CULTURE SHOCK 2026 NIGHT ONE

It’s time for Culture Shock. 2026. Night One.

It’s also time for signs!

EVERYONE LEFT THEIR SIGN AT HOME EXCEPT ME
ACE OF BASS STOLE THE SIGNS
I OPENED UP MY EYES AND I SAW NO SIGNS, WHAT A RIPOFF!
HAHA FOOLED YOU THERE ARE ACTUALLY MANY SIGNS
YOU THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE THE FIRST ONE TO BRING A SIGN TO CULTURE SHOCK, BUT IT WAS ME! DIO!
OH? YOU’RE APPROACHING ME WITH A BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD SIGN?
I’M PRETTY SURE THE INTENSE TITLE BELT WON’T EVEN FIT AROUND IVAN’S WAIST
HE’S GOING TO WRAP IT AROUND HIS [CENSORED]
DIO BRANDO…N YOUNGBLOOD
DO NOT WORRY IF YOU TRIP AND FALL DURING YOUR ENTRANCE BECAUSE NOBODY IS WATCHING NIGHT ONE ANYWAY
THERE IS NO #POTATOGATE
DANNY BE MY SWEETIE PIE
GLUE BOIZ FIGHT WITH HUGS
ROCK ‘EM SOCK ‘EM GLUEBOTS
GET RANDALL SOME TANG
I HOPE THIS PATTERN OF STICKING RANDALL IN THINGS CONTINUES! MAYBE A CORNUCOPIA FOR THANKSGIVING?
I DON’T KNOW WHO NEEDS TO HEAR THIS, BUT NONE OF THOSE KIDS ACTUALLY DIED ON THE WILLY WONKA TOUR

A sea of stars dot the big screen. Words fade in:

“Look Up”

The words fade into space as “Cosmic Road” 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

Richard Parker: Uncalled for.

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.

A trap remix of the Soviet Union national anthem plays over throughout the arena as Kenny Freeman steps out onto the stage, looking surprisingly confident in his chances of winning the match at hand…and perhaps some of that has to do with Ivan Stanislav standing beside him, much to the chagrin of the crowd as they boo the Master of the Moscowverse as Kenny walks to the ring.

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

High above the ring a space capsule hangs. How the fuck did PRIME get a space capsule? Nobody knows.

Inside, the outline of Randall Schwartz’s face can be seen.

God only knows what he’s doing up there.

Ashley Barlow confirms both participants are ready and calls for the bell.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: And we’re off on the opening night of Culture Shock 2026! Kenny Freeman and Bobby Neptune are circling one another in the middle of the ring, both sizing one another up.

Richard Parker: Get me a diet coke, too.

Nick Stuart: What in the hell are you talking about, Richard?

Richard Parker: I’m door dashing from the concession stands.

Freeman shoots in low, trying to sweep a leg, but Neptune hits a full sprawl. Using the momentum, Neptune pivots into a wristlock. He quickly pulls Freeman’s arm behind him and wrenches on it as the fans cheer him on.

Nick Stuart: When asked about how he prepared for this match, Bobby Neptune said he had already wrestled an alternate version of Kenny Freeman in another universe.

Richard Parker: What the hell does that mean?

Nick Stuart: Nobody can be sure, Richard. Freeman trying for the ropes now, but Neptune pulls him back to the center of the ring and transitions into a hammerlock – dropping his knee right into Freeman’s shoulder. Slow, methodical – Neptune is trying to control the pace here.

But Freeman won’t give in. He scrambles, out drawing Neptune and reversing Neptune into a side headlock. The Smallest Communist Alive reaches back with all he’s got, really torquing Neptune’s spine and neck. Neptune plants his feet and lifts for a back suplex… but Kenny holds on.

Neptune tries a second time. A third time.

Each time Kenny Freeman seems to have a renewed resolve, squeezing even tighter.

Nick Stuart: Total stalemate here.

Richard Parker: A cold war, if you will.

Nick Stuart: Neptune manages to push Kenny into the ropes and tries to catch him with a clothesline on the rebound, but Freeman ducks under. They both bounce off the ropes now – Freeman with his own clothesline attempt, but Neptune manages to jump over him.

Third time around now.

Kenny winds up and delivers a ferocious clothesline – enough to take a man’s head off.

But Neptune clocked it well in advance.

He drops low, delivering a disgustingly accurate dropkick right below Freeman’s left knee. Kenny flies through the air.

Richard Parker: I wonder if he can see Randall from up there.

Bobby Neptune is on Kenny Freeman like stink on shit. Before the high flying communist remembers he’s part of the proletariat, Neptune has locked in a single leg crab. Neptune wrenches with all he’s got while Freeman tries to crawl his way to the ropes.

It takes what seems, and surely feels to Kenny, like an eternity – but he finally manages to grab hold of the bottom rope.

Barlow calls out for Neptune to release the hold and he does because he’s a stand up guy.

But, he isn’t done with Kenny by a longshot.

He grabs the ex-pat by the leg and drags him into the center of the ring where-

Nick Stuart: Small package from out of nowhere by Kenny!

ONE

TWO

TH-

The Space Cadet manages to kick out in the nick of time.

Kenny jumps up and begins celebrating. He doesn’t seem to understand that the match isn’t over.

Richard Parker: Oh, Kenny.

Nick Stuart: You have to hand it to Neptune for not taking advantage of this one.

Richard Parker: Wrong – horrible mistake on Neptune’s behalf.

Ivan climbs up to the apron, shouting to his comrade to get back to work. How apropos. Ashley Barlow is greased lightning – yelling and pointing at the Russian Bear to stay out of her match.

Meanwhile, in the ring, Bobby Neptune is trying to inform Kenny the match is still on.

Kenny doesn’t handle it well.

Nick Stuart: While Ashley Barlow is trying to get Ivan off the mat, Kenny drops to his knees and hits Neptune with a low-blow. Dastardly, these Russians.

Richard Parker: Nick he thinks the match is over. This is self defense.

Nick Stuart: Freeman bounces off the rope and lands a sunset flip. He capitalizes on the opportunity, climbing to the top rope for a swanton bomb.

Richard Parker: He’s not done yet.

Nick Stuart: Nope, he’s not – he climbs to the opposing turnbuckle and prepares for a frog splash – but Neptune manages to get himself to his feet. Kenny sees it in time and corrects to land on his feet, but Neptune catches him in a drop toe hold right into a figure four leglock! Wow, that was masterfully done.

Unfortunately for Neptune, Kenny quickly grabs the rope. He’s slow to get up, though – and limping a bit when the two men go for one another again. Kenny manages to duck under Neptune’s grapple attempt and he makes for the turnbuckle with a sloppy crossbody off the second turnbuckle – which Neptune telegraphs.

He catches Kenny midair, smoothly transitioning into a northern light’s suplex that would take down any commie wall.

Splaying and rolling, Neptune wraps up both of Kenny’s legs into a two-legged boston crab.

Nick Stuart: Pillars of Creation! Neptune has been working on that leg the entire match and now he’s looking for the payoff with his patented double legged boston crab.

The fans go bananas. B-a-n-a-n-a-annas.

Richard Parker: Come on, Kenny! Do it for the proletariat!

Ivan screams at Kenny not to give up from outside the ring.

It looks dire, though.

The work on the leg earlier in the match is weighing on K-Free.

Can Comrade Freeman break free?

Richard Parker: YES!

Nick Stuart: Somehow Kenny Freeman keeps finding the rope. Ever the gentleman, Neptune releases the hold cleanly. He waits for the opportune moment, hitting the ropes right as Freeman begins to stand. WAIT! Did Ivan just grab Neptune’s foot?

Richard Parker: No way. Look, give credit where credit is due and that was absolutely not a trip. The kid’s got concrete feet, that’s not Ivan’s fault.

While Bobby, Ashley Barlow, and Ivan argue, Kenny Freeman rises once again.

Poor Bobby Neptune turns around thinking the match is going one way and instead, it’s going another.

A lightning fast dropkick from Kenny lays Neptune out.

Before anyone can figure out what’s going on, Freeman is grabbing the wrist and locking in The Freeman Special.

Nick Stuart: Freeman has locked in The Freeman Special and Bobby Neptune is in a world of hurt. He shakes his head and pounds the one free leg into the mat, leaning and pushing against Freeman, but it’s to no avail.

The fans begin chanting: Nep-tune, Nep-tune, Nep-tune.

As if by some cosmic force, the chants and cheers fuel Bobby Neptune.

Richard Parker: Is he having a seizure?

Nick Stuart: It looks like he’s charging up, Richard.

Richard Parker: Charging up?

You can make fun of what the man said, but you can’t argue with the results.

The much larger Neptune stops fighting. He stops moving entirely.

And then, as if he had seen this in some alternate reality, he bridges backwards.

Richard Parker: NO DAMNIT! I PUT MY MONEY ON DUKE, I NEED THIS!

The universe doesn’t care that Richard Parker’s bracket is busted.

Ashley Barlow drops for the count.

ONE

TWO 

THREE

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: Hell of a show from Bobby Neptune.

The dust settles and the crowd dies down.

Bobby Neptune stretches out a hand to a very confused and distressed Kenny Freeman.

We fade away to the two shaking hands as poor Randall wonders if anyone will remember he’s up there.

Always remember.

Pre – Recorded

We open on a close up shot of a rose. It hangs from the lapel of a perfectly pressed black suit.

It belongs to a dead man.

Ave Maria plays softly in the background.

People cry and console one another.

Voice: Hey, what the hell are you doing?

The camera pans to a man built Ford tough, his face red as the dead man’s rose.

The next voice is from Benin the camera.

Cameraman: I’m here for Cooley’s funeral.

Angry man: Does that look like Cooley?

It does not.

Angry man: Next door. Now get out.

The Ford F250 (stakebody) points a thumb behind him.

It’s a scenic jog to escape the embarrassment of filming some random dead man for the Cameraman. He busts through the large, cherry oak doors of the adjacent room louder than he intended.

An all white casket sits front and center. The Cameraman traces the blue diamond pattern of the red Berber carpet. Along the way we see all manner of degenerate: lot lizards and Mafioso and even a very militant looking group of men.

The shitty little boombox atop the podium is squeaking out “Dirty Old Town”By The Pogues.

Cameraman: Oh yeah, this is it.

Inside the casket, in his finest electric blue western suit, Jackson Cooley.

The song ends.

The room is silent.

For entirely too long. Whoever is supposed to emcee this thing is nowhere to be found.

In the middle of the room, Nate Colton shifts in his seat. He looks out of place and uncomfortable; whether it’s his black suit or the company is unclear. But his father has several Rules regarding funerals; chief among them was the attendance requirement.

Nate’s unease is possibly amplified by the sound of a revving engine and the smell of burning rubber. That damned Dale Ernhardt cutout with Anna Daniels’ face stuck on it is weaving through the aisles at a top rate of speed… or about as top rate as a remote controlled car can be. From the phone duct taped to the Anntimidator’s chest, one can hear the voice of the real deal fluctuating between singing the Jaws song and pretending to be Pac-man gobbling up pellets.

The Anntimidator: Gow-ah gow-ah gow-ah! Duuuuun dun! Duuuuuun dun!

Almost as though he’s arriving in a hurry, a man dashes into the room. He is dressed appropriately for a funeral, which is to say that he’s traded in his bedazzled green suit for a black suit. Just for clarification, the black funeral suit is also bedazzled, as though we’ve actually found a shade of black that could cause epilepsy. The man gets on stage with a full front flip, tumbling forward and landing almost perfectly in front of the podium.

It’s Joe Fontaine, of course.

Nobody else would have literally negative decorum for a funeral despite his long-held reputation as PRIME’s foremost funeral director.

Joe stands at the podium, adjusting his tie and looking out at his audience. You know, Nate Colton and the Anntimidator. He smiles the smile of a man who’s used to this sort of thing, and he clears his throat.

Joe Fontaine: Hello, everyone! Let me start by saying that it’s great to be here, uh…

Joe looks around. The nonplussed expression on the Anntimidator’s cardboard face. The equally nonplussed expression on Nate Colton’s face. The fabby that somehow snuck in here when he thought no one was looking.

Joe Fontaine: …Laslanta…

That’s not where we’re fucking at.

Joe Fontaine: …And I’m here to help direct this lovely funeral!

His smile is about as vacant as your average news channel talking head, just there to add flavor to his performance. A very here-to-collect-my-paycheck kind of smile.

Joe Fontaine: With that in mind, I’d like to take the time to say a few kind words about the deceased.

Nate Colton, for what it’s worth, braces himself.

Joe Fontaine: Now, you might say to yourself… Joe, when did you ever meet this man to have such kind things to say? And I say, au contraire! …FLAMBO taught me that one. Anyhoodle. I met this man just like everyone else did. In an indie show, somewhere in Buttsplug, New Mexico. There I was, resplendently wrestling as I always did along with a big meaty boy like Sid. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw him…

He pauses, before bringing his voice down to a whisper.

Joe Fontaine: …and he was so, so blue.

Wait, what?

Joe Fontaine: He walked into the ring like he owned the place, in the middle of my match. Everyone was very confused. He walked right to the center of the ring, microphone in his hand, and he started cutting a promo demanding a match against the company’s world champion straight out of the gate. We just kept wrestling around him while it happened. Very confusing!

By the looks on the faces of the few people in attendance, Joe is not the only one confused. But their confusion is most certainly not his confusion.

Joe Fontaine: Anyway, he’s gone now. He’s gone off to that big shooting star press in the sky, taken from us like so many others by a vicious murder demon bicycle…

There is palpable confusion as fabby comes up on stage and frantically whispers into Joe’s ear. This is confusing if only because fabby doesn’t usually talk in any language except American Sign Language, which nobody seems to understand. After a few moments, Joe blinks and turns incredulously towards fabby.

Joe Fontaine: Wait. Hang on.

He blinks some more.

Joe Fontaine: You mean, this isn’t Sylo’s funeral?

fabby frantically shakes his head “no.”

Joe Fontaine: …oh.

He sighs.

Joe Fontaine: I’ve made a huge mistake. Sorry. I’ll leave you guys to this.

Joe walks off the stage, doing a big sad disappointing flip on his way out. After a few moments, fabby wanders off in another direction.

This is where our next commotion happens. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that this is where the commotion continues. Shambling towards the stage like the ghost of your grandfather’s attic comes professional wrestling’s foremost lawyer-doctor, Zeke D. Badguy, Esq. Would it be reasonable to assume that he would dress for the occasion by putting on something fancy, or even just a single piece of black clothing? Fuck no. The good doctor has decided to roll up in his usual attire, which is to say he has the appearance of a criminal that knocked over a Goodwill before hiding out in the basement of a bowling alley for twenty years. As one does.

Fortunately, Zeke is not alone. Oliver Cade walks behind his uncle wearing a neat black suit and the expression of a man who would rather be in the casket than on stage.

It would be great if that was all, but it’s not. Steve Lemieux is also here for reasons, perhaps reasons no one will ever truly understand, but reasons nonetheless. Admittedly, he tried to be here on time. Oh boy, did he try. The problem is that it’s very hard to maneuver the pool floatie that he’s using as a hemorrhoid donut. If you’ve been paying attention then you’d know he suffered a tragic case of diarrhea during the Mexico tour, and in the aftermath things took a spicy turn.

If you’ve been paying attention, then I should probably apologize. Seriously, why did you do that with your time? Why did you not do literally anything else with your time? Those were your minutes, and now they’re gone forever. You can’t get them back. Maybe spend a few more and contemplate the life choices that brought you here.

…

Anyway.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Hello, yes. That was a lovely speech by Karl Malone, Jr., wasn’t it? Let’s all clap for him.

What follows is applause in only the most technical sense. Zeke reaches into the breast pocket of his very green blazer and pulls out a sheet of paper.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: But now it is time to get down to business. Legal business. The business of law.

He then spends an uncomfortable amount of time clearing his throat.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of Jesus’ baby daddy to join together this guy here…

He gestures towards the coffin.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: …and some dirt, eventually, in the bonds of hole-y digging. Should anyone object to the bonding of this man, and this box, and that dirt, and some worms, and maybe a sad little headstone, let them speak now. Or don’t. Honestly, it’s not going to change anything.

He pauses, not because it’s the polite thing to do, but to try and fish a Werther’s Original out of his pocket.

A short Italian man sits front and center in a clown suit.

Nick DiSalvo – Cooley’s confidant, bag man, and something resembling a friend.

He keeps trying to convince the people to his left and right that Cooley made him sign a blood oath that he would wear a clown costume to his funeral, but nobody is buying it and the John Wayne Gacy vibes are heavy.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Well since there are no objections…

He looks legitimately upset by this, despite a brown and gold ski mask obscuring the entirety of his face. As if someone was going to stand up, shout, “I object to this funeral,” and then we were going to go full necromancer up in this bitch.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Jeff Coolio was many things. A man. A friend, probably. An amateur proctologist with a fondness for vehicular aerodynamism. One time he did a big terrorism by joining Isis and annoying some bloggers. I could say so many words about our dear departed… person. But I am capped at seven hundred and fifty of them and do not want to fight the Angry Whopper man, so instead let us remember our dear friend Jeff Coolio with these words.

