracted, Miguel hops onto the apron and begins climbing the ropes â it looks like heâs going to try to do something cool, but his feet get fully tangled beneath him and he ends up just flopping over the top rope onto Hunter â in another world, a highly effective Senton, but in this world, just an ugly crash and burn. Anna Daniels canât help but crack up at this as Fred goes to help the Lasagna Boy out of the ring.
Daytonio casually reaches his hand over the ropes and Rob loudly tags his partner in, which brings Turnbullâs attention back to the match. Hunter is in real trouble, on the ground and on the wrong end of this numbers game. Daytonio steps in, flexes an absurd amount, and gives Hunter a couple more stomps for good measure before peeling him off the mat. He flexes some more, and itâs a wonder the skin containing those biceps isnât fully exploding off of him.
He dramatically reaches back and locks Hunter in the goozle, looking perhaps for the Chattahoochee Chokeslam. He goes for the lift, but Scott fights it! Heâs making himself as heavy as possible and pulling against the goozle! Finally, Daytonioâs able to get him up! He struts around the ring for a few steps, holding Hunter high in the air, when suddenly Hunter throws down a clubbing forearm and breaks the hold! Daytonio stumbles, right into some 80âs babyface-style tenacious punches! He jabs and he jabs â and over time, they become late 90âs cool-heel-style ferocious bombs! With one final dramatic LARIATO, Daytonio is sent to the mat!
Clay calls out to his exhausted teammate. Scott nearly stumbles as the adrenaline wears off, but heâs able to fall forward and slap Byrdâs extended fingertips before splatting on the mat and rolling to the outside. The crowd erupts in cheers as Byrd comes charging in like a house of fire â he sees Rob, Fred, Miguel, and Toddrick standing on the apron and charges, both arms extended, absolutely clearing house and sending all three men toppling to the outside!
Richard Parker: Clay Byrd just wiped out all the auxiliaries!
Nick Stuart: Not all of them, partner!
Richard Parker: Huh??
Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels is â oh my God!
THUNK
Scott Hunter, who was trying to catch his breath while lying down on the apron in the VV corner, has suddenly splatted to the floor on the outside. On replay, we see that Anna Daniels pulled him off the apron by his feet and Scott fully has the wind knocked out of him from this unexpected landing on the ground. Anna tries to lay low, checking to make sure Jimmy Turnbullâs attention is focused on the legal men.
Richard Parker: Somebodyâs got to stop her!
Nick Stuart: Nevermind that â Clay Byrd has Daytonio up high! ELEVATED POWERBOMB! He hooks the far leg!ONE!TWO!THR-NOOO! Diamantes kicks out! Byrd smacks the mat in frustration and looks to his corner to check in on his teammate â only to find that heâs not there.
Clay isnât given much time to think on this before heâs on the wrong end of a running knee to the back of the neck from Diamantes! Daytonioâs firing up! Heâs boot scootinâ! Heâs boogieinâ! He charges â BIG BOOT SCOOTINâ BOOGIE!
Daytonio Diamantes: TA-DAHHHHH!
BOOOOOOOO!
Byrd is stunned on the mat. Daytonio takes a bit of space to recover and measures his man. As Byrd makes it to one foot, Daytonio runs towards the ropes, rebounds â SIX SHOOTER! Clay is rocked into the ropes! Clay bounces off â Daytonio goes for the quick goozle! HE LIFTS HIM UP!
Nick Stuart: NO WAY!
CHATTAHOOCHIE CHOKESLAM! That took EVERYTHING Diamantes had! Byrd is down, but so is Diamantes! Turnbull tries to get either man to get up, but theyâre both reeling! The ten count begins!
At 5, Diamantes is able to stir, roll, and army crawl over. He drapes an arm over Byrdâs chest!
Richard Parker: THIS COULD BE IT!ONE!TWO!THREENOOOOOO! Clay gets the shoulder up!
Both men are still gassed, though Daytonioâs doing a little better than Clay. Each one could use a tag. Rob has regained his composure after being knocked off the apron earlier and looks to tag in, reaching into the ring. Fred is shouting encouragement to his fellow Whoresmen. Toddrick and Miguel are still wiped out.
Meanwhile, Anna continues to lay low. She sees that Scottâs almost got his breath back, even if heâs still in a lot of pain on the floor. She tries to be absolutely, completely sure that Turnbullâs attention is fully on Byrd and Diamantes, and when sheâs sure the coast is clear, she pulls out a steel chair from beneath the apron and wraps it around Hunterâs right ankle.
Nick Stuart: Ah HELL, that damned Anna Daniels is at it again with that chair!
Richard Parker: She wiped out Ami Troy with a chair last ReVival, and it looks like sheâs the smartest Whoresman out here â she knows no one is going to stop her!
She stomps Scottâs abdomen a couple of times for good measure before hopping up to the ring apron. She takes several steps back, making it the ring post, for maximum momentum potential. Clay, groggy from the heavy offense heâs received, looks like heâs trying to tag in a ghost. Daytonio is right there, aaaaand makes the tag to Rob Williams.
Richard Parker: Thatâs it, itâs all over for Vae Victis â both the match, and Scott Hunterâs leg!
Rob snarls as he enters the ring. Anna locks eyes with Rob and the two nod. Anna returns her attention to Scott, and runs along the apron!
She leaps!
âŚ
THONK
And sheâs met with a steel chair to the body from someone in a black hoodie!!
Nick Stuart: WHAT? WHO??
Richard Parker: Someone just saved Scott Hunter!
Anna is writhing on the ground before getting met with two more chair shots to the back!
THONK
THONK
The hooded figure tosses the chair aside and goes to help free Scott Hunterâs leg. They get Scott up to his feet â Scott sees who it is and immediately beams. The figure lowers their hood.
A purple streak of hair. A huge pop.
Nick Stuart: ITâS AMI TROY! AMI TROY IS HERE AFTER ALL!
Richard Parker: IS NOTHING TRUE ANYMORE?!
Fred sees what just happened and freaks out. He goes to the fallen Miguel and Toddrick to stir them to their feet. Williams is enraged at what heâs seeing and stomps over to Clay. He shouts over to Fred and the Lasagna Boys to get off their asses as he tries to get Clay in piledriver positionâŚbut before he can execute, Clay roars out and sends Rob flying! Back body drop!
Clay still needs a tag, and Scott still isnât in his corner, and soon, Fred and the Lasagna Boys look to stand in opposition to Ami and Scott. And then, âBlouses Blueâ by Konrad OldMoney blasts out, and everyone freezes!
Nick Stuart: No way! Heâs here! The Emerald APEX!!
Richard Parker: IâVE BEEN LIED TO ONCE AGAIN!!
Kerry Kuroyama comes charging down the ramp! Miguel thinks heâs the man to take him down and eats a Yakuza kick! Toddrick tests his mettle and eats a Squall Line Lariat! Fred comes charging in with a lariat â Kerry ducks! KUROYAMA DRIVER II!
Nick Stuart: Kerry Kuroyama is clearing house!
Scott is up on his corner, and heâs finally able to tag into the match! He hurries in and lifts Rob Williams high in the air! The Legendâs feet are pointing to the lights! All the blood is rushing to his head at this delayed vertical suplex!
Diamantes sees whatâs going on and steps through the ropes to intervene â CLAY BYRD CUTS HIM IN HALF WITH A HELLACIOUS SPEAR! Scott Hunter plants Rob Williams with the suplex! He wastes no time grabbing the legs â he twists, he turns, he locks it in!
FIGURE FOUR LEG LOCK!
Richard Parker: THE MOVE SCOTT HUNTER INVENTED!
Nick Stuart: WILL WE HAVE NEW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS TONIGHT??