Zeke reaches into another pocket – one that has no Werther’s candies to snack on – and retrieves a small book. He lifts the cover and begins thumbing through the pages before settling on the relevant passage.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I take a look at Jeff’s life and realize there’s nothing left. Because he’s been blasting and laughing so long that even his momma thinks that his mind has gone. But Jeff ain’t never crossed a man that didn’t deserve it. Being treated like a punk? You know that’s unheard of. You better watch how you’re talking and how you’re walking or you and your many homies might be lined in the chalk.

In the crowd, Steve Lemieux slowly nods along. A single tear rolls down his cheek. He has no idea who any of the other people in this room are.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Jeff Coolio died as he lived, and he spent most his life living in a gangster’s paradise, so in death I can only assume that he is straight thuggin’. Word. No captain. On god. Eff arr eff arr.

Ollie Cade: (Whispering) I don’t think that…

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Clock it.

A pause. It is ever so brief.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Now it is time to read the will. Did anyone think to bring that?

Nate Colton: I thought that got handled later.

Oh, Nathan. You fool, bringing logic and reality to these proceedings.

The Anntimidator: He had earthly possessions?

This comment is only half snark. Colton’s attempt at rationale aside (insert Sonic the Hedgehog YOU’RE TOO SLOW gif here), Cardboard Anna wheels herself to the front…and nearly crashes into the casket.

The Anntimidator: Well, we don’t have the will. Hell, we barely know the man. But the first order of business really should be double checking that he’s actually dead. We’ve seen too many people come back that aren’t us. This should only take a second.

Suddenly, a humongous… something pops out of the cell phone, causing the cutout to severely tilt. The light is blinding. The increasing whirring sound is deafening. One can see Cooley’s bones, the pickled organs, the veins that had previously been a testing ground for fuck knows what, and maybe if you squint, you can see his cells. His DNA. And even further beyond to his very biodata. The essence of a life. Slice upon slice upon slice upon–

And just as quickly, the giant… thing absorbs itself back into the phone. The cutout stands back up. Like nothing happened. Another Tuesday. She wheels away from the pine box and into her parking spot.

The Anntimidator: Yep. The body has corked it. Carry on.

The doors open with a break. Everyone turns to find Rob Williams entering, Charlotte on his arm. His plans to sneak in have failed him.

Rob Williams: God damnit.

He looks around the room at the total fucking trainwreck.

One person sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the dregs of society: Nate Colton. Rob squints, trying to offset years of not following doctors’ orders to confirm if that is actually Colton.

Rob Williams: The fuck is he doing here?

Charlotte: Same as you – paying his respects.

Rob grunts.

He sees the shit show happening at the front. His friend deserved better than this. But, he reminds himself, he’s not there to make this about him and his opinions.

Colton doesn’t seem to have that problem, but he’s going up front anyway. He steps up to the podium and clears his throat.

Nate Colton: I never knew Jackson that well either. Passed him the halls a few times; maybe we said five words to each other. But…

He speaks a little haltingly, as if he’s not sure where he’s going with this. Understandable, really. He probably only came up here to move things past Anna Daniels’ bizarre scientific experiment.

Eventually, he finds the words.

Nate Colton: …but the old man always says, people start to forget as soon as the camera turns off. That’s why we have to remember. ‘Cause he was one of us. No matter what he did in the ring, or out of it…he was one of us. That’s what matters.

He returns to his seat, signalling that the intermission is over and the bullshit circus can resume.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: Yes, hi. That was a lovely speech by Mister Nate King Cornhole. It is very nice that he was able to take time away from his busy schedule of penising the young ladies to join us. I have read all about you in Sarah Sensation’s many sex columns.

He means Savannah Scandal.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: But since we are doing the will later, it is time to move on to the next bit of business. Maestro! Music, if you will!

After a brief pause, “Project Bitch” begins to sound throughout the room. Zeke steps back, removes his fedora, and holds it over his heart as if listening to the national anthem.

“Yo fresh, you ready?”

“I’m ready man. Let me do this.”

“What? What? What? Whatchu mean-what?”

“This is for…”

Rob Williams: Enough, goddamnit.

Williams storms the “stage”, picking up the little boombox and fumbling with it as the Big Tymers list off all the ladies this song is for. It doesn’t work. He squeezes it, trying to muffle it.

He squeezes tighter, but it is unrelenting.

“Say I love my baby mama”

Rob Williams: God damnit.

The tighter he squeezes, the worse it gets. To him at least.

Most everybody else cannot hear it.

Finally, he smashes the boombox on the ground.

He’s grateful his gray mane dangles over his face to hide the single tear. In an effort to save something near face, he quietly wipes it away as he pushes his hair from his face and approaches the microphone.

Rob Williams: I don’t even fucking know half of you. And I’m not sure how you knew Cooley. He was like that, though. Never a back story – he just knew everybody. He knew me, too. Knew every wart on me and every hole I ever dug. All my fucking secrets.

Pregnant pause.

Rob Williams: And he… he never asked me to be anything other than what I was. That man saw me flying with the eagles and slithering with the snakes. He never tried to fix me. Always called me on my bullshit, but he had a way of doing it, you know? Like he never shamed me. He was the only one I could ever be honest with and not feel ashamed. You didn’t need to be cool with him, although he was the coolest. Let your hair down and smoke a joint, you know? That was Cooley.

The room is silent. You could hear two ants fucking.

Rob Williams: I wasn’t there for him. But shit, maybe that was a gift in and of itself. Who knows. I ain’t gonna stand here and say I’m gonna be a better man for Cooley. But, I’m gonna try harder to just be me.

Rob turns and puts a hand on Cooley’s chest, careful not to disturb the raccoon hand.

Then he does what Rob Williams does best and… leaves.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: On behalf of the deceased I would like to thank everyone for coming. Please make sure to take a commemorative Matchbox car from the bin on your way out, though I would recommend washing your hands before doing anything else. But there is also a special surprise for each of you. If you would all look under your chairs you’ll find a little parting gift to take home with you.

He pauses to give everyone time to follow the instruction. Hands reach under seats, each of which finds a clear plastic baggie full of a powdered white substance. Some of the gathered faces reveal an intimate knowledge of what this is. Still others are a mask of bewildered confusion.

Dr. Zeke D. Badguy, Esq.: It’s drugs!! Please enjoy them irresponsibly, and note that we are not held accountable for any damages caused by your own personal nose parties. Okay bye-bye!

And with that, he leaves the stage for the last time.

Nate Colton: Umm…

The New Diamond looks distrustingly at the plastic bag.

Nate Colton: Someone else can have mine.

We fade out to your regularly scheduled PRIME pay-per-view.

We cut to Vince Howard.

He stands in the ring with an uneasy smile on his face, because ringside attendants had started filling the apron with pillows, pillowcases, stuffed animals, and more. It’s almost confusing how much in the ways of soft material has found their way to ringside. In particular, there is now a pair of pillow piles off in the neutral corners.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest… is a PILLOW FIGHT scheduled for one fall!

First up, we have Natalie Imbruglia’s classic bop “Torn” hitting the airwaves. A warm, yellow light appears at the entrance, and the Lasagna Boys are there to herald the arrival of the man who uses that song as his entrance. Vince Howard gets a start on the entrance.

Vince Howard: Introducing firs—

Fred Dick: NAW, NAW, NAW!!! SHUT DA FUG UP!!!

Fans turn to see Fred Dick with a megaphone at his hand. In front of him is a tall tale, smiling a radiant sparkling smile, by the name of Big John Pepper.

Fred Dick: INTRODUCING FIRST! FROM OUR GOOOOOORGEOUS U.S. NATSHUNAL PAAAARKS! Standing as tall as three skyscrapers, weighing in at two AND A HALF Grand Canyons! THE MAN! THE MYTH! THE LEGEEEEENNNNDDDD! BIG! JOHN! PEPPERRRRRRR!!!

As Fred Dick is making his loud and obnoxious introduction, Big John Pepper finds a nice young lady to hand his park ranger hat to before he heads into the ring. As he steps into the ring, we get some nice rainbow strobe lights.

🌈 🌈 🌈 🌈

Then he steps into his corner and waits for his opponent and his friend(?), Rip Van Luchador.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

The lights go out and there’s a murmur in the crowd before the PRIMEview lights up. A Japanese man with combed-over black hair, square jaw, and a towel around his neck. He stares. He judges you. And then he speaks a beautiful combination of words, translated for all to know.

PRO WRESTLING IS A SACRED SPORT.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

A spotlight shines, and the Anglo Luchador jumps out from the curtain. Green tracksuit, purple towel, fist raised in the air. Only, he looks a little more tired than usual doing it. As though he hasn’t actually gone to bed even after all of those times he said he was going to bed. He makes his way down to the ring, slapping hands as he walks, as Vince Howard finally gets to introduce somebody tonight.

Vince Howard: And his opponent… from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania! He weighs in tonight at 211 pounds! The first Intense Champion of the ReVival! The Last Son of Tenochtitlan! The Spear of Huitzilopochtli! The one! The only! THE ANGLOOOOOOOOO LUUUUUUUUCHADOOOOOOORRRR!!!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Mexico’s adopted son strips off his tracksuit once he gets to the ringside area, and tosses his purple towel into the crowd for a lucky fan to claim. Then he slides into the ring.

He pops up in one corner, across that from Big John Pepper. As the two competitors stand across from each other, Elvis Nixon looks towards each of them for their readiness, and then he calls for the bell.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: And we’re underway, and…

Richard Parker: Oh god, this is actually happening.

The thing that is actually happening is a visibly tired Anglo Luchador sauntering over to a pillow and lifting it up with all of the care and effort that one would actually pick up a pillow when they’re too tired to function. Big John Pepper tries to match his energy, it’s just that he’s such an exuberant large boy that he’s almost gleeful to pick up a pillow.

The two men met in the center of the ring, and then they exchange blows.

You know, half-heartedly.

Like there’s no real urgency to bring harm to each other.

Nick Stuart: These men are already throwing bombs at each other!

Richard Parker: Lesser men would already be giving up at this onslaught.

Yeah.

Both men quickly realize they’re not actually doing any damage to each other with the lazy pillow shots. So they decide to go full-on Frye and Takayama, grabbing each other by the backs of their heads and… still hitting each other with pillows. Mind you, Pepper’s like a full foot taller than TAL, so imagine that visual for a second. And weep.

Nick Stuart: Now they’re really going at it!

Richard Parker: Is that what we’re doing now?

Eventually, both men stop, and then they stare at the weapons they have in their hands. Clearly, they’re collectively wondering why their pillow-based offense isn’t working against each other. TAL, the savvy yet sleep-deprived ring veteran, comes up with a tremendous idea on how to get things going.

He punches his opponent.

With his fist.

Richard Parker: Wait, you can do that in this match?

Nick Stuart: Yes! I mean, apparently.

Big John Pepper reacts like a man who clearly wasn’t expecting such thuggery from his opponent in a harmless pillow fight match. He takes a few blows before the sheer size difference between him and TAL starts to say hello. BJP doesn’t so much strike back as he simply bowls TAL over with his size, entering his space suddenly enough that TAL has little choice but to get knocked over.

TAL rolls to his feet, just in time for Pepper to crush him in the corner with an avalanche that leaves TAL no choice but to sit on the ground and contemplate all of the life decisions that led him to this moment. Pepper flexes as he walks away, before he picks up a few pillows and piles them up on one side of the ring. Once he’s done doing that, he puts himself at the maximum distance between himself and TAL. With a pump of his arm and an implied “choo-choo”, a tall tale comes barreling down at TAL.

TAL does the only sensible thing he can do in this situation.

Nick Stuart: TAL puts up the pillow and BJP is going to run directly into it!

Richard Parker: There’s no way that’s going to work.

BJP does, indeed, run directly into the pillow. He bounces off and looks proud about what he’s done. Then he turns and finds that TAL is, indeed, unaffected. Still holding the pillow, even.

Richard Parker: What the fuck.

Pepper looks at him with some amount of incredulity before he comes at him with a clothesline.

TAL ducks, and then hauls off and whacks Pepper in the head with the pillow in his hands. While it doesn’t do a lot of damage, it does still startle the big tall tale. He backs up a few steps. TAL takes the opportunity to come running with a flying headscissors, and…

…Well, that wasn’t a good idea.

Nick Stuart: BJP has caught TAL in the middle of the headscissors, and he’s eyeing the pile of pillows…

And, indeed, Pepper takes two steps and powerslams TAL right on top of the pillows.

Nick Stuart: Powerslam right on the pillows!

Of course, it turns out that powerslamming TAL onto a pile of pillows has the opposite effect that Big John has in mind.

Richard Parker: Uh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen TAL pop up like he’s got a new lease on life after a powerslam before.

TAL has awakened. He’s full of vigor and vinegar, even.

He picks up another pillow and swings it at Pepper. Pepper has gotten used to these antics by now, and so he squares up to tank it.

CRACK!

Richard Parker: What the hell!?

Nick Stuart: What a pillow shot from TAL!

That’s not the sound of a pillow making contact with a sweet tall tale. That is the sound you normally hear when someone swings a steel chair at someone and it connects. Big John Pepper looks like a tree on the verge of going full-on timber. Elvis Nixon is yelling at TAL about this, but as TAL quickly points out, he’s holding a pillow because it’s covered with a pillowcase.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, that makes sense.

Richard Parker: EXCUSE ME!?

TAL goes to swing the not-chair again, but in the draw back for the swing, the pillowcase comes flying off of the chair. Now Elvis Nixon steps in, grabbing the chair from the Luchador before he can swing it. TAL turns to argue with the referee, who reminds TAL that it’s not a pillow if it’s not actively inside a pillowcase.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, that makes sense.

Richard Parker: I’m going insane. That’s the only explanation for what’s going on. I’ve cracked, somehow, in the four or so years since PRIME has come back. Too many Bandits. Too much Jiles. I’m definitely blaming Jiles, there’s just no other option.

As TAL is arguing with Nixon, Big John Pepper has recovered from the chairshot. He’s dazed, but he still summons the wherewithal to goozle TAL and hurl him mightily to the ground with a chokeslam. This time, Pepper is wise enough to hit this move anywhere but the pile of pillows, causing TAL to bounce a little bit into the air and then flop on the ground onto his belly like a freshly caught fish.

Fred Dick, on the outside, is encouraging Big John Pepper to get something from the outside of the ring.

And even though there is a veritable bounty of pillows inside of the ring, Big John steps over the ropes and meets up with Fred. And together, they pull out the grand equalizer.

The weapon of mass destruction.

The Slumberizer itself.

It’s a big ‘ol honkin’ mattress.

Richard Parker: What. The. Fuck.

Nick Stuart: Business is picking up here in Mexico City!

With the considerable effort that could only come from an amateur moving company, Fred and Pepper mount the mattress like a bridge between the ring apron and the guardrails.

Richard Parker: What is that going to accomplish!?

Nick Stuart: We’re increasing the danger level of this pillow fight, Richard! Someone might go through the mattress!

Richard Parker: “Someone might go through the mattress.” Did you get high before this match or something? Why am I the only one who didn’t take the crazy pills!?

With the bridge built for all times, Big John gets back into the ring to find a recovering TAL in the ring. TAL had been crawling towards a pillow in left in the center of the ring, and Big John marches over and places one mighty foot on top of it to prevent TAL from picking it up and using it.

Nick Stuart: Uh oh.

TAL looks up and see a tall tale looming over him like a redwood. He looks up so much that he might actually have neck problems after this match. TAL does the only sensible thing he can do.

He tries to punch the redwood.

Okay, so that’s only sensible to TAL.

Pepper pulls TAL up to his feet and picks him up as though he’s carrying a bride. It’s an unusual maneuver even in PRIME circles, because there isn’t a lot of moves you do from the bridal carry position.

Except one.

With a soothing hum that can only come from a gentle giant like Big John Pepper, the tall tale begins serenading his opponent while gently rocking him like the waves of a calm tide. TAL, already sleep-deprived going into this match, finds himself getting very, very, very sleepy.

Nick Stuart: HE’S GOT HIM IN A SLEEPERHOLD!

Richard Parker: I’m sorry, that’s a what now?

Pepper sharply turns his head towards Nick Stuart, having apparently heard his call. He manages to raise one index finger to his lips with a shushing gesture. He’s doing this while still cradling TAL’s legs.

Nick Stuart: …sorry. he’s got him in a sleeperhold. exclamation point.

Richard Parker: I hate it here.

The soothing hum of Big John Pepper’s lullaby somehow washes over Mexico City. Fans in the first front rows start passing out, fast asleep. Thankfully, we have Nick Stuart and Richard Parker still here to call the action, an–

Nick Stuart: ZZZZZ…

Richard Parker: Why.

TAL is asleep. Gently, Big John Pepper sets him down and carefully covers him so that TAL doesn’t wake up.

There’s just, uh… one small problem: Elvis Nixon is slumped against the corner, also asleep.

Richard Parker: This is… Okay, this isn’t the dumbest thing I’ve ever been a part of because I watched Fred Dick and Bobby Dean in a bounce house that one time, but this is up there.

Nick Stuart: honk shoe mimimimi

Richard Parker: …Getting up to bounce house territory though.

He looks over at Elvis Nixon, and then looks over to Fred Dick for guidance. Unfortunately, Fred has also fallen asleep. He’s curled up in a fetal position underneath a blanket, on top of the mattress that he and Big John put up several moments ago, and he’s giving a teddy bear the ‘ol big spoon.

Big John looks up at the sky. Maybe he’s looking for answers up there. Or maybe he’s looking for Pecos Bill so he can give that motherfucker what-for.

What he sees up there, though, is not what he expects.

The air of the stadium is filled with the sound of chopping air. A helicopter. A helicopter descending down into the stadium, waking up the crowd that’d fallen asleep in the math.

Richard Parker: What the fuck.

That might just be all of Richard’s commentary for this match.

Descending down from the rafters is… a creature. A creature that doesn’t look like they belong. A thing that, somehow, has chartered a helicopter to appear at a dramatic moment in the middle of the most widely attended pillow fight in human history. It rappels down from the helicopter until it reaches the ringside area.

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s…

Nick Stuart: THE CENTER CITY MOTHMAN! THE CENTER CITY MOTHMAN HAS ARRIVED IN MEXICO CITY!

Richard Parker: Oh, good, you’re awake. Yay.

The Center City Mothman marches down to the ring in only the way a Center City Mothman can march.

Richard Parker: Also, I reiterate, what – and I can’t stress this enough – the fuck?

The Mothman is also armed with a 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew, and baby, that thing is full. That thing’s a deadly bludgeon. That thing is full of Yellow motherfucking Number 5, the most diabolical of all Yellows. When Big John Pepper moves to intercept the Mothman from entering the ring and messing things up, the Mothman tees off and hits Pepper in the guts with all two liters of Yellow No. 5.

OOOOOHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: I don’t care who you are, that Mountain Dew is taking you right out!

Richard Parker: Usually, it’s from indigestion.

The commotion had roused TAL from his slumber, and he staggers to his feet with the groggy gait of a man who just rolled out of bed after one hour of sleep. He turns to see the Center City Mothman standing there. He looks at the Mothman, then at the 2-liter Mountain Dew in its paws, then back at the Mothman. He starts putting together the math equation of the situation in his head, but it might be too late.

Two plus two…

OOOOOHHHHH!!!

…equals Yellow No. 5, bitch.

Down goes TAL.

The Center City Mothman does not linger after this. This is because a veritable who’s-who of Enemigos come storming out to the ring to the raucous cheers of the crowd, chasing after this mysterious creature that arrived by helicopter.

Richard Parker: I hate everything that’s happening, but especially all of that.

The Mothman exits, pursued by Enemigos.

Everyone is down, though Elvis Nixon is starting to rouse from his slumber.

TAL crawls over to a pillow, as does Big John. Outside of the ring, Fred Dick is really spooning that teddy bear.

When both men get to their feet, they start swinging at each other with pillows again. It does, like, negative damage to each of them. They’re healing each other, actually. Powering each other up. TAL’s giving up significant size and strength to his opponent, and he’s being healed slightly less than his opponent is. Eventually, BJP grabs TAL in another goozle and lifts him up for a chokeslam.

That’s when TAL goes into survival mode.

He slips out of the goozle as he’s lifted up and lands on BJP’s back. And with the pillow still in his hands, he does the only smart thing he does.

He swings the pillow into BJP’s face, grabs it with his other hand, and starts smothering him with it.

Nick Stuart: REAR NAKED PILLOW CHOKE!

Richard Parker: THAT IS NOT WHAT THAT IS! THAT’S JUST MURDER! WHERE IS THE REFEREE!?

Nick Stuart: Nuh-uh-uh. Elvis Nixon isn’t making a five count because this is a legal maneuver in the pillow fighting by-laws.

Richard Parker: WHAT!?

The attempted homicide of a tall tale by the Anglo Luchador causes the two of them to stagger towards the ropes, near where Fred Dick is spooning his teddy bear peacefully. There, BJP grabs hold of TAL and tears him from his back, sending the old luchador out to the apron. BJP steps over the ropes and goes for another chokeslam.

From the apron to the floor.

Richard Parker: MORE HOMICIDE INCOMING!

But not today.

TAL performs the ancient art of the kick in the fuckin’ shins, and BJP lets go in pain. TAL leaps on to the second ropes behind him, then to the top rope, and comes flying off the top rope at Big John.

Hurricanrana.

Off the apron.

INTO THE MATTRESS.

Fred Dick: WHADAFUGGDASHGUADHGUADHGFADUGHADGH!!!

A lot of humanity crashes down on top of Fred Dick, the mattress, and a section of the floor. The mattress ends up falling on top of both of them, and Fred Dick ended up as the cream between the Oreo cookies of the mattress and Big John. Elvis Nixon has little choice but to make a count.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

FOUR.

At the count of four, the Anglo Luchador slides back into the ring and he gets out of Nixon’s way so that Nixon can continue counting.

FIVE.

Big John tries to push Fred and the mattress off of him, but that’s a lot of weight on top of him and Fred seems unable to help.

SIX.

SEVEN.

He’s finally able to pry himself loose from the mattress, but…

EIGHT!

…Wait, no, Fred’s still on top of him!

Nick Stuart: This isn’t looking good for Big John Pepper!

NINE!

Big John tries to make one last lunge to get free, but he can’t make it!

TEN!

DING DING DING

There’s a lot of shocked cheers in the audience as Mexico’s favorite Anglo son raises his exhausted, sleep-deprived arms in triumph.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match… THE ANGLO LUCHADOOOOOR!

Nick Stuart: What a match! The Anglo Luchador has somehow outlasted Big John Pepper tonight!

Richard Parker: “What a match.” Jesus Christ. I feel like I took drugs before I came out here. Or, more accurately, everyone else took drugs while I remained sober. I’m asking LT for a raise after this show.

With TAL celebrating in the ring and Big John Pepper and Fred Dick on the outside looking confused and upset about the result of this match, we move on.

“GARBAGE DAY!”

The voice of Ricky Caldwell hits the speakers just as “The Sense” by Hot Water Music hits the speakers and fills the stadium.

Right on cue, Angel Quinley and Bex Savage rush out onto the stage, fists and finger horns raised high as a much calmer but commanding Ami Troy steps out behind them before gesturing toward the ring.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is for the PRIME Tag Team Championships! Introducing first, the challengers from Seattle, Washington and accompanied by the ‘Merry Mischief Maker’ Ami Troy, weighing in at a combined ‘None of my damn business’! ANGEL QUINLEY! BEX SAVAGE! THIS IS THE NEW WORLD TRAAAAAAASH!

Richard Parker: A real big opportunity for New World Trash here, Nick, as this is just their second match as a team within PRIME.

Nick Stuart: A debut win against the Masters of the Moscowverse was a strong statement for them to make – absolutely. But it’s quite a different challenge all together facing the newly-crowned tag team champions in Vae Victis.

Richard Parker: You can say that again, Nick.

Nick Stuart: A debut win against the Masters of the Moscowverse was a strong-

Richard Parker: Nope. None of that today.

Suddenly,

“Stranger Fruit” 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: Annnnnnnd the champions, weighing in at a combined weight of five hundred and forty pounds…representing VAEEEEE VICTIS… THEY ARE YOUR REIGNING PRIME TAAAAAAG TEEEEEAM CHAMPIONS – THE SCOTTSTER, SCOTT HUNTER…AND THE COWBOYYYYYY COLOSSUS! CLAYYYYY BYYYYYYRD!

Scott Hunter and Clay Byrd emerge from the back with the newly-won belts over their shoulders as they fist bump and then raise their fists triumphantly to the crowd to a huge roar of approval.

Nick Stuart: There is a lot of familiarity between these two teams even if they haven’t met yet in a PRIME ring, Richard.

Richard Parker: You know what they say about familiarity, Nick?

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: I dunno. That’s why I’m asking.

Both teams have entered the ring and all four are already chatting away and laughing before referee Jimmy Turnbull begins to point and direct the teams to their corners.

Angel Quigley opts to remain in the ring as does Scott Hunter; the pair nodding toward each other as they each raise a thumbs up to one another.

Referee Turnbull signals to the time keeper and then to Angel and Scott before dropping his arm.

DING DING

WHAM!

Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter lands a SOLID punch to the jaw of Angel Quigley!

As the Eternal Sunrise staggers backwards. Hunter shrugs his shoulders and mouths the words “sorry” before leaping forward with a clothesline, but Quigley is ready this time.

Nick Stuart: Oh! And a smart reversal from Quigley to grab Hunter’s arm! She tosses her opponent into the turnbuckle and chases after him, slamming her elbow into Hunter’s throat!

Richard Parker: The element of surprise is going to be what wins today, Nick. These two teams know too much about each other to play things by the book. The question is which of these goody two-shoes teams are going to snap first!

Hunter kicks Quigley away before she can land a blow, but not before Angel can take advantage of her positioning.

Nick Stuart: Oh! Angel just dodged an attempted blow by Hunter and spins into a KICK that hits Hunter right in the upper leg! He staggers slightly and goes for a punch! But Quigley is ready and connects with another kick, knocking the strike away!

Bex and Clay each begin shouting advice from their respective corners as Scott and Angel trade defensive blows!

A punch blocked by a kick. A kick blocked by a waiting fist. The pair seem to mirror each other’s moves up until…

Nick Stuart: RISING KNEE FROM HUNTER SENDS QUIGLEY BACKWARDS! Has this whole sequence been a rope-a-dope!?

Scott Hunter leaps forward and grabs a hold of Angel Quigley, lifting her up above his head with forward momentum and then SLAMMING her down to the mat with devastating force!

Richard Parker: I think you have your answer right there Nick. WOW!

Scott drops to the mat for an early cover.

ONE!

T-

Angel Quigley,  gasping to reclaim the wind that has been knocked out of her, manages to kick out and begins rolling over toward Bex Savage.

Scott Hunter contemplates trying to pull Angel back toward him, but chooses instead to simply watch as Angel reaches up and slaps her partner’s hand and makes the tag.

Nick Stuart: Some real sportsmanship from Scott Hunter there as now Bex is the legal – and rested – combatant!

Richard Parker: And he may already be regretting his generosity, Nick!

Bex Savage runs full speed at Scott Hunter and SPEARS him to the mat!

The crowd roars as Bex keeps to the ground, wrapping Scott in a headlock and begins to drive her knee into her opponent’s ribs.

Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter manages to break the hold, but the rested Bex Savage is ready, rolling backwards, launching herself off the nearby ropes and-

OHHH!

The crowd reacts violently as Scott Hunter and Bex Savage BOTH connect on dual flying forearms! The pair spin wildly in the air and land in unison flatly on their stomachs on top of the canvas!

Richard Parker: Like I said earlier, Nick – these two teams are not just aware of their opponents’ moves, they know them like the back of their hand. And neither is able to gain any sort of meaningful advantage.

Nick Stuart: Well, if it means we can keep enjoying this match, I’m all for it, Richard! Oh- Bex and Scott are now both up and are trading blows!

Scott goes for a knee to Bex’s chin, but she swats it away and lands a punch to Scott’s clavicle! She tries to wrap her arms around Hunter’s waist but he shoves them away and LIFTS Savage for a hip toss!

BEX GOES AIRBORNE BUT LANDS ON HER FEET!

Nick Stuart: Scott is dazed here and Bex reaches over–

Bex uses all her momentum and strength to lift Hunter up and then drop him directly onto his neck!

Nick Stuart: KIMURA SLAM!

Richard Parker: Scott Hunter just got suplexed out of his boots there Nick!

Bex takes a moment to catch her breath, rolling her neck and shaking out her hand from the impact of the slam. She glances toward Angel, then back down at Hunter before dropping to the mat.

ONE!

TWO!

TH-

KICKOUT!

Bex screams in frustration as Hunter rolls away, but the Muscle Mommy Buzzsaw is in quick pursuit!

Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter is looking for a tag at this point I think, Richard.

Richard Parker: I think that’s up to Bex at the moment, Nick.

Bex Savage grabs a hold of Hunter’s ankle but he manages to kick it away as he scrambles to his feet. As he does, he grabs a hold of Savage’s arm and swings her toward the ropes!

Savage flies across the ring, but repels off the ropes quickly toward Hunter! She goes for a flying lariat but Scott Hunter is there to greet her with his own lariat and the pair connect in mid air, spinning like Neo and Agent Smith from the end of The Matrix before COLLAPSING in the middle of the ring.

OOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Both competitors are down from that move and in pain! But Scott Hunter is closer to his partner right now, Richard.

Richard Parker: He needs to tag out, Nick. If he doesn’t and Bex gets to Angel first – we may have new champions for the second time in a month!

Scott Hunter begins to drag himself toward Clay Byrd whose arm is stretched as far as it will reach and on the opposite end, Angel Quigley is screaming for her partner to fight her way toward her.

Scott inches closer. Angel inches closer, but just behind Scott…

Nick Stuart: Tag to Clay Byrd!

With the slap of an outstretched hand, Hunter sends Clay Byrd into the ring and the fully rested Behemoth makes a bee-line for Bex Savage!

Nick Stuart: Tag to Angel Quigley!

Bex gets her tag in just in time as Clay arrives, but not enough to slow his momentum!

Nick Stuart: GOOD GOD! Both Bex and Angel have been sent to the outside of the ring by Clay Byrd!

Richard Parker: Right place and right time for the Cowboy Colossus! Savage and Quigley were both in the corner prone! I think Bex got hers in time though so Clay needs to be focused on Quigley right now!

Clay Byrd steps through the ropes and immediately rolls a disoriented Angel Quigley back into the ring.

Nick Stuart: The big man from Plainview, Texas, is the freshest fighter in the match but don’t underestimate a well-rested Angel Quigley!

Clay lifts Angel up from a prone position and lands a hard forearm to her head!

OH!

But Angel responds and grabs at Clay Byrd’s wrists, managing to knock him off balance.

Nick Stuart: Looks like she’s going for a roll up!

ONE!

T-

Clay Byrd easily kicks out of the attempt and reaches down to pull Angel back to her feet.

Angel breaks the hold and tries to lift Clay Byrd up!

Nick Stuart: I think she’s trying to end this here, Richard! Going for a Whirlwind Romance!

Quigley manages to get Clay off his feet, but not high enough. Instead she pivots and lets all of her body weight fall to the mat and carry Clay with it!

Richard Parker: What was that maneuver!?

Nick Stuart: Desperation, Richard!

Angel rolls Clay up for a pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-

NO!

Nick Stuart: The Monster from Plainview, caught off guard by the move, manages to kick out – just barely – and roll away!

As Angel begins to get back to her feet, Clay reaches over, wraps his arm around her shoulder and whispers something in her ear.

Richard Parker: What is he…

OHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: Clay shoves Angel backwards as he retreats to the opposite ropes and vaults himself forward!

SPEAR!

Richard Parker: Now it’s Angel’s turn to be taken out of her boots as she tumbles to the ground!

Nick Stuart: But it looks like Clay is going for round two!

Clay Byrd bounces off the opposite ropes and runs back toward Angel Quigley once more, just as she is about to recover, and CONNECTS with his signature TEXAS LARIAT!

The crowd roars as Jimmy Turnbull drops to the mat seeing Clay Byrd lifting the leg of a disoriented Angel Quigley. A distraught Bex Savage throws her hands up in disbelief.

Richard Parker: Angel Quigley is OUT and Clay is trying to make this as painless as possible, Nick. Unfortunately.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!

DING DING DING

A confident Clay Byrd rolls off of Angel Quigley with a fist raised that soon turns into an extended arm to help his opponent back up off the mat.

Finally coming to Angel sits up from the mat, sees Clay Byrd celebrating and lowers her head in disappointment only to have Clay turn around, reach down and raise Quigley’s arm toward the crowd.

RAAAAHHH!

Bex Savage and Scott Hunter both enter the ring as the four fighters meet, exhausted and bruised, at the center of the ring to share a group hug before saluting the crowd.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: Vae Victis retains tonight, Richard, but I can tell that there are great things ahead for New World Trash!

Richard Parker: Yes, okay, they’re pretty good… but you know I can’t deal with all this mushy stuff, Nick. Let’s get Max and Blaze out here soon because those two may actually kill each other in the ring tonight.

Nick Stuart: You’re such a purist, Richard.

The lights in the Estiado Azteca stadium go out as a single spotlight falls upon the second level of the entrance stage. Snark Darkly stands there looking withered, unpleasant and decidedly unkempt for his usual appearance. The skin sags on his face and, while the man often looked off, it’s especially apparent tonight.

Struggling to lift a microphone to his lips, Snark rasps.

Snark Darkly: Introducing my client… he hails from Arkham, Massacheutts… Standing at six-foot-four-inches and weighing in at two-hundred-sixty-five-pounds…

“Heads Will Roll” by Pep Squad begins to play ominously. The light vanishes though Snark continues.

Snark Darkly: He is the reigning and defending Mayor of Arkham, the Lord of Kaelsalvania, the BLACK HEART of PRIME™! Maximillian. WILHELM. KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEL!

The stadium’s lights rise once again as smoke filters down around the stage, Snark Darkly having vanished.

Off with your head
Dance til you’re dead
Heads will roll.
Heads will roll.
Heads will roll…
On the floor.

Moving through the smoke comes a dozen or so denizens of Arkham, their faces pale, their clothes looking drab, as though all the color and character had been leeched out of them. They shuffle forth, their eyes vacant, each one looking shell shocked, like they had just witnessed something unspeakable. Each finds their way to either side of the ramp, turning back to stare at the entrance with vacant stares.