Ami Troy stands over Anna Daniels, Kerry Kuroyama stands over Fred and his boys, Clay Byrd stands over Daytonio Diamantes, and in the middle of the ring, Rob Williams is completely isolated. The double champ fights and squirms and wriggles and writhes and does everything he can to break free, or maneuver to the ropes, ANYTHING â but Scott Hunter is relentless. The rage in his eyes is absolute. He arches back and plants the top of his own head on the mat, bridging the Figure Four in an absolutely torturous way for Williams.
Williams looks to his corner to see if anyoneâs coming.
And then lightning shoots through his kneecap in a way heâs never felt before.
Heâs left with no choice but to tap out and save his leg. Jimmy Turnbull signals for the bell!
DING DING DING
âStranger Fruitâ blasts through the speakers as Clay, Kerry, and Ami make their way to join Scott in the middle of the ring!
Vince Howard: Here are your winners, AAAAAAND NEWWWWWWWW PRIME TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS! CLAY BYRD AND SCOTT HUNTERâŚVAEEEEEEE VIIIIIICTIIIIIIIIS!!
Nick Stuart: When it mattered the most, Vae Victis came together and evened the odds against the dirtiest faction in all of PRIME!
Richard Parker: Shocking result here tonight! Another landmark moment in this faction on faction rivalry!
The Whoresmen collectively gather to lick their wounds, pissed at the outcome, pissed at what they might call a sneak attack by Ami and Kerry. Vae Victis is absolutely thrilled in the ring, particularly Clay, Kerry, and AmiâŚScott, while obviously celebrating, still looks like he might be ready to punch a hole into someone.
Nick Stuart: Folks, we need to pay a few bills, but stay tuned for more of ReVival 83 right after this!
Richard Parker: Weâre back like flared jeans and a disastrously unregulated economy!
Nick Stuart: Only a few more pieces of business before the biggest prize in our sport is on the line, but my run sheet suggests that weâre about to see a face-to-face between two men who have plenty of familiarity with the aforementioned Universal Title.
Now that if that isnât a beautiful segue to the next sounds over the speakers, I donât know what is.
âI said âkiss me, youâre beautifulâ
These are truly the last days'â
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
The weathered voice from the beginning of Godspeed You! Black Emperorâs âDead Flag Bluesâ fades into the short acoustic section that begins Coheed & Cambriaâs âWelcome Home.â 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.
And on the PRIME*View, white across a black background:
M O D E L
C I T I Z E N
In the ring, the always dashing Angelica Brooks, in what can only be referred to as âDiane Sawyer chic.â
Atop the ramp, the even-more-always dashing Chandler Tsonda, for whom the recent ovation still thunders around Arena Coliseo.
Nick Stuart: Well, Richard, Chandler Tsonda was a hairâs breadth away from the Universal Title at Colossus, and then a hairâs breadth away from beating the man whoâs vying for that same title tonight. What do you think is running through his mind?
Richard Parker: Baited breath for the Heated Rivalry season two debut. On this, and only this, he and I are in agreement.
Tsonda daps up a few fans on his way down the aisle, then slides under the ring, and makes circles in the air with his hands: the universal sign for gimme some more.
TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA!
The Model Citizen offers a salute to the Mexico City faithful, then sidles up next to Angelica Brooks. Each has a microphone.
Angelica Brooks: Chandler, after a legendary hot streak in the second half of 2025, youâve been on the losing end of several high-profile matches in a row. Where does this leave you in the greater landscape of PRIME?
Chandler Tsonda: Not exactly covering myself in glory, am I? Lo siento for letting down everybody who rides with Olâ Chan. I wish it were different, and I wish I could tell you why it is that all of a sudden, I canât buy a bucket. If I knew why I was losing, Iâd, big shocker, stop doing it and win. Real brain genius stuff, I know.
The Model Citizen sucks his teeth. Does it ding the Tsonda allure to hear him let down his famously guarded, confidence-above-all manner?
Chandler Tsonda: I tell you what, Mexico City, thatâs about e-fucking-nough of that.
RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
If itâs a ding, it has yet to register with the faithful.
Angelica Brooks: Be that as it may, you had a bit of a cryptic conversation with Brandon Youngblood on ReVival 81. He was then at ringside for your match against Cancer Jiles two weeks ago, and even got involved. An objective third party might say he came to your aid when Jiles attempted to play dirty andâ
Chandler Tsonda: Thatâs what you think happened?
Angelica Brooks: Please, give us your version. It didnât seem like you were very pleased with Youngblood at matchâs end.
Chandler Tsonda: Youâll have to ask him about that.
Brooks stares back at the non-answer, every moment of her endurance of years-long journalistic relationship to Tsonda passing across her features.
Chandler Tsonda: No, I mean, literally, ask him about it. (gestures up at Argyle) Youngblood, you decent? Câmon, join the fun.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
LET THE GALAXY BURN
For the second time tonight, Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH blares, and as happened before, the reaction is extremely loud and boisterous. There is little hesitation as The Diamond makes his way from the entrance underneath the PRIMEView, clearly not dressed to wrestle. He is, however, always known to be ready to go at the drop of a dime.
A peso?
International, we are.
Combat shorts,wrestling shoes, and RISE shirt. His pace isnât labored, instead, his steps stab into the ramp, down it, and in a sudden burst up the ringside stairs,he steps inside the ring taking a few steps forward.
His expression is stoic as he stands there his music playing, his eyes trained on The Model Citizen. When the music fades, the moment continues, the crowd chanting for him.
Chanting for Tsonda.
Interlaced.
Angelica Brooks: Brandon, the question?
Brandon extends his hand out for the microphone. Angie knows. She hands it over.
Brandon Youngblood: The answerâŚ
A look to the crowd.
Brandon Youngblood: Thereâs nothingâŚunder the hood. Nothing about partiality. I made it clearâŚclear as dayâŚwhat is going on with Cancer Jiles. Squad Goals changes nothing there. What changedâŚwas circumstance and opportunity.
A slight tilt of the head.
Brandon Youngblood: Tsonda beat him in the Almasy. Took the Golden Ticket. âEndedâ his career. And facing off against THAT manâŚthat scumbag, that Crumb, that absolute scabâŚnothing was going to stop him from cheating and doing what he could to tilt the field in his favor.
Eyes boring on Tsonda.
Brandon Youngblood: Whether it was Vickie Hall, or something else, it was happening. I wanted Tsonda to win. Any time Jiles loses? Thatâs a good day. Especially then. Especially tonightâŚagainst FarthingtonâŚ
Oooooh.
Brandon Youngblood: Thatâs the palace intrigue. Now that look on his face after the fact? WellâŚthatâs on him to explain.
The Model Citizen gives the poison grin of a man who has been punched in the mouth; the only thing thatâs missing is blood.
Chandler Tsonda: Could be that you made things better, getting in the mix with that goblin in shades. Could be. Could also be read as an affront to me, that you step into my business when Iâve done nothing but leave you to yours. Which: maybe if you had someone watching your back, you wouldnât have got your shit rocked by the aforementioned goblin backstage in Monterrey.
Oooooh.
The air crackles with tension. Thousands of people shifting in their seats at the prospect of two Hall of Famers doing more than just trade barbs.
Chandler Tsonda: You made yourself part of the festivities, and Jiles won by cheating anyway.
And yeah, I got a gripe that put a healthy amount of stank on my face after the match.
The Viet Viper wheels around to face his fellow forever PRIMEate.
Chandler Tsonda: But ultimately, my gripe is with the dipshit-in-chief of the Bandits, not you.
Besides, I hear youâre going Nick Fury and putting together a real all-star team of people whoâd like to give him CTE. And who would I be to stand in the way of doing Godâs work?
A pop extends to the idea of Youngblood finally getting his hands on Jiles.
Chandler Tsonda: Could be that I want in on your merry band of eGGsmashers. Could be that you could use another sly old fox, and the man who retired him in the first place, as you so kindly mentioned. (Tsonda tips a proverbial hat in the direction of the Diamond) Now that, that could be a match made in heaven for Culture Shock.