Glitter on the wet streets
Silver over everything
The river’s all wet.
You’re all chrome.

Dripping with alchemy
Shiver stop shivering
The glitter’s all wet.
You’re all chrome.

Swaggering through the smoke comes the Mayor of Arkham, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael. His face is covered with a plexiglass mask that shields the upper portion of his face. A pair of sickly green eyes glow from the dark recesses of his mask giving an intensely ominous look.

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!

The denizens of Arkham all bow slowly as Max moves with the music toward the ramp, dancing in his own strange way. Arms wave, hips sway and it looks like he’s doing his own version of a tap dance along with the dramatic music which drowns out the heavy booing from the Mexican crowd.

Off, off, off with your head!
Dance, dance, dance til you’re dead!
Off, off, off with your head!
Dance, dance, dance til you’re dead!
Off, off, off with your head!
Dance, dance, dance til you’re dead!
Off, off, off with your head!
Dance, dance, dance til you’re dead!

Oiling his way up the ring steps, Max climbs into the ring between the ropes before scurrying up a the nearest turnbuckle raising his hands above his head. Once finished he slinks back down and moves to his corner. Back on the stage the somber citizens of Arkham slowly slip back into the darkness.

The lights fade back into pitch black.

Silence first. Then we hear the sound of waves against a rock outcropping. Deep. Rhythmic. The bass thrums through the arena like a struggling heartbeat, each pulse pressing against the chest with urgency. On the center video screen we still see darkness. But then a sweep of light cuts through fog. A lighthouse beam, almost surveying the audience, searching for something.

Someone.

For a half-second, something moves at the edge of the light’s reach. And then on its next rotation, the beam holds and the image freezes for a split second. Light against dark, the boundary between them sharp as a blade. A cloaked figure stands at the top of the concourse.

Then the light cuts out.

A pause.

CHANGE YOUR HEART OR DIE!

Every light in the arena detonates simultaneously; blinding white, overwhelming, a wall of sound and fury with the crowd roar bleeding through underneath, but rising.

He is dressed in a pristine and nearly glowing white robe with dark red lining on the fringe. Beneath it: white silk pants, white boots laced in red and crimson soles just below the cloak’s hem as it rests inches above the concrete steps.

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

The boss guitar riff kicks in as Blaze Claymore begins his descent, not down the entrance ramp, but through the crowd as The Midnight’s “Change Your Heart or Die” continues.

FIRE! TICKING LIKE A TIMEBOMB!

Blaze raises one arm to the sky as red and white pyros explode from the corner of the ring.

FIRE! BURNING LIKE NAPALM!

Blaze lowers his arm, pointing it like a gun he’s just cocked and takes a shot toward the ring as another round of pyros go off.

FIRE! STANDING AT THE CROSSROADS!

The Lighthouse sets his jaw as he reaches into his cloak and pulls out a leather-bound book, holding it up for the crowd who roar, adding a chorus to Tyler Lyle’s vocals.

Blaze leaps over the barricade and approaches the time keeper’s table, handing them Snark Darkly’s book. We can see him mouth the words “don’t you dare open it,” before turning and making his way to the ring.

His back now to the camera, he rolls his shoulders once, twice — then shrugs off the cloak and lets it fall.

HOW WILL YOU SURVIVE!?

The embroidered lighthouse on the back catches the light, “BLAZE” with the “E” tipped sideways into a crown and each point jutting outward like beams cutting through dark water. The pyro kicks in once more as he raises his arms and ascends the steps, the pyrotechnics seeming to bend to his will.

The crowd roar finally breaks through, like a wave crashing, as Blaze steps through the ropes and finds his corner, raises a single fist once again into the air as the song reaches its final wailing cry… and then cuts out.

CHANGE YOUR HEART OR DIE!

The crowd roars the final lines toward Blaze as he lowers his arm back to his side and turns to face the center of the ring, where Max Kael awaits. Ashley Barlow signals to the timekeeper that we are ready to get underway.

Nick Stuart: Ladies and gentlemen, what we have here, is a good old fashioned grudge match.

Richard Parker: I have a question…

Nick Stuart: Of course you do!

Richard Parker: So the stipulation for this match, is ‘no outside interference’, right?

Nick Stuart: Sure is.

Richard Parker: So… does that mean outside interference is normally approved?

Nick Stuart: I think it just means that in this instance it wouldn’t be tolerated at all.

Richard Parker: But… how is that different to normal?

Nick Stuart: You wanna take that up with the boss?

Richard Parker: Ehhh, no I’ll pass on that, thanks.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, I thought you might.

DING DING!

As the bell rings to signal the beginning of the contest, you can feel the hostility in the air between the two combatants. Blaze Claymore’s frame shows the tension he’s carried on his back, the overwhelming desire to conquer Max is evident from his body language. His jaw is locked, but that doesn’t hide the sense that his teeth are grinding against each other as he refuses to take his eyes off his opponent. Across from him, Max Kael couldn’t look any more different. His shoulders are loose and he wears that cocky, maniacal smirk we’ve become accustomed to. His eyes never stop calculating, but his gaze almost invites Blaze to rush-in, to make the first error.

The two men begin to circle each other slowly; the crowd’s excitement from the entrances fades into the low hum of anticipation. Unsurprisingly it’s Blaze who moves in first. He attempts to land a testing forearm shot, nothing reckless, just a feeler. Still wearing his shit-eating smirk however, Max slips it with a casual turn of his torso and snaps an open-handed slap across Blaze’s cheek. As Claymore’s head jerks back from the sting of the shot, Kael’s grin threatens to achieve lift-off from his face.

Fighting the instinct to launch himself recklessly at Max, Blaze instead responds with a measured European uppercut that catches Max under the jaw. The impact is enough to force Max to stumble back a few steps. Not even a direct shot to the moosh is enough to wipe off his smirk however – He touches his jaw with two fingers, amused, and lets out a chuckle as he ever-so-slightly adjusts his mask.

Nick Stuart: Perhaps no surprise here that Max is trying to get into Blaze’s head.

Richard Parker: Trying to? At this point Max has lived there so long he’s paid off the mortgage!

Nick Stuart: That’s hard to argue against, there are few more cerebral competitors in the world than Kael.

Richard Parker: Did you know that Max was short for Machiavellian?

Nick Stuart: I’m pretty sure it’s short for Maximillian.

Richard Parker: Agree to disagree.

Blaze doesn’t take the bait, not yet at least – for now he manages to maintain his calm. Sensing the opportunity, Max suddenly lunges forwards, his knee rising, aimed high. Blaze shifts his weight though, using Max’s momentum against him, he redirects it into a snug arm drag that sends Max skidding across the canvas.

Max pops up fast, the smirk at last gone as instead irritation flashes across his face. He charges again, and Blaze meets him with a hip toss. Max hits the canvas, rolls through to his feet and charges again. Blaze counters with another hip toss, and then a third as the sequence repeats once more. The crowd erupt with satisfaction from the exchange. This time Max is slower to get back up, only rising to one knee and shooting his opponent a look of pure malice. Allowing himself some satisfaction, Blaze responds with a grin of his own.

Instead of climbing back to his feet, Max bails to ringside, shaking out his shoulder and muttering under his breath. Blaze stays put in the middle of the ring, refusing to give Max the chaos he wants. Ashley Barlow remonstrates with Kael to get back in the ring, but all she gets in return is a malevolent glare from the Mayor of Arkham.

When Max finally decides to slide back in, he’s slower, more measured. Blaze is equally as patient as he approaches. Kael reaches out for a lock up, but Blaze sees the shift in his eyes a half second too late. Fingers rake across Blaze’s face, forcing him to recoil, blinking hard. Taking advantage, Max grabs him, and drags him forward into a short-arm clothesline. Blaze drops to one knee from the impact.

Sharp, echoing chops rain down on Blaze, each one landing high across his chest and collarbone. The crowd reacts with boos that increase in volume as every strike connects. Managing to stay upright, with teeth clenched Blaze refuses to give Max the satisfaction of watching him fold. As Max aims another hard chop down towards him, Blaze catches him by the wrist, mid-swing. Twisting underneath Max, Blaze puts everything he has into wrenching that arm. The result is that Max flips forwards and hits the mat, spine-first.

Blaze follows him down, into the mounted position, from there he rails off a series of controlled forearm strikes aimed high to avoid Max’s mask, each one carrying the weight of every sleepless night this feud has cost him. Max scrambles free and drags himself toward the ropes as quickly as he can, determined to put some distance between them and reset.

Nick Stuart: Do you think that Max has taken Blaze too lightly?

Richard Parker: Nah, he’s just playing with his food.

Nick Stuart: I’m not so sure.

Max rises slowly; shaking out his arm, the confidence under that plexiglass has now definitely slipped into irritation. Blaze doesn’t give him the opportunity to recover though. He closes the distance with a tight flurry of forearms, uppercuts and body shots that thud against Max’s guard. Kael tries to cover up to no avail, Blaze landing each blow with the determination of months of frustration boiling over.

Forced backward, Max retreats into the corner, but there is no respite there – Blaze continues to unload. A series of rapid‑fire European uppercuts, each one snapping Max’s head back, draws a louder and louder reaction from the crowd with every strike. Irritation slips into a grimace of disbelief as Max tries, and fails to break-free of the onslaught.

Grabbing Max by the wrist, Blaze whips him across the ring. Max hits the opposite turnbuckles hard. Before he can really even absorb the impact, Blaze is there once again, crashing into him with a running clothesline that connects with the back of his neck. Staggering now, dazed and off‑balance, Kael has no defense as Blaze scoops him up and delivers a back body drop. Max hits the canvas with a heavy thud.

Blaze drops into a lateral press, hooking the leg and Ashley Barlow drops into position to make the count.

ONE!
TW…
Kickout!

Max kicks out, but there’s no authority behind it. Just survival.

Nick Stuart: Still think Max is just playing with Blaze? Max looks utterly rattled if you ask me.

Richard Parker: Rattled? He looks like someone unplugged him and forgot to plug him back in. Wake up Max!

Blaze is quick to his feet, and pulls Max up with him. Kael swings wildly trying to wrestle back control, but Blaze ducks under the shots, and grabs his opponent around the waist. Spinning and twisting as he does so, Blaze plants Max with a picture-perfect spinebuster. He hooks the leg again, deeper this time. The crowd count along with the cover.

ONE!
TWO!
Kickout!

Max kicks out at two and a half, clutching the back of his head as he rolls to his side. Barlow raises two fingers on both hands to signal the kickout as the crowd settles back down.

Firmly in control of the contest, Blaze doesn’t hesitate. He drags Max up once again, and this time he sends Kael into the ropes with an Irish whip. As Max rebounds towards him, Blaze catches him up for a powerslam, driving him down in one crisp motion. He transitions immediately, tying the grounded Kael up with an armbar, he wrenches Max’s shoulder with controlled pressure time and again.

A snarling Max, with every one of his teeth bared, twists and claws as he tries to reach the ring-ropes. Inch by inch he drags both their bodies across the canvas. Blaze tries to tighten the hold, trying to ensure he can inflict as much damage as possible. Increasingly desperate, Max manages at last to reach the bottom rope by flailing out with his boot, finally finding his target. Ashley Barlow calls for the break, Blaze doesn’t release the hold immediately however, he knows there is a little leeway to be used here. Barlow admonishes him and begins to count for the disqualification. Blaze doesn’t let her go past a count of three however, letting go of Max’s arm, he pushes back to his feet.

Max rolls to the apron, clutching his shoulder, clearly worse for wear. Blaze approaches cautiously, he knows well-enough that a wounded Max Kael is the most dangerous kind of Max Kael! Claymore reaches through the ropes, grabbing Max by the wrist… however Max’s response is instantaneous. An old favourite, one of the truly great equalisers…

A burst of grit explodes upward.

Blaze recoils, blinded, stumbling backward as he tries to wipe his eyes. In reaching through the ropes, he’d placed himself between Barlow and Kael, and as a result Ashley couldn’t see Max’s dastardly tactics. The fans voice their outrage, Barlow might not have seen what happened, but they certainly did.

Richard Parker: Pocket sand! Statistically proven to be the most dangerous kind of sand there is!

Nick Stuart: Surely that would be quick sand?

Richard Parker: Nope, that stuff is only dangerous to horses.

Nick Stuart: What? I don’t know what you mean?

Richard Parker: Don’t worry, all the poor traumatised forty year olds know what I’m saying.

Nick Stuart: Oooook.

Max slides back into the ring, and gives his shoulder a final shake-off. His infamous grin has been restored with a look that borders on predatory.

Blaze wipes at his eyes, vision swimming, trying to blink away the grit. Max is not interested in giving Blaze any time to get his bearings back however; he surges forward, driving a rising knee into the side of Blaze’s head. Having not seen it coming, the impact drops Claymore instantly, sending him sprawling across the canvas. As a disorientated Blaze clutches at his temple, Max rains down stomps on Blaze’s skull and shoulders, each one placed with the usual cold, methodical intent.

Dragging Blaze up by the hair, Max cocks his head, taking in the glazed-over look in his opponents eyes and admiring his handiwork. To add insult to injury he reaches back and slaps him across the ear with the (former?) Red Right Hand of Communism. The shot drops Blaze down to one knee, Max follows up immediately with a roaring elbow into the side of Blaze’s head. Claymore collapses face‑first to the mat.

Max makes a cover, and Barlow begins the count.

ONE!
TW…
Kickout!

Blaze kicks out, he’s taken some damage but there is still plenty of fight left in the Lighthouse just yet.

Nick Stuart: Blaze is in trouble here. That pocket sand changed everything.

Richard Parker: It’s coarse, it’s rough, it gets everywhere. It’s a beautiful thing.

Nick Stuart: The last thing he wants is to let Max fully take control.

Richard Parker: It’s what the people want though.

Nick Stuart: Sometimes I wonder what it’s like in that parallel world you live in Rich!

Max almost looks amused that Blaze kicked out. He drags Claymore up and snaps him over with a lightning fast suplex. Maintaining the grip, he delivers another. Then a third. A forth? Surely not a fifth! Each one delivered with surgical precision, each one designed to rattle Blaze’s spine and neck with the speed of the snap. Unsurprisingly, Blaze is motionless on the canvas after that assault; Max by contrast, sits up looking almost nonchalant as he feeds off the crescendo of jeers aimed at him from the crowd.

Before Blaze can fully register where he is, Max transitions seamlessly into the Trotsky Choke, locking Blaze’s arm and head between his legs. He wrenches back, tightening the hold, and begins dropping short, sharp elbow strikes onto Blaze’s skull. Blaze kicks his legs wildly, trying desperately to find any leverage at all. In a burst of desperation, Blaze manages to roll Max backward, stacking him onto his shoulders. As usual, Ashley Barlow is in position and drops into the count.

ONE!
TWO!
TH…
Kickout!

Taken by surprise from the counter, Max just about realises what is happening in time to release the choke at two and a half, breaking the pin and rolling free.

The amusement Max displayed a few seconds ago is gone. He snarls, grabs Blaze up and hoists him onto his shoulder. Running at the turnbuckles, he drops Blaze headfirst into the corner with Basilisk Eyes. Claymore slumps, dazed, barely upright. Max steps back, lines up his shot, and drills a delayed Arkham Hellbow into the back of Blaze’s head. Blaze collapses to the mat in a heap.

A more determined look now on his face, Max makes another cover.

ONE!
TWO!
THRE…
Kickout!

Blaze kicks out at the last second, Barlow again signals the count ended at two. Incredulous, Max screams at her that the count was three, Barlow makes it very clear that wasn’t the case however.

Nick Stuart: Blaze Claymore refuses to stay down!

Richard Parker: Idiot!

Climbing up from his knees to a vertical base, Max surveys his opponent. Blaze Claymore is proving harder to break than he expected. He pulls Blaze up, hooks his arms, and lifts him for the Weapon of Max Destruction. But somehow Blaze has the wherewithal to kick out at Max’s legs, forcing him to shift his weight before he can complete the move. Enraged, Max responds instantly with a volley of vicious plexiglass enhanced head-butts. They find their mark and as Max lets Claymore fall, a red tint is now visible on the mask. Blaze drops to a knee, clutching his forehead, trying to stay upright and trying to stop the blood now trickling down his face from getting into his eyes.

The tension from the fans reaches new heights, as they watch on with the thought that this one is coming to an end. Max feels the same, he steps back, lining up the Unquestionable Kick.

He swings…

Somehow Blaze ducks.

Nick Stuart: Max just can’t hit that one big move he needs to get this one over the line.

Richard Parker: How many times do I need to tell you, he’s toying with him.

Nick Stuart: Nope, I’m not having that. Blaze is showing the resiliency we’ve come to expect from him. He won’t go down without giving his all.

Max’s boot cuts through empty air, momentum carrying him a half‑step forward. Blaze, still blinking through the haze of grit and blood, swings wildly – desperate to connect with an attempted lariat. Max slips under it though, and as Blaze turns back towards him, he tries with a back-fist of his own; again however the strike is avoided. Both men step back, desperate to reset, breathing hard, eyes locked together.

The cameras can’t get close enough to tell what they are saying to each other, but it’s clear from their expressions that both men are letting their contempt for the other flow out. Then they collide.

A hard forearm shot from Blaze connects. Max volleys back with one of his own. Another from Blaze finds its mark, heavier this time, there is an audible crack as the impact leaves a crack running down the length of the mask. Max answers with a stiff elbow that snaps Blaze’s head to the side. The crowd roars, sensing that both men have abandoned their strategies in favour of all out war.

Nick Stuart: They’re just throwing bombs now!

Richard Parker: This is great!

Blaze fires another forearm. Max answers with a chop. Blaze responds with a palm strike. Max with a headbutt – the cracks in the mask extend as a result. The rhythm builds, faster and faster, the sound of flesh pounding on flesh echoes out into the crowd like drumbeats. Neither man gives an inch, neither man willing to back down. Ashley Barlow tries to step between them, her hands raised, shouting for space. Maybe they don’t hear her, or maybe they just don’t care. Blaze shoves past her. Max swings around her. They collide again, fists flying, bodies crashing, forcing Barlow to retreat to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

The fight spills through the ropes and to the outside. Blaze lands a sharp elbow that sends Max stumbling toward the guardrail. Max answers with a knee to the ribs. Blaze fires back with a forearm that actually causes a small portion of Max’s mask to fall to the floor. Every fan in the Estadio Azteca is on their feet now, a wall of noise engulfing both competitors, they react to every shot.

The wrestlers trade shots right in front of the guardrail, the fans in the front few rows instinctively move back a few feet as the violence threatens to spill over into their midst. Max seems to take back the momentum, landing several unanswered body shots. He pushes Blaze, causing him to stumble back a little. Ever the opportunist, Max drops to one knee and in one fluid motion reaches up to deliver a low blow — but Blaze catches his wrist mid‑swing.

Max freezes. His eyes lift slowly, meeting Blaze’s. Looking remarkably calm in this instant, Claymore allows himself the briefest of smiles as he drives a massive knee up into Max’s face. The impact sends Max reeling, stunned, arms hanging limp at his sides.

Nick Stuart: Blaze just rocked him!

Richard Parker: He cheated!

Nick Stuart: He did no such thing!

Richard Parker: Well, he stopped Max from cheating, and that amounts to the same thing in my book!

Running on adrenaline and desperation, Blaze hoists Max up, draping him across the guardrail horizontally. Max hangs there, chest heaving, arms dangling, barely conscious. Blaze looks up at the ring apron, his gaze then shifts to the top turnbuckle, and then comes to rest again on his opponent. The crowd, following his train of thought, erupt into a wild frenzy.

Blaze climbs onto the apron, unsteady, exhausted. He grabs the top rope, pulls himself up, and begins the ascent. Every step looks like it costs him something. He reaches the top rope, standing tall but visibly uncomfortable, a man out of his element but driven by something deeper than fear.

Nick Stuart: Blaze Claymore is going for broke!

Richard Parker: He’s lost his mind! I’ve always said so, idiot!

Blaze steadies himself. He looks down at Max. He leaps…

…and Max rolls off the guardrail at the last possible second.

Blaze crashes through the guardrail, splintering it apart as the crowd gasps in shock – an eerie silence follows.

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD!

Richard Parker: Yikes!

Max, battered and barely upright, wastes no time. He drags Blaze’s limp body from the wreckage, rolling him under the bottom rope. Blaze doesn’t move. Not even a twitch. Max slides back into the ring after him, eyes wild, breathing ragged but that maniacal grin back in place. He stalks behind Blaze, waiting, coiling, ready to strike.

Blaze pushes up to his hands and knees, trying to find the ropes, trying to find anything. Max explodes forward. The Cruelest Stroke connects flush. And with that, Blaze collapses instantly.

Max doesn’t have the energy left to hook the leg; he just throws his arm over the bloodied and battered form of Blaze Claymore. Ashley Barlow makes the count.

ONE!
TWO!
THREE!

DING DING!

Max rolls off Blaze, lying on his back, chest heaving, the usual twisted grin spread wide across his face. He pushes himself to his feet, stumbling, barely able to stand, but absolutely delighted with himself, somehow he finds the energy to enjoy a laugh at his opponent’s expense. He exits the ring, limping up the ramp, basking in the chorus of boos from the section of the fans who aren’t still in a stunned silence, concerned for the condition of Claymore.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner… MAXIMILLIAN WILHELM KAEL!

Behind him, Blaze Claymore does not move. At all.

Nick Stuart: We need medical attention out here.

Richard Parker: He’s not moving Nick.

Medics sprint down the ramp as Max disappears backstage. They slide into the ring, immediately checking Blaze’s vitals, calling for a stretcher. Blaze remains motionless, eyes closed, unresponsive. Those who were jeering at Max also falls into the deafening hush that fills the arena.

The medics waste no time. They stabilize his neck, lift him carefully onto a gurney, and wheel him up the ramp with urgency, disappearing behind the curtain as the broadcast cuts to the commentary team, even Richard Parker looks shaken by what’s just happened.

Nick Stuart: Folks, we’ll update you on Blaze’s condition as soon as we know more.

The camera lingers for a moment on the broken guardrail, the wreckage of the final gamble that didn’t pay off.

PRIME comes back from the commercial break to rave music. Happy hardcore to be precise. The music bounces off the vicinity. A total throwback. Like it’s 1999 in a UK timewarp.

In the heart of the locker-room, “Fair Game” Danny Christie is already moving. His left hand still getting the last bit of strapping from one of his cornermen but the rest of him won’t wait. Shoulders rolling and feet shifting. Head loose on his neck. He’s not playing to anyone- just a man making sure every part of him is switched on and accounted for.

Richard Parker: He’ll not be needing Left Hand Larry..

Nick Stuart: Almost showtime. Danny Christie challenging Tony Gamble for the PRIME Alias Championship tonight.

The strapping finishes. Danny shakes both fists out, bounces once on his toes and settles into a rhythm- moving around the room with that easy, unhurried looseness that only comes from being completely certain about what’s ahead. The entourage carries on around him. Cornermen. Physio. A couple of faces from the pre-show. All of them busy and purposeful. None of them quite in the same place Danny is right now.

Nick Stuart: He’s ready, Richard. He is absolutely ready.

The camera drifts to the corner. A folding table. A roll of tape. An empty stool. It stays there just a moment— just long enough.

Nick Stuart: Big John Christie wraps those hands. Has done since Danny was a juvenile fighter. Straight out of dippers. That’s always been his job.

Richard Parker: Always.

Back to Danny. Still moving but his eyes laser focused. The music is just weather to him now- something happening around him while he exists somewhere quieter and more certain inside himself.

Then-

The track cuts.

No fade nor a cossfade. Just- gone.

Danny stops. Stands straight.

The room stiffens around him. A cornerman looks up. The physio freezes. Nobody speaks. Nobody touches anything.

A beat of total silence.

Then, from the boombox in the corner- nobody near it, nobody responsible for it- a song begins. Unannounced. Unbidden. Like the machine decides for itself.

“So no one told you life was gonna be this way-“

Richard Parker: …Is that-

Nick Stuart: That’s “I’ll Be There For You.” Richard, that’s-

Richard Parker: I know what it is, Nick.

Danny Christie doesn’t even flinch. Just stands there in the middle of the room. The entourage exchange glances. Nobody speaks. Because somehow, instinctively, everyone in that room understands that this isn’t for them.

“…I’ll be there for you, when the rain starts to pour-“

And then-

Three knocks on the door.

Without hesitation, the door thunders open. Almost like a jump cut with Daniel Christie portraying the most menacing editor in the lands.

And Big John Pepper waltzes in.

Big John Pepper: Hey, Danny. 🤙

Danny Christie: What can I do for you, Pepper?

Big John smiles, looks around the room.

He walks over to the folding table in the corner. He picks up the tape.

Big John Pepper: I thought, uh, maybe I’d do something for you.

Big John walks over to the man he considers his friend that probably doesn’t see him the same way, and grins, with a nod.

Big John Pepper: Not trying to be your old man. Just trying to, you know, be a pal.

Danny Christie: What’s your game? I’m having breakfast.. your face is in my cereal. I’m in the gym.. you’re on the five hundred pounds bench press… and when I’m driving..

Danny pounds a fist into his palm

Danny Christie: Let’s not go there.

Big John nods, thinks for a moment. He drops to his knee, so he is face to face with Danny.

Big John Pepper: If I knew what the game was, I’d tell you.

He sighs.

Big John Pepper: But I don’t. All I know is that I like ya. If you want me to leave, I will.

Big John leans forward.

Big John Pepper: But breaking your regular routine before your biggest contest in PRIME seems like a mistake to me.

Danny has no time to mentally (and emotionally) digest what’s on offer.

The bomb box kicks back into WC ion with the return of Happy Hardcore.

DJ Hixxy

Like A Shooting Star

The Alias Challenger goes back to bouncing on the spot. Almost in acknowledgement.

Big John Pepper, unsure what to do, just starts bouncing with him.

Danny sighs frustratedly as we cut away.

Vince Howard: The following is a Submissions Only Match with uh…exceptions…for the PRIME ALIAS TITLE! Introducing first, the challenger, weighing in at 215lbs. He is Fair Game DAAAANNNY CHRISTIE!!!

The living legend that is Neil Diamond, with his iconic song “Sweet Caroline,” begins to play. The fans erupt instantly with loud cheers, quickly followed by the familiar, rapturous sing along that has become synonymous with “Fair Game” Danny Christie.

As the chorus hits, out steps the custodian of Neil’s classic anthem himself — Danny Christie.

Danny emerges loose, calm, and completely in his element, shadowboxing as he walks with the easy confidence of a man who knows exactly who he is and what he means to the people in attendance. The crowd only grows louder, belting out the chorus as Danny soaks in every second of it.

With his arms stretched wide, the bare-knuckle king sings along with the audience on his way to the ring, brushing fingertips with every fired-up fan within reach as he marches toward the squared circle.

Once at ringside, Danny takes a moment to absorb the atmosphere before climbing up onto the apron and stepping through the ropes. Inside the ring, he paces with a relaxed bounce in his step, rolling his shoulders loose and shadowboxing lightly on the canvas, fully immersed in the moment as the crowd continues to serenade him.

Vince Howard: And his opponent. Weighing in at 187lbs. Representing the Red Army, he is the current PRIME ALIAS CHAMPION, TOOOOOONY GAAAAMMMBBBLLLEEEE!!!

##Where my heart is, rests my very soul

And the colors bleed from blue to gold##

“Born for This” by Divide Music starts to play through the speakers as Tony Gamble and Johnnie Newsman step out from behind the curtain, soaking in the chorus of boos that rain down from the crowd.

##When the choice is mine and mine alone

I won’t give in even if you break my bones##

Johnnie Newsman: HELLLOOOOOOO EVERYYYYBOOOOODYYYY!!! THEEEEE LAST MAN LAUGHING IN PRIME IS HEEEEEERRRRE!!!!

##I won’t give in ’till your sins have been atoned

All I see is the flickering lights below me##

Tony stretches his arms out wide, welcoming the crowd’s form of adoration as Johnnie continues to speak and his music plays.

##All I need is the power to change what I see

If I can give a little, not a second thought##

Johnnie Newsman: Coming to your ring, with the weight of one hundred and eighty nine pounds of lean, healthy muskulls on a man.

##If I’m stuck in the middle, I will take the shot, woah

All I wanna be, yeah##

Tony makes his way down the ramp, ignoring the few smarks in the crowd that actually do like him. They reach their arms out, awaiting a slap of acknowledgement that will never come, as Johnnie stays at the top of the ramp.

##Yeah, I was born for this

I will keep my secrets high above##

Johnnie Newsman: He thee Capotabola!

##In the hopes to protect the ones I love

But I wonder where in darkness lies the truth##

Johnnie Newsman: Number one in your heart!

##Of the one who took their lives, you can’t excuse

I don’t fear you, I won’t let you take my home##

Tony climbs the steps, looking out at the fans that have not quieted down at all since he stepped out from behind the curtain. They love to hate him, even more so as he stands on the apron looking out into the crowd for a moment — not bothering to wipe his feet.

##I will climb through to wherever you may roam

I won’t give in, you can even break my bones##

Johnnie Newsman: Only man to half title with his name!

##What is within is a strength you’ll never know##

Johnnie Newsman: TOOOOOOOOOOOONYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!

##All I see is the flickering lights below me

All I need is the power to change what I see##

He steps in between the middle and top ropes to get into the ring, making his way to the center.

Johnnie Newsman: THEEEEE GRRRRRRIIIINNNNNNNN!!

##If I can give a little, not a second thought

If I’m stuck in the middle, I will take the shot, woah##

He drops down to one knee, lowering his head as Johnnie continues.

Johnnie Newsman: GAAAAAAAAMMBLLLLLLEEEEE!!

##All I wanna be, yeah##

He stretches his arms out once more, then throws back his head to stare up at his hands with one finger on each hand pointed up to the rafters.

##Yeah, I was born for this##

Tony Gamble leans against the ropes and smirks to the booing fans.

Nick Stuart: This is a submissions-only match but uh only for Danny Christie.

Richard Parker: Genius strategy from Tony Gamble.

Nick Stuart: Is it? He just made the rules, then said the rules don’t apply to him.

Richard Parker: Yes. Genius.

Nick Stuart: I don’t like what this might awaken in you.

DING DING

The two circle each other, Gamble’s trademarked smirk goading Christie into making the first move. Christie goes for a lockup to start things off but Gamble sidesteps and lays into Christie with a few blows to the head that throw off the realest motherfucker early. A kick to the midsection doubles Danny over. A quick DDT dazes the Real Thing for a one count.

A still fresh Danny pushes Gamble off and kips up back to his feet to the applause of the crowd.

This time, Danny forces a lock-up, and the amateur wrestler comes out. Christie smoothly transitions into a tight headlock. Tony counters with a shot to the ribs and pushes Danny into the ropes, but Christie has his own counter with a full force shoulder tackle that almost takes Gamble off his feet.

Nick Stuart: So lemme make sure I have this right, Christie has to win by submission, but Gamble can do…anything?

Richard Parker: Yes Nick. Anything!!

Nick Stuart: Please don’t make that face, the children are scared.

An armdrag takedown from Christie definitely takes Gamble off his feet. Showing off his technical assets, Christie smoothly transitions into a Fujiwara armbar. Tony’s arm bends in a way it shouldn’t, and he screams in pain. The ref asks if he’s had enough, and Tony shoots him a glare that somehow says, “No, and I hate u forever for asking.”

Nick Stuart: The ref asking Tony if he’s had enough and I think he may want to kill the ref now.

Richard Parker: It’s an absurd question. Tony Gamble has had his shoulder dislocated by better men than Danny Christie.

Tony is able to get his foot on the ropes, but Christie holds on the hold until the ref makes him break. Christie doesn’t waste time and rains down strikes on recovering Gamble. Gamble elbows the rookie in the face and rolls outside the ring to regroup, clutching his arm.

Nick Stuart: Gamble already favoring that arm. Could it be Christie’s in to winning this match?

Richard Parker: A despicable display from Danny! Concentrating on one arm over the other; it’s discrimination!

Christie is quick to jump to the ring apron. He gives himself a running start and tries to give a Kris Roswell-esque football kick to Gamble’s head, but Gamble ducks just in time. He counters by grabbing Christie’s leg and bringing him down hard. DC’s head bounces off the edge of the ring with a sickening CRUNCH.

Nick Stuart: Dear god…

Richard Parker: Oh? What? Did wittle Danny get a wittle cut?

DC staggers back, feeling out the damage on his face. All he finds is blood.  A nasty gash on his head oozes blood into his forehead. It’s not long before streams of blood cover Danny’s face. Gamble smiles. And grabs a stunned head and bashes it into the barricade, spraying unwitting fans with drops of fresh Christie family blood.

The ref has only counted to four (only for Christie) when Gamble throws Christie into the steel stairs. Danny’s head bounces off the top part of the stairs, which fly off, almost hitting a fan who was leaning in a little too far.

Tony grabs the top part of the metal stairs and brings it over to a still recovering Christie.

BOOOOOOOOO.

Nick Stuart: Do Tony’s Alias rules also allow him to commit homicide?

Richard Parker: I think we’re about to find out!

Christie is a bloody wreck on the ring stairs. Tony grins WIDE, holds his half of the metal stairs up, and gets ready to end Christie at count 7, when at the last second, DC counters! He kicks Gamble’s left leg out and stuns the veteran with a spinning backfist that turns Gamble sideways.

Nick Stuart: Christie firmly in control now. He rolls Gamble back into the ring.

Christie hops up to the middle rope and does a leaping elbow to Gambles’ injured arm. Gamble spasms in pain, but Christie wants his golden arm. He tries to lock in an armbar, but Gamble grabs his hand and won’t let go, as if his championship depends on it. Gamble repositions and is able to get his foot on the rope juuust as his grip slips. Christie swears under his breath and releases the hold.

Richard Parker: What is this rookie even doing in the ring with a seasoned and respected vet like Gamble? This match is truly an insult to all those who worked their way up the old-fashioned work-

Christie goes for another hold, but Gamble LOW BLOWS Fair Game Danny.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, old-fashioned work.

Richard Parker: Hey now, dick punching is the oldest profession, put some respect on its name.

Nick Stuart: No.

The ref checks on DC, who is currently squirming on the ground in pain. Without them seeing, Gamble undoes the turnbuckle padding like a goddamn professional. Quick and quiet with his opposition one the wiser.