The Sultan of Style takes a beat.
Chandler Tsonda: But I got a different idea for Culture Shock. Before the oh-so-deserved gang violence on CrumbumâŚthereâs something that you and I have never gotten. And since neither of us is getting any younger, I was thinkingâŚ
Mexico City begins to crackle with a different type of tension. An arena full of gooseflesh, and arm hair standing at attention.
Chandler Tsonda: I was thinking that two things can be true. One, I can stand in this ring and say: what happened two weeks ago is old news. No issue here. We respect each other, and 99% of the time, when thereâs sides to be chosen, Iâm on the side of the Diamond.
You can see the âbutâ coming from a mile away.
Chandler Tsonda: And two: you and I ainât never tangled one on one, just to see whoâs the better man. And all that mutual respect, now it wouldnât prevent us from putting one hell of a violent spectacle at the Azteca.
RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
The faintest hint of a smile from Brandon. Chandler leaves the microphone dangling for a moment, before handing it off to Angie. She takes a single look over to Youngblood, passing it on over. He ruminates for a moment, the pregnant pause dragging on, building the anticipation.
Brandon Youngblood: Two.
He settles himself in, his eyes piercing through his fellow Hall of Famer.
Brandon Youngblood: Two. Itâs a simple figure. Two. And between you and me? There IS only the two of us.
His nostrils flare.
Brandon Youngblood: Not two Hall of Famers. Thereâs plenty from The Revolution who have crossed the rubicon. But none of themâŚnone. Of them. Have won as much as the two of us. Me, and you. One and two all time in singles wins.
Again with the sly smile.
Brandon Youngblood: The two of usâŚthe only ones to win BOTH the Jewel in the Crown AND the Almasy.
The rise in tenor from the crowd grows with that acknowledgement.
Brandon Youngblood: Twice. Twice weâve been in the same ring. One of thoseâŚitâs a wash. Truly. But the other?
No further elaboration.
Brandon Youngblood: You and I. The last two men to fail at Colossus in regaining the Universal Championship.
If this sentiment bothers him, it doesnât show.
Brandon Youngblood: Thereâs a lot that draws us in parallel. But weâve never faced one on one. And I donât know how Squad Goals is going to shake outâŚbut I know one thing for certain.
A nod of the head.
Brandon Youngblood: Itâs past time you and I faced off. One on one.
And now there are two people nodding in the ring. Angelica Brooks, the erstwhile objective journalist, keeps it together and betrays nothing. The arena crowd can do no such thing, and the prospect of this dream match has them explaining their complicated anticipation as only a wrestling crowd can.
LU-CHA! LU-CHA! LU-CHA!
Chandler Tsonda: Look at us, the alpha and the omega of PRIME, joined together in civil harmony and agreement. And they said that reaching across the aisle was dead.
The Model Citizen, who knows a thing or two about milking a crowdâs adoration, takes it in, and looks from one side of the arena to the other.
Chandler Tsonda: Weâre overdue for seeing whoâs the belle of the ball. On April 3rd, letâs correct that mistake.
And above the roar of the crowd, Tsonda extends a hand towards the Diamond.
A handshake to make it official.
A dream match, set to happen.
Diamond vs. Model Citizen.
Culture Shock 2026.
ReVival goes elsewhere.
The show swiftly moves from Brandon and Chandler having an old man off, thankfully before the censors had to deal with any wrinkled genitals and now finds itself in the narrow corridors of the backstage area of Arena Coliseo.
The Universal Champion stands next to a production hand, who is running down the entrance environment for the Universal Championship.
Cecilworth Farthington: Okay, okay, sounds great, but how many sexy ladies will be doing a fun dance when I come out? It is important there are more sexy ladies dancing than Jiles, I cannot stress this enough.
The stage hand tries to explain to the Universal Champion that they had not anticipated such an entrance request and all theyâve got is some lights and his music.
Cecilworth Farthington: Oh I see how this is.
Farthington pops a ÂŁ20 note in the stage handâs shirt pocket and winks.
Cecilworth Farthington: Now I get all the sexy dancing, si?
The stage hand simply throws his hands up and walks out of the scene, very much keeping the ÂŁ20 note in his pocket. Once that man gets to a currency exchange, heâs having a decent to medium priced takeaway dinner tonight.
Cecilworth Farthington: Honestly, tonight is such a big night and now I have to do some light bribery just for some simple dancing? This tour was a massive mistake!
Farthington is about to gently punch a wall in frustration, but before he can do so, thanks to the narrow nature of the corridor there is now a Cancer Jiles there where there was once not a Cancer Jiles. Farthington thinks what best to say in this situation.
He gestures to the feed with Tsonda and Youngblood.
Cecilworth Farthington: Can we at least agree these guys suck?
Farthington looks at Jiles once more.
Yup, itâs really him.
Cecilworth Farthington: I did really appreciate that ascot, just thought I should say that.
The tension rises faster than a loaf of bread. However, now is not the time to cut it. That comes later.
Now is the time to butter it.
Cancer Jiles: Oh yeah? Where is it then? I havenât seen you wearing it in like, forever.
Cecilworth Farthington: I know where it is. I swear. ItâsâŚâŚâŚ.
Cancer Jiles: Donât tell me you left it thereâŚâŚâŚâŚ
Cecilworth Farthington: âŚâŚâŚ. Okay, I wonât.
The challenger to Fathingtonâs throne inches his way a step closer; all the while the T-shades on his face are icing up in real time. Farthington meanwhile tightens up a fist, ready to defend at a momentâs notice. And somewhere, off camera, probably in the principalâs office, high heels are starting to click-clack at a frantic pace.
Cancer Jiles: BUT, as it pertains to those two, well, yes, you couldnât be more right. I canât even imagine the ReVolution era with those two at the forefront.
Zzz.
Cecilworth Farthington: Tell me about it. Someone was telling me the other day Colossus used to be called Snooze Fest and all fans brought a pillow with them.
Jiles nods agreeably, as if he too has heard the same stories about PRIMEâs pillow fight era.
Cancer Jiles: Just imagine how many people fell asleep during the shows back then? Itâs no wonder Mother Hen changed the show name to ReVival for the returnâ we had to bring the old PRIMEates back to life after their first go around with the product.
Cecilworth Farthington: Sitting front row, too.
Cancer Jiles: Crazy.
Cecilworth Farthington: Sure is.
Cancer Jiles: Yup.
A second or so passes. Tensions continue to escalate.
Cecilworth Farthington: I mean, itâs not as crazy as you thinking I amâ
Cancer Jiles: Careful there Prince of Glue, just because no one is here to see you fall doesnât mean I wouldnât cut you down just the same.
Another second or two of rising tensions occurs, and if there were any hints of friendship or amicableness during the prior exchange; they are now gone.
Cecilworth Farthington: Just like the last time, right?
King Crumb bites his tongue. Sadly, for him, itâs the only way to free it from the proverbial cat.
Cecilworth Farthington: Say, did you know Iâm still the champion since then? Since the last time we faced each other? You had to retire and have since come back, all during MY same UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE reign.
King Crumb boils, or chills, however, he has no ground to stand on since everything Cecilworth said also happens to be true. As such, The Champion inches his way closer to the challenger, and continues to undress him.
Cecilworth Farthington: Yeah, thatâs pretty good. I know itâs not cutting down an unsuspecting fifty year old man level of good, but, at the end of the day Little C, all I can do is try.
A smug Cecilworth pats Jiles on the side of the arm. Probably the one he intends to break.
Cecilworth Farthington: See ya down there, old boy. Remember, you go out first.
Ha.
Farthington knows better than to turn his back to Jiles, so instead of spinning on a heel he walks past him instead. After getting a few feet away Jiles calls out to him.
Cancer Jiles: Twice.
Farthington stops. A quizzical ear is the cause of such a thing.
Cancer Jiles: I cut down a fifty year old man â twice â Cecilworth, and he didnât even throw out my ascot.
Much to the dismay of everyone outside of Lady Troy, Cecilworth doesnât turn to address his foe and the match doesnât start early.
Cancer Jiles: Â Oh, thatâs right. Phil swallowed his after I kicked it down his throat, didnât he? Or did he choke on it, Cecilworth? I can never remember which, and only that he doesnât get around too well because of it.
Ha.
It takes a Prozac, but Farthington holds strong and doesnât allow himself to be goaded.
Cancer Jiles: Very well then, Glueboy, hopefully thereâs a sparkler or something left over for you after Iâm done. See ya down there.
Cut to the pinnacle.
A momentous night. Title matches galore. And undercard that would be feature bouts all across the wrestling landscape. However, we are here, with one final bout scheduled to take place. A wide shot filters on through Arena Coliseo. The Mexico City fans are buzzing in anticipation, knowing what is next. However, before the pomp and pageantry, as the lens scans the crowd, we hear the voices of Nick Stuart and Richard Parker.
Standing in the center of the ring is Vince Howard. Beside him is Elvis Nixon, his arms held behind him, his eyes outward to the crowd.
DING DING DING DING DING DING
Vince Howard: The official for the following contest. Elvis. Nixon.
A reserved clapping from the reserved, respectful crowd. After displaying Nixon, with the chyron underneath, the camera again focuses on Howard.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemenâŚthe following contest is scheduled for one fall and has NOOOOOOO time limit! It is THE MAIN EVENT OF evening and is FOR! THE PRIME! UNIVERSAL! CHAMPIONSHIIIIIIIIIIPPPPP!!!
Suddenly, Arena Coliseoâs lights dim, the clapping from the crowd growing. Out of the blackness, the PRIMEview comes alive, the PRIME logo displayed prominently. It fades, the opening tones of âRivalryâ by Colin OâMalley beginning to play. With a lashing strike of blue, words fill the screen.
THE PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP
THE PINNACLE OF ALL SPORTS
Descending, a lone spotlight shines upon a table of velvet. Stood up for prominence is the PRIME Universal Championship belt, polished and shined. As the music continues, its contours and plates are scanned with care. Every detail is magnificent. The tension of sound rises, and with it, the camera pulls away from the majestic championship. The scene abruptly cuts to black.
And with the rising dramatic percussion, the still shots. Subtle movements slowly focusing upon the figures as they appear for a few moments, their achievement marked in text in convenient spaces.
The inaugural Universal Champion and final Global Champion. The bridge between the eras, cemented at King of Kings 2. He stands an enigma, a seeming average man in build, but what he lacks in impressive physique he makes up for in mystery. One championship belt for each trench coated shoulder. His eyes are focused and evident through the white mask absconding his identity.
1st Champion
BLACK ANGEL
A titan of muscle, massive in stature not just physically, but for his time in the sport. A once hero, now, he is a betrayer, joining the Dark Age. There is no sense of shame with his smirking expression.
2nd Champion
BODA
A whirlwind of color, a form of taut muscle and artistic expression. She stands stoic, the championship belt over her shoulder. Does she care? Only she knows. Her moment has arrived, seemingly unstoppable, one of the greatest beginnings to a PRIME career of anyone. The Vanguard of the Golden Age. A trendsetter.
3rd Champion
KARINA WOLFENDEN
Behind crimson glasses protecting his eyes, a seminal figure. Chiseled from granite, his tattoos prominent, if ever a man stood as The Supreme Machine, it is he. The ender of the K-Wolfâs era before it even started. Later, the hand chosen by Tyler Nelson to put an end to a Universal charade. When one speaks of PRIME, his name is one of the first to come.
4th, 8th Champion
KILLEAN SIRRAJIN
The winds behind him sweep about, blowing his majestic hair with perfect photogenic bravado. The only true Son of God. His appearance has not changed, even today, proving his parentage. The Last Judgment features prominently on his tights. Chicagoâs favored son, the roar his mere visage elicits is one of the loudest of the night. Under his hand, you shall be crucified and saved.
5th Champion
HOYT WILLIAMS
Before him were titans in stature, but in their place comes one in sheer brutality. His fists and forearms are taped for battle, his muscle built for performance and savagery. Inhuman. A wrecking ball in human form. From nowhere, he arrives at this pinnacle, only to be knocked from it in the greatest upset in the history of PRIME. He will regain it from one of his greatest rivals, The Supreme Machine on the biggest stage. Years later, he returns from the sidelines, managing to defy expectations to put a temporary halt to The Murder Show. Rushmore features him prominently. He stands as one of the truest of greats.
6th, 9th, 21st Champion
TCHU/MATT WARD
A goofy wire of man. The most unassuming of all. So long of a shot, his chance comes in the middle of Revolution, a clear expectation of how easy he shall be steamrolled. A Christmas Miracle. Perpetually silly, the joke is not only the Inhuman Being, but also, all those who thought so little of him.
7th Champion
CLYDE WALKINS
Born from the stars, beloved by all, charismatic, amongst the most skilled the sport has ever seen. He has returned from injury to claim his rightful place, but failure is all that meets him. In this moment, the drums of war sound, the very foundation of PRIME under threat from Machavallian forces. The star rises and turns his back on the fans and people who believed in him, joining the ranks of the devils who claim him to be their friend. Clean shaven, burned by the light. He fights off a record number of challengers. He is where the balance of PRIME rests.
10th Champion
NOVA
The balance of power shifts. Her face, her essence, are intrinsically linked with PRIME, but in this moment, she is an assumed outsider. This moment changes not only her place in the company, but in her life. Home. The ultimate trendsetter. The Queen of the Ring becomes The Final Boss twice over. Her spot amongst the very greats is without question. In this building, she was the one to close out the prior era. Without her, where we stand today isnât possible.
11th, 13th Champion
LINDSAY TROY
The rival to the Queen. Scum looks down upon him. A betrayer of friendship, of allegiance, all for self service. So many times, he fell, unable to answer the challenge, and in doing so, all rejoiced. Driven mad, Ahab manages to rise in his final stand, capturing his illustrious white whale.
12th Champion
SONNY SILVER
Mismatched eyes, lacerating fingernails, and diminutive stature. In one night, she nearly conquers the Halo. In her next match, she manages to usurp the Queen. Scary and unknowable, a chameleon who can assume the identity of any she chooses. She lacks her own agency and identity, yet here, for a time, she can claim the Universal Championship as her own.
14th Champion
COZEN
The Man in Black hides his pieces and scars under a dress shirt and slacks. A mess of black hair falls along the sides of his face. Many claim him to be emo, but they will come to know him as the ruiner, death incarnate. His war against PRIME will eventually lead to its closure. Even here, with a painted black middle finger, his detestment of PRIME is evident.
15th Champion
DEVIN SHAKUR
Charisma personified. In truth, his arrival to this pinnacle has been foreseen for ages. His potential is limitless, yet in critical moments, he falters. Until here. Until now. Until he realizes the promise after years of toil made to look like a designer accessory. His presence is legendary. A hero to so many. Brash and arrogant to others. Regardless, he is canât miss, must see, and unforgettable. His reign, to this point, lasts longer than all others before.
16th Champion
CHANDLER TSONDA
The Unbeatable. The Unconquerable. Awoken from dream, The Original Villain stops fighting with mere bits of his true skill and strength. The path he cuts lasts over a year, and in its wake, promising careers, legendary challenges, and destinies all fall under his heel. Gone, but never forgotten. Though some draw close, he walks away into the annals of history never having lost the most prestigious prize in the sport.