Gamble jumps to the second rope and MOONSAULTS onto the still downed Christie. He goes for the cover.

ONE

TWO-

KICKOUT.

Gamble picks up Christie and leads him over to the exposed turnbuckle, but DC sees what’s going down and puts his leg up on the second rope to stop the slam. Danny twists out of Gamble’s grasp, falls to the floor, and drops toe holds Gamble RIGHT INTO THE TURNBUCKLE.

Gamble falls back, stunned. Danny mounts him and delivers. A series of stiff strikes to Gamble’s face till the ref forces him off. Now Gamble is bleeding too. Danny shows how concerned he is when he delivers a knee drop to Gamble’s injured arm. He goes for another armbar, but Gamble counters into a pin. You can’t use the same move on Gamble twice, kid.

Gamble bounces Christie off the ropes and gives him a nasty lariat on return for another two count.

He tries to pick Christie up, but the Choke Dealer knees Gamble in the side of the face to retake control. He puts Gamble in a side headlock, throws a few strikes in for good measure, then runs forward and hits Gamble with a running BULLDOG.

Gamble’s body bounces off the mat, and Christie sits on Gamble’s back and rears back into a camel clutch. Danny screams as wretches the hold and delivers strikes to the back of Gamble’s neck. Gamble is desperately inching toward the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Christie is not letting up on this hold.

Richard Parker: Gamble is so close to the ropes, just a little more-

Just as Gamble is about to reach the ropes, his hand goes limp. Could Christie be the new champ?

The raf raises Gambles Hand, and it falls…

Once…

Twice…

An exhausted Danny eases on the hold slightly, thinking this is the end…

And the hand comes back to life and grabs the rope! DC releases the hold.

A heated Danny starts arguing with the ref (He was out!), but it allows Gamble to slip away and do something sneaky.

Nick Stuart: Did…Did Gamble just grab something from under the ring?

Richard Parker: I didn’t see anything. Are you feeling alright, Nick?

Nick Stuart: Are you trying to gaslight me?

Richard Parker: No, I only have electric.

Gamble is clearly hiding something in his hand, but Danny’s eyes are full of blood and pain, plus Gamble’s back is turned. It’s mostly that, actually. DC advances, then WHAM! Drops to the floor as Gamble emerges fresh with brass knuckles on both fists.

Nick Stuart: Brass knucks!

Richard Parker: Christie is out cold!

Not quite, there’s still life in Christie after that first shot. Tony clinks the knux together, then attacks with wild swings. Christie dodges the first shot, then the second, the counters for-NO. GAMBLE SPITS BLOOD RIGHT IN HIS FACE.

A shocked Christie stumbles, and Gamble catches him with a brass-knuckled EUROPEAN UPPERCUT that sends Christie to the moon.

After all that, DC is dead to the rights in the middle of the ring. It seems so unfair. To have survived every one of Tony’s tricks only to fall in view of the finish line. Christie played a clean game, but the clean game isn’t always the winning one. Gamble may be able to win this right here, but he’s not done yet.  Gamble leisurely makes his way to the apron, where he pulls out a fresh fluorescent tube.

Christie, meanwhile, stirs, his face now more red than Welsh. He turns over on his stomach just in time for Gamble to bring down the TUBE on Christie’s exposed back!!! THE GLASS SHATTERS into Christie’s skin and all over the ring.

Nick Stuart: Jesus, Danny Christie looks like a car just hit him.

Richard Parker: That’s the proven, Tony Gamle method. Works every time.

Danny Christie: AHHHHHHHH!!

Richard Parker: See?

With Danny dazed and contorting in pain, Gamble gives him one last knockout punch with the knuckles before going for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THRREEEEEEE – BUT NO!

LAST. MINTUE. KICKOUT.

Christie is dead but still alive! Gamble’s mouth hangs open in disbelief.

Richard Parker: He kicked out! HOW THE HELL DID HE KICK OUT?

Christie’s body jerks like a corpse slowly coming back to life in a zombie movie. But Gamble can’t let that happen. He forces Christie to his feet and viciously Irish whips him once again into the exposed turnbuckle. The crowd goes silent as Christie hits the turnbuckle hard and goes still once more.

Gamble spreads his arms to the crowd, who express their disapproval.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

Gambles yells at a few in the front to shut up. When, on a dime.

WHHOOOOOOO!!!

The crowd gets going. The Grin grins at first. Surely this is for him, right? Gamble looks over at Danny Christie, who yells something that needs to be heavily bleeped before rushing Gamble.

Richard Parker: This kid was dead! Where is this coming from!

Nick Stuart: A true fighter’s heart, Rich.

Richard Parker: Ew.

Gamble goes to counter Christie’s rush, but Christie slides under Gamble’s legs, then jumps up, onto Gamble’s back and-

Nick Stuart: REAR NAKED CHOKE! It’s in deep!

Richard Parker: Something your wife has never said-

Nick Stuart: NOT NOW, RICH.

Christie is strapped to the still standing Gamble’s back, desperately choking the life out of The Grin. The crowd is with Danny. He’s in element now. No frills. No tricks. Just a neck that needs to be dealt a choke.

Gamble tries to break the hold, but he’s fading. His steps lurch, and he begins to stumble.

Then he slams Danny backward into a pile of glass on the floor.

Danny screams, but hangs on.

Tony is on his knees now. He tries to stand but stumbles.

Once.

Twice.

Then Tony Gamble collapses.

The ref does a quick check and calls for the bell.

It’s over.

DING DING

A blood-soaked but unbroken Danny Christie releases the choke and falls back, exhausted. Danny struggles to get to his feet as “Sweet Caroline” hits and the crowd roars its approval.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner and the new ALIAS CHAMPION, DAAANNNNYYY CHRISTIEEEEEEE!!!!

Eventually, with bits of glass dripping from him like sweat, Danny Christie climbs the turnbuckle and raises the belt high over his head in triumph. The new champ lets himself savor the moment as we fade elsewhere.

As we move from ringside, we once again find ourselves in what should be a familiar situation: seeing an incredibly zoomed in face belonging to a man with devil horn hair. And we hear a familiar sound: that man shouting.

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

Yes, it is familiar, but it doesn’t mean we have to like it. Satan Jones moves the phone a little away from his face so we can see more of the background, but not that much more. We see a closed door, and the top of Satan’s bare chest, but that’s about it.

Satan Jones: And let me tell you, my LDs, you’re not going to want to miss this episode.

LDs? Did he just…shorten little devils? And is he acting like we can miss it? He hijacked the TV feed.

Satan Jones: We’ve had some great guests on the show so far. Former champions, future champions, men with blue hair. But never have we had a guest more prestigious. More honorific. More big boss lady like.

Honorific doesn’t mean what he thinks it means. We move on.

Satan Jones: So I am pleased to introduce you to the owner, the number one, the lady whose curly hair and baggy pants once gripped the world and never let go. LINDSAY TROY!

Nothing happens. She does not appear. After a moment, Satan moves and holds the camera out further, revealing that the door he’s standing in front of isn’t the right one. After spinning 180 degrees, though, he’s found it.

The Steel Door O’ Doom.

Satan Jones: Oh, I should probably knock.

He does. And grimaces after. Steel is hard, y’know.

Satan Jones: And, uh, ask if she’ll be a guest.

He sidles up to the door and presses his face against it.

Satan Jones: (yelling through the barricade) BOSS LADY, WANT TO BE A GUEST ON MY SUPER POPULAR INSTAGRAM SHOW? … Please?

The door opens and a stone-faced Queen of the Ring stands in the threshold, wearing her old school PRIME attire: baggy wide-legged 90s tech pants, boots, and a white “Platinum Grit Bitch Patrol” ringer tee, all underneath her cobalt blue, silver, and pink military coat that has become a customary staple in her Vae Victis Co-Consul wardrobe.

She gives Satan a once-over. Then walks right by him, heading toward the Argyle position.

Satan Jones: That wasn’t a no!

He scurries to catch up with her. As a result the feed is blurry and choppy.

Satan Jones: So tonight you make your triumphant return to the ring to face Dan Ryan. The Murder Daddy. Killer Pappy. The Father of Death. My question is simple: does your relation to him make you a Murder-In-Law?

The Queen checks her hand and wrist tape, then rolls her neck from side to side. Satan falls into stride beside her and she gives him a side-long look.

Lindsay Troy: You could say that.

Satan Jones: And so I will! Moving on, Murder-in-law Troy…

Satan is a tall man, with long legs, but he still finds himself being outpaced by Troy simply because she is determined and focused and he is…not.

Satan Jones: How does it feel to be fighting family? You spend most of your time here dealing with idiots…

His tone implies that he does not count himself among them.

Satan Jones: But that’s quite different than dealing with a tall old man with anger issues, isn’t it?

At this, the Queen of the Ring genuinely laughs.

Lindsay Troy: Well, I do have to deal with Ivan on a regular basis, who is also a tall old man with anger issues. But he’s a problem for tomorrow night.

She looks at Satan and his phone again and smiles, just a little.

Lindsay Troy: This isn’t the first time I’ve faced Dan in the ring. It also isn’t the second, third, or fourth time. We’ve been tag partners, we’ve been enemies. We know each other better than anyone else. We’ve brought out the best and the worst in each other for over 20 years. So I’d say it’s fitting that I’m his last opponent. I’d also say it’s surreal, and a little emotional.

Satan wipes at his eyes. Did this response evoke an emotional reaction from him?

Satan Jones: Ugh, sorry, there were fresh jalapeños on the catering table. I should’ve washed my hands.

He suddenly unleashes a scream of pain that startles nearby staff members.

Satan Jones: Okay, much better. Now onto the business side of PRIME: what new roster members have impressed you with their 8-pack, Devil horn haircut, and impressive wrestling acumen?

Lindsay Troy: Oh. Wow, you’re kinda putting me on the spot here, Satan.

She takes a moment to think.

Lindsay Troy: Ami showed me a pretty sweet picture of what Hank’s planning on being for Halloween this year. I might have to go with him.

Satan Jones: Wow, I have to be really popular for there to be costumes of me!

Satan Jones, ever the optimist.

Satan Jones: You mentioned tomorrow’s show, where you are part of a Squad Goals match. How do you think you’ll transition from being these wrestlers’ boss to being their teammate or opponent?

Lindsay Troy: The transition will be easy. My Squad’s locked in. Did you know we built a cabin together at Sage’s commune? Got the whole “become one with nature” experience and built a place for a new family to live in. Really brought us all together and got us working as a team. As far as the others are concerned, Ivan’s feelings toward me are well documented and I know he’s been dying for a match with me. Chandler and I have history and a little unfinished business. Bobby’s been impressive in his short time here and Scott’s a future Universal champion. It’s going to be a hell of a fight for everyone involved.

Satan Jones: Well that’s…

Satan stops, looking past Troy.

A tallish, muscular figure spookily hangs out in a dark hallway. The red glow emanating from the cigarette dangling head level illuminates the face of…

Rob Williams: Boo. Sorry to interrupt, but I heard the foot guy would be here. Need some scratch quick. I got debts no honest man can pay. I’m sure you can understand, boss.

Not waiting for a reply, Rob dumps the bag.

It’s boots. A shit ton of boots.

All different colors and shapes and heel lengths litter the floor. A verifiable footfinder.com buffet.

Satan Jones: Oh. My. God.

Sprinting past Lindsay Troy, Satan slides on his knees towards the boots. He has gotten good at this livestream thing, because he’s holding his phone out so we can see him and the boots. Looking at each one like a cavalcade of Christmas presents that he can’t decide how to approach. Finally, he looks up at the Five Star Champion, moving the phone to fill Williams in the frame.

Satan Jones: Do you take Golden Corral gift cards?

Shaking his head, Rob wonders where Golden Corral is even open anymore.

Rob Williams: Goddamnit, man – I need money. Cash.

Still, there was something to the nostalgia of Golden Corral.

The warm, yellow glow of the heat lamp over a giant meat being cut into ridiculous servings. Oh and the biscuits. Those damn sexy, glossy biscuits just dripping butter.

Maybe he could let the kid take a few whiffs for some Golden Corral gift cards.

No. He has debts to pay.

He looks at Troy and holds his hands up, shrugging.

Rob Williams: Sorry, boss.

The one pair of boots Satan had no interest in, Rob Williams’ snakeskin cowboy boots, land square in Satan’s family jewels.

Rob Williams: A deal is a deal, you asshat. Now I’m going to have to explain to Fred why all his fucking heels smell like baby oil.

Satan crumples to the floor, and his phone falls as well so that we are staring up at the ceiling. Rob and Lindsay are still in the shot. We can’t see Satan, but we can hear him.

Satan Jones: I…might…have a checkbook…in my locker.

He groans, then stops making noise. Maybe he passed out?

The Queen shakes her head a la Disappointed Bobby Hill, then continues on her way.

Rob ignores the crumpled Satan laying in his pile of boots, instead grabbing hold of the phone.

Rob Williams: Now this might be worth something.

The feed abruptly ends.

Somewhere back in the lower halls of Estadio Azteca we see an ambulance with its back doors open and two EMTs in dark blue shirts covered by reflective vests standing on either side of a gurney.

One of the EMTs is balding with pepper-colored hair and a beard while another has shaggy brown hair barely kept in place by a baseball cap.

Young EMT: Mira, esta despierto.

Older EMT: Sir. Sir… are you with us?

As the camera slides sideways we see a groggy Blaze Claymore, oxygen mask over his face and bruising up and down his arms. As the Lighthouse comes too he looks erratically from right to left, nearly tipping the gurney over as the EMTs fight to keep him down.

Older EMT: ¡Para! ¡Para! Slow down.

Blaze Claymore: Where is… where is he? What happened?

With another burst of energy, Blaze snaps to life grabbing the young EMT by the collar.

Blaze Claymore: Where’s the book!? What happened to the book!?

Young EMT: Qué libro!? Yo no sé qué libro!

Suddenly a familiar voice emerges from the shadows, warm and syrupy, covering the room like tree sap right before it crystallizes into amber. Lights flicker overhead as a pair of bubblegum-colored shoulderpads emerge from the shadows like the head of a cobra.

Sonja Cuchilla: Because no hay libro. There is no book. Not one that will do a bit of good, at least…

Blaze lays prone as he raises his gaze, watching Sonja walk up. His face shows a delayed, guttural reaction as he processes her words.

He reaches out to grab Sonja’s wrist. He doesn’t catch her instinctively pulling away before steadying herself and extending her arm, letting Blaze find comfort in her touch.

Blaze Claymore: I’m so sorry Sonja… I don’t know what to say.

Sonja smiles and crouches down, reaching her free, pink clawed hand out to lift Blaze’s face up to meet hers.

Sonja Cuchilla: Just admit that I was telling the truth.

Blaze blinks, not understanding.

Sonja Cuchilla: That what happened to Montevideo was all because of me… because I saw what you couldn’t – what you refused to.

Blaze Claymore: Please, Sonja…

Sonja Cuchilla: You’re not Montevideo’s lighthouse, Nathan. Or PRIME’s. You’re just a scared, lost kid fumbling around in the dark with a flashlight.

Blaze Claymore: No!

Blaze yanks his hand away from hers as he rips off his oxygen mask, eyes wide and mouth trembling as he speaks.

Blaze Claymore: I’m not giving up on Montevideo or on you.

Sonja stands up from her crouched position and lets out a heavy sigh.

Sonja Cuchilla: That’s fine, Nathan… but just know that we’ve given up on you.

She turns her back to Blaze, flicking her hand in a brief wave as the lights once again flicker to the beat of a pounding heart.

Sonja Cuchilla: It’s too late for me and too late for Montevideo. Only darkness can defeat darkness.

Then the room becomes bathed entirely in black for one brief moment before  the lights  snap back to life with a “crack” as the darkness vanishes, taking Sonja Cuchilla with it.

But then, from the light, a rainbow-haired Psychoberry appears around the corner, hands on her hips and head cocked looking at an understandably distraught Blaze Claymore.

RIA Lockhart: Hey.

A pause.

RIA Lockhart: You look like shit.

Blaze Claymore: (laughing softly): Well, I feel like shit.

Another pause.

RIA Lockhart: For what it’s worth… you gave it everything you had. I could tell.

Blaze doesn’t respond.

RIA Lockhart: That’s not nothing.

Blaze Claymore: Sure feels like nothing.

RIA doesn’t argue with that. Instead she finds a nearby chair and pulls it up next to the gurney. The lights hum steadily overhead, bright and ordinary, like nothing happened in this room at all.

After a long moment Blaze turns his head and looks at her — really looks, like he’s checking she’s actually there.

Blaze Claymore: Why are you here, RIA?

The Psychoberry shrugs.

RIA Lockhart: I don’t know yet.

Blaze lies back down and reapplies his oxygen mask, gesturing for the EMTs to come back and continue to do their tests.

Blaze Claymore: Well… I appreciate it all the same.

As RIA sits and Blaze recovers we head elsewhere.

A montage of brief video clips from archived footage flies by the screen.

Featured in every shot are the same two familiar figures: “The Queen of the Ring” Lindsay Troy, and “The Ego Buster” Dan Ryan.

“Friends…”

A narrator’s voice carries over a quick highlight reel of Ryan and Troy as tag partners, lighting up the ring through various promotions over the years. They work well as a unit; a perfect combination of overwhelming strength and unparalleled finesse.