17th Champion
JASON SNOW
From the distance, from the ether, his face painted with black, the oddest of sorts, his skin pale, he returns. The Intense Championship is marked as his in all of lore, but after conquering the Halo, he soon after fulfills an impossible destiny, capping off a Hall of Fame career with the final piece it lacked.
18th Champion
VANGELUS OLSIG
Hollywood beckons. A silver screen savant, he brings with him pomp, circumstance, and a directorâs vision. An outsider who rises.
19th Champion
CASTOR V. STRIFE
The monster incarnate. The Murder Show. Burly, powerful, a viking from a long forgotten age who has spent an age in PRIME without realizing the fullness of his potential. It is remembering what it is to be dominant that he ascends to his throne, leaving behind a wake of broken bodies and dreams. For a time, the lineage ends with brutality under his knuckles. The oppressive, uncompromising final champion of the Revolution.
20th, 22nd Champion
HESSIAN
The spear of the ReVival comes from the Revolution. Before this moment, he is considered the greatest to never win âthe big oneâ. After over a decade away, the Tower of Babel rises, removing all doubt, finally taking his place amongst the true greats, perhaps marking himself as greater than all. For others in this era, this prize is transient. For him? They are one.
23rd, 29th Champion
BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD
A lifeâs work. Destroy the past and present and burn it all away so the future can rise. The Humble Proprietor has spent his life as an afterthought, cast aside, treated less than human despite his love of the sport he has dedicated his life to. Their cackles and machinations forge an intensity fitting for a monster. The threat. The killer. Robbed of the result of it all. Even in the distance, his name brings chills to the air.
24th Champion
PHIL ATKEN
Lights, camera, pucker and kiss. The Anti-Christ. Under t-shades and salt shoes, he brings with him an apocalypse in tracksuit and baby blue. Despised and thought little of, the ultimate cockroach doesnât just survive but thrive. His threats carry weight because he makes good on his promise. Nobody on this list has a hope of ever being this COOL.
25th Champion
CANCER JILES
The Event Horizon, the future, all of the ReVivalâs promise and dreams comes in his chiseled form. His reverence to PRIMEâs past is known, but he makes his own history, taking the Universal Championship for his own and under the most dire of circumstances. He stumbles, but in Hell, he overcomes not only the yang to his ying, but the oppressive boot of the Soviet state.
26th, 28th Champion
HAYES HANLON
Punk rock in all forms, a fighter through and through. He doesnât care about the championship, just what it brings to him in the ring. The greater fights. The ability to test his penchant for destruction. He snuffed out the promise of the horizon in his void. A goat kick to the head. A free spirit for rebellion against the norms.
27th Champion
REZINÂ
Some would call him a relic of a begotten age, a frozen monstrosity thawed and set upon the world to maul and reign under a banner, an ethos that demands both domination and subjugation. An ageless goliath, The Russian Bear returns to the field of professional wrestling battle after over a decade in seclusion. And in his wake? Utter carnage. A warrior from the old age set upon the present and future, not only striding, but surmounting all.
30th, 35th Champion
IVAN STANISLAV
Few can claim to be worthy of being phenoms in the new era of PRIME, yet the pillars of such are rarefied. But for the French Super Athlete, The Neck Collector, the Lizard King, he stands not only above, but perhaps beyond all. His arrival to this place is the culmination of an undefeated year. A winning streak unmatched by ALL before him. He is the weapon promised, the embodiment of The Humble Proprietorâs vision. A puzzle perhaps unsolvable.
31st Champion
FLAMBERGE
From oblivion he rises, as if from a waking coma. Drenched with guilt, self made, self perpetuated. Look upon the clown who makes those laugh, yet do not notice his weight, his tears. Ascend from the murk and stand ready, violently so, in the face of so many oppressors. Black Sheep never again.
32nd Champion
JARED SYKES
The ultimate simp. Seemingly helpless. But powered by his love and his dedication to his Amazing Life Partner, he perseveres, and does what most think is nigh impossible for someone of his ability level. He finishes the story, and now, we live in an epilogue dictated from his success.
33rd Champion
JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HALL
The Crownless King. A wrestling nomad. Across near every continent, he has fought with his all, governed by an unyielding love of the sport of professional wrestling. His role was ordained to be The Never Was, the fountain of knowledge, the bridge to the future. Not marketable. Taken for granted. Yet bitterness never seeps in, never taints his drive and passion. In this, the final year of his quest, he does what some think he could not doâŚsomething many others believed he always had capacity to achieve. The crown achieved. Now, The King of Conquerors.
34th Champion
CORAL AVALON
When the Golden Era choked into embers, as the darkness swallowed the world of professional wrestling in the deepest of pits, it was this man who kept the torch, who set the standard to aspire toward. A Lord by birth who refused his right by choice, so aloof of realityâs rigor. It is the ring where his aptitude is without rival. His hands are vice grips and his understanding of placing pressure on joints, tendons, and bones is supreme.
In the muck, he strode, unbeaten. Unconquered. The Financier of a Revolution in The ReVival. One would think, with a silver spoon, the path would be smooth, but it was anything but. His record is filled with victory over legends; itâs also filled with his stumbles at the gate, all those times the bridesmaid.
Those were the prelude. Now? His place atop the sport is without question. His reign has transcended all others of the ReVival. More defenses and days than anyone else. For near a calendar year, it is he who has been the central focus of these pieces. The End of The Line.
ThisâŚis his domain.
36th Champion
CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON
We find ourselves at war.
Cancer Jiles and Cecilworth Farthington have both already faced. Twice. This time, this rubber match, could settle things between them for good and all. It was by The COOLympianâs hands that Cecilworth is standing in this position. Atkenâs Glue Factory was closed at the brutal behest of King COOL, after all.
Farthington has already rebuked Jiles. Has already bested him with the Universal Championship on the line.
Where we find ourselves might be nuclear.
On this night, does the cockroach, once again, scurry outward, bringing with him the long winter?
Or does the neverending, impossible reign merely continue.
WeâŚ
Are ready for the answer.
The show cuts down to ringside with Nick and Dick.
Nick Stuart: Well, this is it. Champion, Cecilworth Farthington. Challenger, Cancer Jiles. What else needs to be said?
Richard Parker: I hope one of them dies and we all know that is.
Nick Stuart: Jiles is TWO months removed from a forced retirement. TWO. Heâs already back in the MAIN EVENT, and already back challenging for the UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP. Love him or hate him, Dick, but he might be the only person on the planet capable of doing that.
Richard Parker: Fuck him and the white horse he rode in on.
The lights slowly draw to a dim.
A cool breeze moves through the air.
A gull, perhaps one from the sea, can be heard squawking in the near distance.
Then, the drum of the wolf begins to pulsate throughout the arena.
Nick Stuart: This isnât Screaming Jay!
Richard Parker: AND I STILL HATE IT!
Up on âEl Crumbotrono 97 thousandsoâ a montage of superkicks begins to play. Like always, it is a whoâs who of the wrestling business getting absolutely ghetto blasted by Cancer J.
Troy, Atken, Ryan, Crumblood, Avalon, FARTHINGTON, Phil again, Troy again, Crumblood again, Ryan again and again, back to Lady Troy over and over, and over again.
Nick Stuart: Dick, get ready to hear something absolutely appalling. Jiles and Farthington combined, are you ready for this, have over FORTY MAIN EVENTS underneath their belt. FOUR. ZERO. That means that damn near half the time one of these two are in the MAIN EVENT.
Richard Parker: The only difference being Cecilworth wins, while King Crumb chokes.
Nick Stuart: No denying that.
The lights go black.
The stadium goes pitch.
Everyone is on their feet.
Then, every single pyro PRIME has left gets blasted off into the sky,
Nick Stuart: Jesus, I bet whoever saw that from outer space just started calling their loved ones.
Richard Parker: I hate this. I hate this more than anything. Why is he back? He was gone, and sure ticket sales were down, and the product suffered in his absence, but who gives a fuck?