“Foes…”

In the next clip, Troy and Ryan are twenty plus years younger, staring each other down from across the ring for the first time as opponents in a company whose name is lost to the annals of time.

“Family…”

We fade through a series of photos showing their out-of-ring relationship: LT posing alongside Ryan and her sister, Alaina, at the latter two’s wedding. LT with Dan and his daughter, Cecilia, during her official contract signing to PRIME. The extended Troy-Ryan clan, dressed casually and group posing during a Christmas gathering at the Ego Buster’s expansive Texas mansion.

“Across history, there have been so FEW duos as dynamic that they transcend what we generally define as ‘partners’ in the sport of professional wrestlin’… like our own Queen of the Ring, LINDSAY Troy… and ol’ Eggo Buster himself, Danny Ryan…”

Smiling with confidence, Ryan and Troy pose back in the glory days of the Inner Circle. The other associates in the picture are out of focus, but that hardly matters, because anybody who was there at the time remembers who the true standouts were.

“More than just mere partners in a burgeonin’ industry of EGOS and ACTORS…”

Never before seen backstage footage reveals Troy stepping through the curtain on her way back from the match. From the neck down, she’s dressed in the purposefully neutral and androgynous DIS outfit. From the neck up, she wears an mixed expression of exhaustion and triumph. In her hand, dangling at her side, is the World Heavyweight Championship. The first of many that form the Queen’s fearsome throne of wrestling conquest.

“Working side by side, the unstoppable pairin’ of Ryan and Troy bestowed upon the world the BLUEPRINTS a new standard of wrestlin’…”

The first person to greet her backstage after her history win, naturally, is the federation owner himself: Dan Ryan. The man who gave her this opportunity. No mere congratulatory handshake for these two. Completely overwhelmed with the weight of the moment, Troy falls right into Ryan’s arms, and the two share an extended, emotional hug.

“Together… they built entire EMPIRES!”

We get highlights from different stints during their careers, including matches from Troy’s initial run in PRIME during the ReVolution era, with Ryan in her corner serving as manager.

“Wherever one went, the other was certain to not be far behind… just as the GOLD was certain to be claimed by their hands!”

Lindsay Troy holds up various World Championships. Dan Ryan holds up various World Championships. Sometimes separately, sometimes together.

“GOLD! GLORY! CONQUEST!! The values held true and dear by ERRY legend whoever graced the sport of wrestlin’! The WIN is all that matters… even if it means turnin’ on FAMBLY!”

We get highlights from their shared time in DEFIANCE Wrestling, when things were not quite as rosy. Ryan puts Troy through the announce table by way of a Burning Hammer, which cuts ahead to the Queen being stretchered out in a neck brace. Troy gets her comeuppance by nearly destroying the Ego Buster’s knee with the Key to the Kingdom, forcing him to tap. The ending shot shows her standing tall, raising the FIST of DEFIANCE overhead, while Ryan is helped to the back on one leg.

“TONIGHT… will be no different!”

We cut to recent footage of Troy and Ryan working out in their respective home gyms. Despite the years, they look absolutely fit and well-conditioned. Troy’s gaze as she reps through power squats is fixed and intense. Ryan’s massive muscles bulge as he benches the bar fixed with an ungodly amount of weight. Both know exactly what they’re getting into, and know they must be in nothing less than top form.

“TONIGHT… these longtime friends and erstwhile rivals will meet one on one in the SQUARED circle and BEAT THE GODDAMB SHIT OUTTA EACH OTHER for ONE! LAST! MATCH!!”

The feed cuts from the video montage to the commentary table.

Finally, we see who’s been providing us with the narration.

Rezin: And YA BUTTER BELIEVE that THIS OL’ DOPESMOKER’S got himself a FRONT ROW SEAT to the ACTION!!

The Goat Bastard sits alone at the table, wearing a headset and openly blazing up on a spliff that looks like it was rolled from Parker’s commentary notes.

Not like he ever reads them, amirite?

Rezin: FUCK YEAH, MAN, DANNY RYAN and LINDSAY TROY! Can’t HELP but to be STOKED, even if they ARE a coupla MEGALOMANIACAL TITANS OF CAPITALISM! When they stand together, sum’bishes are nearly UNSTOPPABLE… but when they stand AGAINST each other?! SHIT, DAWG… GRAB DAT ASS OF YOURS AND KISS IT GOODBYE, cuz it’s gonna be TOTAL DESTRUCTION OUT HERE!! I’m talkin’ on the level of a NATURAL DISASTER HERE, gang! SURRIOUSLY, they’re handin’ out RAINCOATS to errybuddy in the first few rows to protect ‘em from all the GODDAMN ELLUVIA that’s gonna be GOBSMACKED AROUND and FLYIN’ ERRYWHERE when these crazy muthafuggers start gettin’ into it! NOT ME, though! I AIN’T AFRAID of a light splatterin’ here and there! Might even give me GAWD-LIKE POWERS if–

“Oh, now what the hell is THIS??”

Rezin chokes on his last word. The camera pulls back, revealing Nick Stuart and Richard Parker standing over the table, looking down at Rezin in disbelief.

Nick Stuart: C’mon, Rich… you can’t stay put for more than three minutes while I use the rest room?!

Richard Parker: I thought I had time to grab a bite back in catering!

Nick Stuart: What were you eating, an entire PIZZA? Now we got this moron at our table!

Richard Parker: Well how was I supposed to know he was going to be here tonight? I thought it was the Enemigos job to keep him out of the building!

The Escape Artist nervously clears his throat.

Rezin: Oh uh… hey there, guys! Don’t mind me, or anythin’… actually, ya mind if I jump in with ya tonight?

Nick Stuart: No.

Rezin: Aw, c’mon! I really think ya guys could benefit from my perspective here! Ya know, botha these guys were my employer at one point or another, so I can safely say I know ‘em well!

Richard Parker: No!

Rezin: Arright, let’s sweeten the pot here… with ACTUAL pot! How much ya need? Ten grams? Twenty? Indica? Sativa? Hybrid? Shit, dawg, ya want shroom? I got shrooms. Got some tabs too, but ya know, strawbviously, I’m hangin’ onto those for a rainy–D’AHH!!

Parker spritzes Rezin with a spray bottle of unknown liquid. Stuart begins beating him with a broom.

Nick Stuart: OUT! OUT! OUT!

Richard Parker: Get outta here, you crusty goat bastard! GIT!

Rezin: AAHH!! AAHH!!

Rezin scrambles out of his seat and flees the scene, quickly climbing a barricade and disappearing into the crowd.

Meanwhile, Nick and Richard find their seats at the commentary table, looking repulsed at the mess that was left behind.

Richard Parker: Good God, the SMELL, Nick! And there’s STAINS all over my notes!

Nick Stuart: Nevermind it, Rich… we’ve got a job to do! A battle of epic proportions awaits as the PRIME CEO herself, Lindsay Troy, faces off against her longtime friend and cohort, “The Ego Buster” Dan Ryan, in his final competitive match in PRIME!

Estadio Azteca is plunged into darkness. The roar from the PRIMEates ascends to a fever pitch as fans grab their cell phones and light up the arena.

After a few moments of buzzing and thrumming from 90,000 strong, an all-too familiar clavinet intro blasts through the PA system for the first time since PRIME’s resurrection, calling on everyone in the building and at home to get the Led out.

Greased and slicked down fine
Groovy leather trim
I like the way you hold the road
Mama, it ain’t no sin

Talkin’ ‘bout love
Talkin’ ‘bout love
Talkin’ ‘bout…

Lindsay Troy bounds through the curtain as pink, blue, silver, and gold pyro erupt like cannonfire into the night sky. She stalks across the stage, riling up the Mexico Faithful as “Trampled Under Foot” by Led Zeppelin continues to play.

Nick Stuart: What a tremendous ovation for the Queen of the Ring and the Leading Lady of PRIME!

Richard Parker: Relax, Nick! They’re only popping for the Zep! How much do you think she paid to get the rights to use this song?

Check that heavy metal
Underneath your hood
Baby, I can work all night
Believe I got the perfect tools

Talkin’ ‘bout love
Talkin’ ‘bout love
Talkin’ ‘bout…

She makes her way down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans lucky enough to score aisle seats. At the bottom of the ramp, the Queen shrugs out of her coat and sheds her shirt and pants to reveal her now-traditional ring gear of a halter top and thigh-length MMA shorts. She pulls a Sharpie out of her pants pocket, quickly signs her shirt, and hands it off to a young fan in the front row. Then, she jumps flat-footed onto the apron, wipes her feet, and catapults herself up and over the top rope with a flip. After rolling through, she scales a far corner to pose a bit before hopping down and turning in mid air.

Richard Parker: And now for the esteemed “Murder Daddy”…

After a few moments of lingering silence, the PA plays through the ominous piano intro of JT’s “Daddy’s Home”.

Somewhere beyond the sea
Something slumbers under–

“NOOOOOOO no no no no…”

In the ring, the Queen immediately gives the motion to cut the music. After a brief record scratch, the song screeches to a halt before it can even get going.

Seconds of silence pass.

And then…

A familiar guitar riff rips through the PA.

And Mexico City LOSES ITS SHIT!

My reflection, dirty mirror
There’s no connection, to myself
I’m your lover, I’m your zero
I’m the face in your dreams of glass

The curtain tears aside to reveal…

…a CARDBOARD CUTOUT of Dan Ryan…

Richard Parker: Um…?

…which IMMEDIATELY EXPLODES as the real thing suddenly appears from behind it and obliterates it with a huge stroke of his hand!

The fans EXPLODE! Ryan stands on the stage, wearing his classic all black “ZERO” t-shirt, hands on his hips, smiling confidently as he gazes over the crowd and takes in the reaction.

So say your prayers
For when you’re really gonna need them
Throw out your cares and fly…

As the song breaks, Dan makes the “lifting for a huge ass powerbomb” gesture. As he does, the Mexico City PRIMEates hit their lyrical cue…

“WANNA GO FOR A RIDE?!”

Ryan drops the “bomb”, just as two massive pillars of FIRE erupt from the sides of the stage!

KAA-BOOOM!!

Dan slowly makes his way down the rampway, slapping hands with as many fans reaching over the barricade as he can on his journey to the ring.

Richard Parker: He’s all smiles, considering walking into what’s supposed to be his retirement match!

Nick Stuart: Nothing to be surprised about there! The seasoned wrestling legend Dan Ryan is fully embracing this moment tonight! This match will undoubtedly be the swan song to a long and dominant tenure at the top of the sport of professional wrestling!

Intoxicated by the madness
I’m in love with my sadness
Bullshit fakers, enchanted kingdoms
The fashion victims chew their charcoal teeth

As he gets to ringside, Dan Ryan continues to circle the ring, shaking and slapping hands. He pauses briefly at a set of seats occupied by his wife, Alaina Troy-Ryan, and daughter, Cecelia Ryan, both of whom he briefly hugs before continuing his procession.

Meanwhile, Troy hangs out in her corner and wears a slight smile as she watches her soon-to-be opponent soak up the overwhelming emphatic reaction.

Nick Stuart: This is surely an emotional evening for the Ego Buster, as we can see his closest family and friends are at ringside to witness this history event!

Richard Parker: Kinda risky to invite them along, ain’t it? I mean, given his age, this can get really embarrassing really fast!

Nick Stuart: He’s not even fifty, Richard. In fact, I’m pretty sure that YOU are older than he is!

Richard Parker: Oof… kick a man while he’s down, why don’t you?

I never let on
That I was on a sinking ship
I never let on that I was down…

When he’s completed his orbit of the squared circle, Ryan scales the steps to the apron, enters the ring, finds a corner, and posts up to pump his fists overhead to more cheers from the fans and more pyrotechnics in the rafters.

As he drops back to the mat, the music cuts, and he goes to his corner. Vince Howard is standing by in the ring, ready to announce the competitors.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following special exhibition contest is scheduled for one fall!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

Vince Howard: Introducing first… hailing from Tampa, Florida, United States… she weighs in at one-hundred and ninety-five pounds… please welcome to the ring, THE CEO OF PRIME WRESTLING…

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

Vince Howard: “THE QUEEN OF THE RING”… LIIIINDSAAAAYYY TROOOOOYYYY!!!

The Leading Lady of PRIME does a 360 turn, arms raised, and draws a massive and endearing pop from the fans.

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

Vince Howard: And the opponent… fighting out of Houston, Texas, United States, he tips the scales at three-hundred and fifty pounds… he is the MURDER DADDY of PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING…

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

Vince Howard: “THE EGO BUSTER”… DAAAAAAAAAANNN RYYYYYYYAAAAAANNNN!!

As the crowd cheers, Ryan rips off his shirt and tosses it out to a lucky fan in the crowd. Then both competitors ready themselves in their respective corners while Elvis Nixon makes his final checks.

With everything squared away, he cues for the bell.

DING DING

The competitors leave their respective corners and begin circling the ring.

Nick Stuart: And this one is underway! The legend, Dan Ryan, fighting his LAST MATCH against the Queen of the Ring herself, Lindsay Troy!

Both competitors move around each other slowly, neither showing any outright urgency to throw themselves into the fight. They eventually raise hands and close in, cautious and controlled in their movements, studying each other like hawks. Then Troy subtly jukes ahead while threatening a low kick, and the Ego Buster backs away with a bemused smirk.

Nick Stuart: The familiarity between these two as opponents can’t be understated! They have over twenty years of experience together in the ring, both as allies and opponents!

Richard Parker: So I guess it’s safe to say that they know each other inside and out, over and under, around and through?

Nick Stuart: That’s certainly a way of putting it! In any case, it’s understandable how both competitors are showing the utmost caution right now in these beginning moments of the match! Both of them know that one false move could spell disaster!

They move in and stall once more. While both are wearing smiles of confidence, their eyes are focused and locked in. LT steps in again looking for another low kick. Ryan dips down to snag the ankle, but at the last second, Troy brings the leg back and goes into a spin before whipping it around once more, this time much higher.

Nick Stuart: Troy with a surprise SPINNING HEEL–NO!! Just NARROWLY ducked by Dan Ryan!

Ryan instantly rears up and backs away, grazing a hand over the top of his head and comically making a “whew, that was close!” face before chuckling. Smiling, the Queen beckons him to come and try his luck again.

Richard Parker: Not sure I’d be laughing after nearly getting my head kicked off, but hey, who am I to judge?

Nick Stuart: Dan Ryan is as cool, composed, and irreverent as ever, but the Queen of the Ring is proving to him that she has hardly lost her step in the ring!

After buying himself a few moments mugging to both the camera and the crowd, Ryan moves in yet again. A brief moment of hesitation ensues as they stand feet apart and wait to see who blinks first. This time, it’s the Murder Daddy, moving in for a textbook collar and elbow.

Nick Stuart: Here’s the tie-up… no, Troy ducks under the arm, and lands a BACK ELBOW into the lower back of the Ego Buster!

Ryan briefly hisses and clutches at the smarting pain in his back, only to chuckle once more. When he turns around, he wags his finger at the Queen. Wearing her signature cocky smirk, she simply shakes her head and beckons him again.

Nick Stuart: Lindsay Troy clearly knows that her opponent wants to get in close and grapple, where he has the clear advantage in size and strength, but fortunately for the Queen, she has plenty of speed and agility on her side!

Richard Parker: And don’t forget the cunning! Can you believe she talked me into a paycut at our last contract negotiation?!

Nick Stuart: Given how much you pack down in catering, partner, I’m surprised she didn’t force you to pay her back!

Dan stalls for a few more moments, stretching against the ropes and wringing out his shoulders to loosen up. He returns to the center of the ring where Troy stands ready and waiting, only this time raises a hand…

Nick Stuart: Oh my! Ryan is calling for the test of strength here!

Troy looks at the hand in bewilderment, and then to her brother-in-law as though asking without verbally asking if he’s being serious. But Ryan nods, and looking appealingly toward the crowd, gets the fans on his side to cheer on a potential test of strength.

Nick Stuart: The fans are wanting it too!

Richard Parker: A Queen very well can’t leave her subjects disappointed!

Shaking her head, Troy nevertheless throws up her hand and grabs Ryan’s.

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

The interlock the other set of hands, and the test of strength commences through a large and sustained pop from the PRIMEates. The larger Ryan pushes ahead and gains an almost immediate advantage. Troy digs her boots into the canvas and pushes back with all her might to stay vertical.

Nick Stuart: Unsurprisingly, the Ego Buster is overpowering his opponent in this battle for leverage, but the Queen is doing everything to hold her ground!

Richard Parker: No doubt, if her legs weren’t busy, she’d be kicking herself for going along with this!

The Murdery Daddy pushes forward with the force of a hurricane. The Queen stands resilient as an oak against the storm. Ryan pushes even harder, with the strain on his face is evident with his teeth grinding and the vein popping out of his forehead.

Nick Stuart: I’m honestly surprised Lindsay Troy has put up this much resistance to an overly stronger opponent!

Richard Parker: Maybe age has caught up to the ol’ Eggo Buster? Maybe he’s afraid of throwing out his back if he forces himself too hard?

Then, the Ego Buster simply turns his head to the side, and YAWNS.

Nick Stuart: Ah… that would explain it.

Richard Parker: He’s not even trying, Nick!