The most recognizable guitar riff hits like a dose of tainted penicillin, and out from behind the curtain steps King COOL himself, T-shades and all, UNIVERSAL Championship on the crotch of his tights. Vickie Hall, his bestest gal, is with him. They hit a pose, and Jiles releases a burst of his mist into the air. Afterward, PRIMEâs it couple makes their way down to the ring.
Nick Stuart: Do you think Elvis Nixon has the balls to go over the rules with Jiles?
Richard Parker: I donât see why not. He got caught cheating. Plain and simple. Rules are rules, Nick. Why does the hardest working man in PRIME think he is above them?
The Hunter of Men and, well, the female version of the Hunter of Men make their way down to the ring. Somehow, someway, Jiles finds a MESSIAH fan sitting front row and proceeds to verbally ruin his night.
Nick Stuart: Poor kid is a Make a Glue recipient.
Richard Parker: Heartless coward cockroach vermin.
Satisfied, Jiles turns his attention towards the ring, and the senior PRIME official inside of it. He instructs Vickie to stay outside, gets a peck on the cheek for good luck, slides under the bottom rope, and gets right up Elvis Nixonâs face.
Nick Stuart: Who didnât see this coming? This is the first time Jiles has seen Nixon since the DQ heard around the world? What could go wrong?
Richard Parker: Everything, Nick. Everything.
After a terribly long time, Jiles finally relents, only to go back to destroying Elvis Nixon and threatening his life.
Richard Parker: See.
As the lights dim once more in the Arena Coliseo, we heard the squeaking of wheels. We do not yet know why these wheels make the sound that echoes through the hushed excitement of the crowd, we just know thereâs a wheel sound.
For a few moments, King Crumb is left alone in the dark of the ring to bounce about with his pristine hair. That is until of course, the lights come back up. As Arena Coliseo beholds what is in front of them, they mostly shrug their shoulders because actually, theyâre used to this sort of thing. For those not used to such things, a stairway suddenly appearing from nowhere can be quite the shock to the system.
The lights coming up are perfectly timed to the guitar rift that always lets the crowd of many know they are about to witness the arrival of the PRIME Universal Champion.
âChokeâ by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME
Thatâs the soundtrack that finds the Universal Champion, standing atop the stairway that has at least fifteen steps. Cecilworth Farthington stands in places as a series of pyrotechnics spark off to both his left and his right.
Nick Stuart: What can you say about this man that hasnât already been said?
Richard Parker: How about how much he means to me and my family? How about how he gave my life meaning again? Can we talk about that Nick?
Nick Stuart: Well, we certainly can but do you think itâs the time and place?
Richard Parker: Itâs Farthington time, itâs always a good time!
As Cecilworth looks out to the sold out and packed Arena Coliseo from his perch atop his stairway, still very much enjoyed the sparkling lights of the pyros that meet him on either side, he decides that this is an appropriate venture to start making his way down the wheeled-in stairway. As Farthington plunks his first foot down upon the steps, a squad of six dancers position themselves 3 by 3 at either side of the steps. These very talented and qualified ladies do a neat dance to âChokeâ, shooting their pointy elbows to both the right and left with some shimmying inbetween as Cecilworth descends to the entrance way.
Nick Stuart: Weâve talked about this before, the more elaborate Farthington is with his entrance, the more cocksure he is, and that can lead him to defeat, as it has in the past.
Richard Parker: This isnât a cocksure entrance Nick, this is a man who respects local culture doing the entire thing right.
The entire time Farthington is slowly walking down the stairway as the rhythmic dancing continues, the challenger, The Manhunter himself, stands in the ring, absolutely seething and stewing. Most likely planning how quickly his boot can meet the bum of Farthington for making him witness this display of excess.
Nick Stuart: Would you call this mind games?
Richard Parker: No, Iâd call this âhella sweetâ.
Farthington finally reaches the bottom of the steps and has a decision to make, as the ladies continue to dance the night away to âChokeâ. He ponders, looks out to the crowd, who for some reason encourage the poor decision making about to happen, as Cecilworth Farthington performs the âAlex Wright Danceâ at the start of the entrance way, the Universal Championship around his waist, flanked by his Arena Coliseo dancers.
Richard Parker: I hope someone is taking pictures, this is going to be great for the newsletter.
Nick Stuart: I have to question Farthington poking the bear moments before the match, he has to know Cancer Jiles is stewing in his own juices in the ring.
Richard Parker: He knows, but he thinks that knowledge just fuels him further.
With the sexy dance time now reached its point of completion, the Cecilworth Farthington Dancers make their excuses and head to the back. For his part, Farthington begins to slowly walk towards the ring, a massive smile on his face, a hand gesture towards Jiles and some wriggly eyebrows give the vibe that Farthington was basically asking Jiles what he thought of all this. The gesture back from Jiles was less than savory and should not be replicated in polite company.
Nick Stuart: Since Culture Shock 2024 this man has been PRIMEâs Universal Champion, he has racked up defense after defense but perhaps tonight, with a blast from the past he couldnât predict, the champion is on the back foot.
Richard Parker: The back foot? With Jiles? AHAHAHAHAH.
Thereâs a bit of a hacking lung noise on Dirty Dickâs headset.
Richard Parker: Oh wait, you were serious?
As Parker continues to try and regain appropriate lung capacity, the Universal Champion slowly walks up the ring steps, presenting his Universal Championship to Jiles with each step, in a âyou sure you want this?â way. He is then quick to pivot into the ring.
Nick Stuart: I canât believe we are here again.
Richard Parker: YOU canât believe it? Imagine me? I was so happy, he was gone, Cancer Jiles was gone and everything was better.
Nick Stuart: Iâm sure you arenât the only one that feels that way.
DING DING
Nick Stuart: And here we go, Jiles vs Farthington. The Universal Championship on the line⌠one more timeâŚ
Richard Parker: HEâS RETIRED!
Much to Richard Parkerâs detriment our match starts off slowly. The two competitors know each other intimately, and they pace around the ring. Farthington low and careful, Jiles takes up a similar posture.
Nick Stuart: Two years ago at Tropical Turmoil Cancer Jiles defeated Cecilworth Farthington.
Richard Parker: He doesnât have Tony anymore! He saw the light and joined with Ivan! He canât possibly win!
Nick Stuart: Last year these two squared off at Ultra Violence in one of the most brutal Universal Title matches of the year.
Richard Parker: AND CECILWORTH KILLED HIM!
The roach proves heâs alive to Richard and as Cecilworth takes a swipe for his lead leg, Jiles manages to dance away. He spins with a right hand and smashes Cecilworth across the mouth. Farthington steps backwards rubbing his jaw, he looks across the ring and smirks at Cancer, he dabs his taped hand against the corner of his mouth and checks for blood. Seeing none, the Universal Champion resumes circling.
Nick Stuart: Oh! CâMON!
Jiles âaccidentallyâ runs into Elvis Nixon and gives the referee a hard shove that startles Nixon and sends him stumbling. Farthington looks on his smirk widening before he pounces. He rushes Jiles, a flurry of knees and punches fly but Jiles slides out under the bottom rope and turns to Cecilworth with a smile of his own. Elvis warns Jiles on the outside for the shove, Jiles gives Nixon the bird. Vickie looks horrified.
Richard Parker: SUSPEND HIM! FINE HIM! MILLIONS! FINE HIM MILLIONS!
Nick Stuart: Nixon and Jiles get a little tied up here, and Cancer is letting Elvis know exactly what he thinks of him.
Cecilworth approaches the ropes with Nixon, and tries to step through them. Nixon backs Cecilworth off as Jiles slowly walks over to the stairs. He slowly climbs his way back to the apron. He carefully wipes his feet and starts to step through the ropes. Cecilworth sprints over and Jiles drops down to the floor. Heâs shouting at Nixon â NOW I KNOW YOUâRE IN ON IT!â Elvis rolls his eyes and slowly walks Farthington to the far side of the ring as Jiles once again slowly walks up the steps. Nixon is in the far corner warning Farthington and Jiles decides to walk back down the steps and grabs Vickie, laying the grossest kiss weâve ever seen on PRIME television on Vickieâs lips.
Richard Parker: Can someone show me where PDA is defined in the employee handbook?
Nick Stuart: Love is in the air here in Mexico City.
The camera goes full kiss cam for a moment, straight out of other shows at the Coliseo. We scan through the crowd at various people who are either awkwardly doing a smooch or waving off the camera before it goes back to Jiles and Vickie. Still tongue battling on the outside, Nixon has made it to a five count and finally Cancer decides itâs time to walk up the steel stairs. Once again a foot wipe, and he starts to step through before pointing Nixon to a defect in the turnbuckle. Farthington had been patient, but the faulty turnbuckle was too much and he scrambles across the ring. Hook. Line. Sinker. Or at least thatâs what a former bandit now wall street mogul would have said.
Richard Parker: This is why I hate him, all of this.
Nick Stuart: What?
Richard Parker: LOOK AT HIM!
Jiles takes the right hand from Cecilworth in stride and manages to grab Cecilworth by the hair and drops his neck over the top rope as he casually drops to the arena floor. Cecilworth hits the mat holding his neck. Jiles yanks him by the boot to the apron. He spins the Financier by his heel and smashes him with an elbow to the hands protecting Farthingtonâs neck. Another, then another.
BOOO!Â
Nick Stuart: The Coliseo is not a fan of Cancer Jiles.
Jiles smirks and turns Cecilworth a bit more, measures up, and smashes him with another elbow across the neck. Cecilworth flips over backwards to the outside. King Crumb rolls into the ring and back out stopping Nixonâs count. Vickie slowly climbs the stairs as Jiles goes to work on the floor. He picks Cecilworth up by the head and sends him careening into the barrier PRIME had hastily erected to protect the crowd.
Richard Parker: HEY!
Jiles grabs Farthington by the hair and begins choking him right in front of the front row. The Coliseo is a small arena, purpose built for wrestling. Three to four rows of people begin throwing popcorn and drinks at Jiles. He snags an open can out of the air like a true miscreant and Sandman smashes it off of Cecilworthâs forehead.
Nick Stuart: Truly devious tactics going on from Vickie Hall.
Vickie, now on the apron, is shouting random numbers while Elvis tries to count. Nixon makes his way to the number 7 for the second time and Cancer turns Farthington around and rolls him into the ring. Jiles follows him in.
Richard Parker: Finally!
Jiles is quick to his feet and tries to boot Cecilworth in the midsection, but Farthington catches the foot and slowly makes his way to his feet. Jiles tries to scramble away but Farthington charges with him and smashes him into the corner. Cancer reaches down and grabs his leg but Farthington absolutely rips him across the chest with a chop. Then another, then another, Jilesâ legs start leaving the ground when Farthington switches from chops to roundhouse kicks.
Richard Parker: YES! KILL HIM!
Nick Stuart: Farthington with a head full of steam here in the corner, and Jiles is literally on the ropes so hard heâs bouncing!
Cecilworth pauses and winds up for another huge roundhouse kick but Jiles manages to put a thumb in his eye. Farthington is incensed and Nixon admonishes Jiles, pointing to his fingers and Jilesâ face. Jiles stumbles down the ropes holding his chest, probably hearing exactly 0 of what Nixon was saying.
Nick Stuart: Cecilworth still has one eye!
Cecilworth charges forward, one eye shut. He chases Jiles down the ropes and smashes him in the back of the leg with a kick that staggers Jiles. Cancer tries to slide through the ropes looking for a referee to save him, but Nixon is just a second behind and Cecilworth dives at Jiles. The two men spill through the ropes and Cecilworth is the first to his feet. Cancer takes a swing at a low blow, but Farthington stamps on King Crumbâs out stretched arm and drives a knee into his mouth in one fluid motion.
Richard Parker: Is that a tooth?
Nick Stuart: I have no idea.
Cecilworth drags Cancer to his feet and whips him over on the apron with a hard snap suplex, Vickie is looking away as Farthington rolls to the floor and gives Cancer a taste of his own medicine with an elbow to the neck. Jiles goes to cover his neck with his hands, but Farthington reaches down and grabs a single finger. Cecilworth begins to pull back and Cancer reaches up trying to pry Farthingtonâs hands away from his own precariously placed digit.
Nick Stuart: OH! OH NO!
Jiles yanks his arm down and bites Cecilworth on the hand to get him to release the grip. Farthington tries to pull away, but Jiles keeps his pearly whites clamped down tight. Cecilworth cocks back with his free hand and Jiles manages to kick Farthington in the ribs as he finally unclamps Cecilworthâs hand. The Financier can be seen saying âCannibalism?â
Richard Parker: Cecilworthâs right, Jiles is a cannibal.
Nick Stuart: Nixon is admonishing Jiles, but he isnât even looking at him.
Farthington shakes his hand and dives back into the ring, but Jiles is already on his feet and drives a right foot into Farthingtonâs mouth. Cecilworth pushes through and shoots on Jiles leg, Cancer sees the attack coming though and smashes Farthington with an enziguri. Cecilworth stumbles backwards, possibly stunned by the actual wrestling from Jiles. Cancer is back up and smashes Farthington with an absolutely scintillating chop across the chest. Then another.
Nick Stuart: Jiles hitting Farthington like heâs eaten a seventeenth piece of pizza!
Jiles grabs Farthington by the neck and whips him down with a quick neckbreaker. Cecilworth grabs his own neck, and Jiles gets back to his feet. Quick cover.
1
2
KICKOUT!
Cecilworth kicks out right as Nixon gets to two, Jiles claps his hand three times at Nixon and probably lobs a few well thought out compliments on Nixonâs counting speed. Jiles moves to his feet slowly and pulls Cecilworth up behind him. Jiles throws a kick to Cecilworthâs midsection, Cecilworth takes it but fires back with a right hand that shocks Jiles.
Richard Parker: Punch that smug jerk in the eye.
Jiles fires a chop, and Cecilworth fires one back. Jiles fires another and tries for a quick second but Cecilworth boots his arm and chops him across the chest again. Jiles kicks Farthington in the midsection, Farthington sends one right back. Jiles doubles over and stomps on Farthingtonâs foot. Farthington fires a stomp of his own right back. Jiles stops the madness and charges Cecilworth. He starts to lift him for an inverted atomic drop. Cecilworth smashes Jiles in the mouth with a forearm and Cancer lets the waistlock go. King Crumb stumbled from the blow turns around and stumbles for the corner. Farthington sees the opening and launches.
Richard Parker: TARP! TARP!
Jiles freaks the fuck out. Cecilworthâs legs are over Jilesâ hips and heâs kind of riding Crumbo around the ring like a horsey. But itâs a very ill intended horsey ride, and Cecilworth slumps forward looking to wrap his arms around Jilesâ neck. The body triangle is tight, a panicked Jiles tries to squirm, allowing Cecilworthâs legs to get to places they shouldnât be. Jiles falls onto his stomach and Cecilworth flattens him out in a second.
Nick Stuart: THIS IS DANGEROUS TERRITORY FOR JILES!
Jiles tries to keep up with the handfighting, but Cecilworth manages to tuck one away inside of his leg. Now free to attack, Farthington slides it across Jilesâ face. Cancer does the only thing a cornered animal can do. He grabs Farthingtonâs hand with his free arm and jams it into his mouth. He bites Farthington as hard as he can on the forearm. Cecilworth tries to roll away but Jiles is like half-man, half-alligator and looks to be trying to rip flesh from bone. Nixon counts quickly in Jilesâ face and finally the bite is finished. But the damage is done. Jilesâ arm is free and he slips out.
Richard Parker: Disqualify this idiot! YOU ALREADY WARNED HIM! DISQUALIFY HIM!
Nick Stuart: I think thatâs why he got the quick count, Richard.
Richard Parker: DISQUALIFY HIM!
Jiles scrambles free and half runs to the far corner. Cecilworth shows Nixon the teeth marks before charging in. Cancer strikes again. A right hand to the throat that catches Cecilworth off guard. Jiles whips Cecilworth into the ropes, Cecilworth comes back looking for an old fashioned lariat, but Jiles manages to dodge the cherries and all the fixings by ducking. Jiles stops on a dime and loads up the right leg, Cecilworth hits the ropes and grabs them instead of coming back off of them. Cecilworth points to his head showing the world what a smart boy he is. Vickie doesnât find it too amusing and she jumps up on the apron to scream at Nixon for the four thousandth time in this match. Nixon starts to turn but Vickie absolutely plants one on Nixon.
Richard Parker: NO! NO! NO!
Richardâs horror comes true and Jiles sprays Farthington in the eyes with the Coolympian Yjolk. The viscus liquid is everywhere, all over Farthingtonâs face and running down Jilesâ chin. Cancer points to his own head and screams âWHOâS FUCKING SMART NOW!?â as Cecilworth tries to claw the yellow liquid out of his eyes. Vickie finally lets Nixon go who stumbles around like a very dizzy toddler. Cancer lobs phlegm in Elvisâ direction as Cecilworth climbs to his feet in the corner.
Richard Parker: STAY DOWN! STAY DOWN!
Jiles is coiled and ready to strike, Cecilworth slowly gets to his feet with Elvis checking on him. Right as Cecilworth stands upright Cancer strikes. Jiles uncoils an absolutely vicious Terminal Cancer.
Nick Stuart: NO!
Unknowingly, Cecilworth yanks Nixon in front of the salt shoe and Elvis takes the saltiest Terminal Cancer ever right on the chin. Nixon flips out of the ring like an action figure discarded by a toddler. Arms waiving, and Jiles is smiling ear to ear. He runs to the ropes and salutes Nixon with two fingers before turning back to Farthington. Cecilworth, still unsure of what is going on, takes a wild swing with a right hand but Jiles simply leans back and away.
Richard Parker: NO! NO! NO!
Jilesâ right boot is unleashed again, this time it connects square with Farthingtonâs chin. Jiles is grinning ear to ear as Cecilworth collapses to his knees.
Nick Stuart: Terminal Cancer!
Richard Parker: SOMEONE HAS TO STOP THIS FARCE! STOP IT! STOP IT!
Jiles can taste the moment and he goes to the far corner, he tunes up the band and steps forward throwing a second Terminal Cancer. The blow connects with the side of Farthingtonâs face. Cancer drags Farthington to the center of the ring and hooks Farthingtonâs leg. On the outside, Vickie is frantically trying to wake up Nixon. In the ring, Jiles realizes the predicament and begins frantically waving to the back for another referee.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
Nick Stuart: OH! Heâs not going to be happy!
Richard Parker: YOUNGBLOOD! THANK GOD!
Jiles is horrified and jumps to his feet, he begins screaming up the ramp. But it comes from behind. Through the crowd and over the railing comes Youngblood. Jiles turns around when he hears the fans but itâs too late. Youngblood drives a huge knee into Jilesâ midsection and lifts him into the air.
Nick Stuart: RANDALLPLEX! RANDALLPLEX!
Richard Parker: YES~! YES~!
Vickie has changed her tune from begging for Nixon to get up, to screaming into the camera.
Vickie Hall: HESSIAN! TONY! GET OUT HERE NOW! THIS INSTANT! RIGHT NOW! GET OUT HEEEEEEEEEERRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
The shriek can be heard around the arena as Vickie is screaming into the camera. Cancerâs skull smacks off the mat. Youngblood stands over Jiles and starts bringing him up for a second Randallplex. Youngblood drops Jiles on his skull for the second time before rolling to the outside, he ignores Vickie randomly wailing on his back and grabs Nixon by the hair. He tosses Elvis into the ring.
KING OF CONQUERORS
Nick Stuart: What!? WHO!?
Richard Parker: THIS IS A TRICK!
All eyes in the ring whip to the screen inside the Coliseo. The small arena explodes in cheers as a man steps out onto the entrance ramp and slides his way into the ring. Brandon reaches down for the third Randallplex on Jiles but Coral steps between them.
Nick Stuart: ITâS HIM! ITâS AVALON! ITâS CORAL AVALON!
Richard Parker: WHO IS HERE FOR!? HE ALMOST ENDED YOUNGBLOODS CAREER!
Nick Stuart: I DONâT KNOW!
Youngblood sets Jiles down as Avalon tries to make peace in the ring with Youngblood. Cancer is wobbling around on his feet, barely, Cecilworth sees the chance to get the hell out of this match and takes it. Nixon can barely lift his arm.
ONE!
âŚâŚâŚ.
TWO!
âŚ.
âŚâŚâŚ.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ.
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ..
THREE!
Richard Parker: YES! YES! YES!
DING DING DINGÂ
Nick Stuart: LIVE BY THE ROLL UP! DIE BY THE ROLL UP!
Youngblood tries to storm past Coral but Avalon takes a stand in the center of the ring. In one corner is Jiles, another Youngblood, another Cecilworth Farthington. From behind the curtain Ivan Stanislav begins a slow walk to the ring
Nick Stuart: WHAT IS HE DOING HERE!?
Richard Parker: MAKING SURE THE CHEATING IS OVER!
Ivan gets down to ringside as the Whoresmen make their own entrance from the crowd.
Richard Parker: What bathroom did those idiots come from!
The Anglo Luchador doesnât miss a chance for a party, and TAL comes rushing to the ring from the small arena crowd. TAL steps in front of Ivan who begins shouting at the luchador. Slowly all six men find their way to the ring, with Coral Avalon standing in the middle of it all. Coral keeps his head on a swivel with all of the frenemies and enemies around.Â
And thenâŚ
Farthington collects himself in the ring â the Universal Title is famously the hardest belt in wrestling to defend, and Surprise, Surprise, heâs done it again. It wasnât easy â it never is against someone like Cancer Jiles.
Richard Parker: Iâll tell you what â I donât know what Iâm going to do.
Nick Stuart: What do you mean?
Richard Parker: This means that itâs an all-glue match for the Universal Title at Culture Shock! How am I supposed to pick a favorite?? How am I supposed to pick against Cecilworth or FLAM-
Piano. A beat. An âoh, shit.â
âOOH LA LA, AHH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AHH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AHH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AHH OUI OUIâ
FLAMBERGE emerges onto the stage, and everyoneâs on their feet. Cecilworth grins a wry grin seeing his close associate and all-around buddy in this moment â friendship is so nice after a blood war.
The Frenchman calmly, but efficiently, walks down the ramp, up the steps, and enters the ring. He doesnât pause for a second before going in for a big hug, wrapping Cecilworth up tightly â Cecilworth, not usually one for hugs, takes a second to fight his natural highborn âick at thisâ reflex before returning the embrace.
It lingers a while. A good long while. Cecilworth gives the universal sign of âthis hug is great and Iâm ready to disengage just as soon as you wantâ by patting FLAMBO on the back a few times. FLAMBO just hugs tighter.
Finally, the Frenchman plants a big kiss onto Cecilworthâs cheek before abruptly disengaging. FLAMBERGE turns and exits the ring and walks back up the ramp, onto the stage, and through to the back without turning around. Cecilworth looks out towards his friend with an eyebrow raised, though still with a wry grin. Weâre left with this as we
FADE.
TO.
BLACK.
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