Making it clear that he’s merely holding back, the crowd laughs along with Ryan’s show of irreverence. Still connected to him by the hands, Troy smirks, shakes her head, and swiftly punishes him for his smart-ass behavior…

Nick Stuart: Wait, Lindsay Troy suddenly dropping down… plants a boot into the midsection just as Ryan comes forward, and sends him UP and OVER onto his back with a monkey flip!

Richard Parker: Basically conceding defeat!

Nick Stuart: Careful what you say there, Rich… LT immediately goes back to her feet, and she hits the ropes… BASEMENT DROPKICK just as Ryan was sitting up! Lateral press into the first cover of this match!

One!

And Ryan BENCHES HER RIGHT OFF!

Seemingly without effort, the Murder Daddy LAUNCHES the Queen into the air from his place on the mat! Troy gets impressive hangtime, sailing over the head of Elvis Nixon as he’s in the middle of making the count and deftly lands on her feet behind the official.

Richard Parker: Kicking out with absolute authority!

The Ego Buster sits up once more, completely stonefaced. Slowly, he turns his head in the direction of the Queen… and laughs. Troy smiles back, pointing with two fingers to her eyes.

Nick Stuart: The Queen of the Ring is sending her longtime friend a message that he ought to watch himself, or he’ll be paying the price!

Richard Parker: He sure doesn’t look like he’s taking that message seriously! In fact, since he came through the curtain, Dan Ryan looks like he’s been thoroughly enjoying himself!

Nick Stuart: And why wouldn’t he, wrestling his final match in PRIME against a good friend and longtime career associate? Still, let’s not forget who we’re talking about. Dan Ryan can go from cocky and self-assured to absolute RAGE mode with the flip of a switch!

Ryan pushes himself to the ring and crosses the ring with a bit more conviction in his steps. His hands come up for the collar and elbow, but Troy stops him in place with a sharp boot to the gut, following up with a low kick to the calf!

Nick Stuart: Dan Ryan cut down to a knee, and now the Queen of the Ring hits the ropes… coming up behind, looking for the bulldog–NO!

Knowing what’s coming, the Murdery Daddy ducks just in time to avoid Troy’s headlock, and the near arm grabs him around the waist before she can run by. Ryan quickly pops to his feet, secures the waistlock with both arms, digs his heels into the canvas, and LAUNCHES the Queen of the Ring overhead!

Nick Stuart: Ryan from behind now with a MASSIVE GERMAN SUPLEX–and NO!! LT LANDS ON HER FEET!

Richard Parker: Saw that coming!

Nick Stuart: The same must go for Dan Ryan, as he jumps aside just as Troy strikes from behind with a sliding dropkick, again going for that leg, trying to take the big man off his base!

As soon as she’s back on her feet, Troy is met with the force of a Mack truck hitting her midsection as Ryan surges in to take her down. She sprawls out her legs to keep from going down, but can do little to stop the Murdery Daddy from bullrushing her and forcing her up against the turnbuckles!

Nick Stuart: Ryan has her trapped in the corner now, going right for a shoulder tackle to the body, but Elvis Nixon is there to call for the break!

Grinding his shoulder deeper into the Queen’s abdomen, Ryan milks the count all the way to four before breaking off and backing away with his hands held up innocently. Clutching her midsection, Troy smirks, shakes her head, and calls him a son of a bitch. Ryan mockingly looks behind him, as if assuming she’s talking to someone else.

Richard Parker: I gotta hand it to Dan Ryan… as far as cocky assholes go, he is pretty much the king! That punk Jiles doesn’t hold a candle to him!

Nick Stuart: He definitely seems to be enjoying himself in the ring right now, but if the Ego Buster isn’t careful, he may very well–OH WAIT!

Suddenly, the Murder Daddy goes for zero to a hundred, charging the corner once more and driving the forearm for the Queen’s head! LT ducks out of the way at the last second and rolls clear from the corner.

Nick Stuart: Ryan went for the surprise attack, but hit nothing but that top turnbuckle!

Ryan comes away shaking his arm. As he turns, he walks right into Troy’s waiting drop toe hold, and falls face first to the mat! In a flash, the Queen hops over his back and wrangles the same arm into a seated armbar, and wrenches away!

Nick Stuart: Troy brings Ryan to the mat, and now she’s got the submission hold in place!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching her trying to strangle a giant python!

Nick Stuart: Troy’s got a good hold onto the wrist, and she’s REALLY torquing it back!

For the first time in the match, Dan Ryan groans in pain. Actually, it’s more of a low growl. Nevertheless, he bares his teeth as he fights through the sting. Nixon leans in and asks if he’s tapping. Ryan looks at up him pointedly, like he’s a fucking idiot for asking that, and simply shakes his head.

Nick Stuart: Ryan’s making a move for the ropes now, hoping to get out of this one by rope break!

Richard Parker: Couldn’t he just power his way out?

Nick Stuart: I suppose he could, but wouldn’t you think that’s exactly what the Queen would expect him to do?

Richard Parker: …I mean, maybe?

Using his free arm, Ryan steadily drags himself to the nearest set of ropes inch after inch. Troy doesn’t fight his efforts, instead focusing on torquing the arm and putting all of her weight onto her opponent’s back to make him really work for it.

Nick Stuart: Ryan is almost there now… and yes, he’s got the bottom rope!

Nixon calls for the break. Like Ryan before her, the Queen also waits all the way until the count of four before making the break and backing off the center of the ring.

Richard Parker: You can almost kinda sense things are starting to get testy in there!

Nick Stuart: I think that’s to be expected, given these competitors! They may be good friends and bound by family, but both are famous for letting nothing get in the way of a hard fought victory!

Ryan pulls himself up to his feet, favoring his arm and mugging once more to the audience with a clearly overexaggerated face of agony. Contrarily, the Queen has stopped smiling and adopted her gameface.

Richard Parker: Uh oh… I think the BOSS is done playin’!

While Ryan continues to play to the crowd, Troy hits him from behind and seizes him by the way for the ol’ roll-up. Instead, the Ego Buster holds onto the ropes to keep from being dragged back, and the Queen rolls back on her own! LT quickly pops to her feet just as–

Nick Stuart: RYAN WITH THE RUNNING LARIAT–NO!!

LT DUCKS in the nick of time!

Nick Stuart: The Queen going one way, and the Ego Buster going the other, and they both hit the ropes… Dan Ryan going for the TILT-A-WHIRL BACK–NO!! TROY COUNTERS WITH A HEADSCISSOR TAKEDOWN!!

Boots clamped around the Murder Daddy’s head, LT rolls to the mat and sends him running uncontrollably to the corner, where he bumps against the turnbuckles. The moment he turns himself around, Troy is back on her feet and charging right at him…

Nick Stuart: LEG LARIAT in the corner! Lindsay Troy is really opening up her offense now!

Richard Parker: And really starting to lay it in! Gloves are off now!

The blow leaves Ryan staggering out of the corner, leaving him easy prey to the Queen’s three-quarter facelock as she parkours up the turnbuckles…

Nick Stuart: SLICED BREAD #2 BY TROY!! Back to her feet… STANDING SHOOT STAR PRESS, AND SHE MAKES THE COVER!

ONE!

TW–KICKOUT!!

The Queen rolls straight to her feet, whipping around and catching the rising Ego Buster square in the chest with a POWERFUL hip-level wheel kick that knocks the wind from his lungs!

WHAP!

“OOOOooohh!!”

Nick Stuart: WHAT a kick! That leveled the mighty Dan Ryan down to his KNEES!

The Queen unloads even MORE stiff-as-hell kicks to Ryan’s barrel-sized chest, while the fans react with every devastating impact!

WHAP!

“OOOOooohh!!”

WHAP!

“OOOOooohh!!”

WHAP!

“OOOOooohh!!”

WHAP!

“OOOOooohh!!”

WHAP!

“OOOOooohh!!”

WHAP!

“OOOOooohh!!”

WHAP!

“OOOOooohh!!”

Nick Stuart: LT is GOING TO TOWN on the Ego Buster Dan Ryan! Absolutely RELENTLESS kicks to the chest!

Richard Parker: That chest of Dan Ryan’s looks like raw angus beef, Nick!

Ryan’s mouth hangs agape with stinging agony. He clutches at his now blistered chest and instinctively huddles forward. Once he does, Troy takes a bounce off the ropes and rolls forward into a graceful flip…

Nick Stuart: ROLLING KOPPU KICK! Right to the BACK OF THE HEAD! That could be it! The Queen going for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

NO!! Ryan gets the shoulder up!

Richard Parker: Still, I’m surprised at how well LT is maintaining the upper hand here!

Nick Stuart: She’s cut the massive Dan Ryan down to size and stayed ahead of him with a nonstop assault of moves and surgical strikes! But she needs to keep this momentum going, because the Ego Buster has a loooooong way to go until he’s tired out!

Troy catches Ryan with a knee to the face as he’s on his way up, sending him reeling back and falling into the ropes. He comes to right in time to see the Queen charging at him to follow up, and ducks down to backdrop her over the ropes.

Richard Parker: Heads up!

Instead, she sends herself over.

Nick Stuart: LT with a leapfrog over Ryan, out to the apron… and Ryan turns himself into a BACK elbow from over the ropes! Troy grabbing him by the head… FRONT-FLIPPING NECKBREAKER back into the ring!

Ryan’s legs angrily kick the canvas as he clutches his head and writhes in pain. Troy stays on him, kicking his hands aside to leave him open for a guillotine legdrop!

Nick Stuart: Troy with the legdrop! She gets right back up and DROPS ANOTHER! Ryan has no choice but to go for the ropes… but the Queen grabs the arm before he can get there, and ROLLS HIM UP WITH THE LA MAGISTRAL CRADLE!! SHOULDERS DOWN!!

ONE!!

TWO!!

DAN RYAN KICKS OUT!!

Richard Parker: But boy, he sure is looking worried right now!

Nick Stuart: The smiles that began this match are gone! “The Queen of the Ring” Lindsay Troy is dealing the legendary Dan Ryan a beating of titanic proportions!

Both competitors break apart and scramble to their feet. The Queen is the first to her feet, and instantly goes for another deadly kick. But this time, the Murder Daddy isn’t having it.

Nick Stuart: Ryan catches Troy by the foot! And the Queen with the ENZUIGIRI–NO!!

RYAN DUCKS!

Nick Stuart: Ryan releases the foot and Troy lands on her feet! Dan from behind with the waistlock–RELEASED GERMAN SUPLEX!!

Troy bumps HARD off the mat! The crowd SWELLS with both surprise and excitement with the sudden shift in momentum!

Richard Parker: Sent her flying across the ring like she was NOTHING!

Nick Stuart: Incredible power behind that… and here’s Ryan back up, going back to Troy and pulling her off the mat–ANOTHER RELEASED GERMAN SUPLEX!!

The Queen ragdolls across the length of the ring, rolling to a stop on her hands and knees, eyes clenched and teeth bared from the pain. A moment later, she’s pulled up yet again…

Nick Stuart: ANOTHER SUPLEX!! GOOD GOD, that makes THREE!!

Richard Parker: Taking her straight to SUPLEXOPOLIS!

Nick Stuart: Dan Ryan withstood the beating, just waiting for his moment to strike, and now this is it! In a matter of seconds, he is absolutely dominating the match! Here he comes now AGAIN… SUPLEX NUMBER FOUR!! NUMBER FOUR!!

Dan Ryan rises up in the center of the ring and jogs in place while Troy writhes on the mat at his feet. The PRIMEates roar with a mixture of cheers and jeers. On one hand, it’s the old-school Ego Buster, in his element, being every bit as much as the over-dominant, over-confident force of nature we expect him to be. On the other, they’re having to watch the Queen of the Ring being absolutely brutalized from pillar to post.

Nick Suplex: SUPLEX NUMBER FIVE!! THAT’S FIVE!!

Richard Parker: Last time I saw someone get yeeted like that, it was in a video of a bear attack!

Nick Stuart: Lindsay Troy is being absolutely PUMMELED in there! Finally, Dan Ryan crosses over and hooks the leg to make the cover!

ONE!

TWO!!

TROY KICKS OUT!!

“RRRAAAAAAAAAAHHH–”

Nick Stuart: Ryan gets her right up, and THAT’S SUPLEX NUMBER SIX!!!

“BOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

The Queen goes motionless on the mat once more. The Murder Daddy flops over onto his belly and begins doing PUSH-UPS!

Nick Stuart: Dan Ryan just SHOWING OFF at this point!

Richard Parker: You’d almost think he could finish this here and now, but he’s taking his time and having his fun first!

Nick Stuart: For anyone else, something like that would be a fatal error in a battle against the Queen of the Ring! But right now, Lindsay Troy is hardly in any position to do anything about it!

Ryan peels Troy off the mat once more, and, wearing his proudest and most arrogant smile, traps her head into a standing headscissor.

Richard Parker: Uh oh!

Nick Stuart: This COULD BE IT! Dan Ryan, setting up the Queen of the Ring for the DREADED HUMILITY BOMB!!

The Ego Buster LIFTS…

Nick Stuart: NO!! LINDSAY TROY IS WAILING AWAY AT THE EXPOSED HEAD!!

The Murder Daddy staggers on rubber legs as Lindsay Troy peppers his head with machinegun punches while perched on his shoulders! Then, she launches herself over his head and down his back…

Nick Stuart: LINDSAY TROY WITH A SUNSET FLIP POWERBOMB TO COUNTER THE HUMILITY BOMB!!

Richard Parker: WHOA!!

Nick Stuart: The Queen has a chance to turn things around! She’s desperately fighting back to her feet as the Ego Buster shakes out the cobwebs and rises up again!

Ryan gets to his feet first, locks his hands, and swings over the fences with a double axe-handle. Troy rolls forward to avoid it, spins around as she reaches her feet, and catches her sister’s husband with a toe kick to double-him over. Before Dan can react, she hooks both arms and plants him right on his face.

Nick Stuart: FINAL JUDGEMENT!! LINDSAY TROY HIT THE FINAL JUDGMENT!! GOING FOR THE COVER TO WIN!

ONE!!

TWO!!

TH–NO!!

Richard Parker: This mastodon absolutely refuses to stay down!

Clutching her aching ribs, Troy fights her way back to her feet and takes a bounce against the ropes to get a head full of steam. Ryan is up to a knee by the time she returns with a flying buzzsaw kick aimed by his head. However–

Nick Stuart: And RYAN BLOCKS the RUNNING KNEE!

Richard Parker: He’s got the Queen right where he wants her now!

Nick Stuart: Not so fast! LT leans in and grabs Dan Ryan by the head… SWINGING NECKBREAKER puts him down onto his back! Incredibly quick thinking by the Queen!

LT kips up to her feet!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Likewise, the Murder Daddy suddenly sits up, and turns to look at the Queen…

…just an EVIL GRIN spreads across his face.

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Richard Parker: That poor old man is clearly suffering from dementia at this point! He must have no idea where he is!

Nick Stuart: Or maybe he’s loving every second of this match, partner!

Shaking her head and mouthing the words “not today”, Troy bolts for the nearest corner and climbs to the top. Meanwhile, Ryan pushes himself to his feet and advances.

Nick Stuart: Troy to the top rope now, going for the high risk…

Richard Parker: At this point, why not?! This crazy, huge maniac can withstand pretty anything!

Nick Stuart: Here’s Troy, FLYING OFF with the CORKSCREW MISSILE DROPKICK… and NAILS the Ego Buster right in the chest!

Ryan puffs out his chest to brace for the impact, which sends him stumbling back wildly, but doesn’t knock him over. The Murder Daddy’s back hits the opposite corner, and on a dime, he bursts forward with renewed energy!

Nick Stuart: Dan Ryan comes charging back like a FREIGHT TRAIN… and Troy NARROWLY dodges the big boot coming for her head! Now LT turns around and–

KER-POWWW!!

Dan Ryan manages to turn first, absolutely CLOCKING the sister to his wife with an absolutely soul-crushing roaring elbow! It sends LT twisting violently through the air before landing hard on the mat!

Nick Stuart: HAMMER OF GOD!! MASSIVE, MASSIVE HAMMER OF GOD BY THE MURDER DADDY!!

The Ego Buster earns himself another thunderous mix of cheers and jeers, this one leaning a little more toward the latter. Ryan cranks his arm, his face completely emotionless as he looks down on the motionless body of longtime friend and associate.

Nick Stuart: He could have absolutely KILLED her with that!

Richard Parker: Yeah! And then WE would be out of a JOB!

Nick Stuart: The friendly final match is off the table at this point! These two are fighting for the GLORY of a win over a certified wrestling legend! And right now, Dan Ryan looks to be in position to do that as he makes the cover on Lindsay Troy!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE–NO NO NOOO, SHE KICKED OUT!! LT KICKED OUT!!!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Troy rolls over onto her side, sucking wind. Unphased by the kickout, Ryan looks up to the lights, boisterously belly-laughing.

Richard Parker: He’s completely lost it, Nick!

Nick Stuart: That man is in seventh heaven right now! This has been a relentless, hard-hitting battle thus far, and he’s loving every second!

Richard Parker: Yeah, that’s what I mean! LOST IT!

Nick Stuart: Dan Ryan helping Troy back to her feet now–no, GERMAN SUPLEX!! ANOTHER POWERFUL GERMAN SUPLEX!! By my count, that now makes SEVEN!!

Troy rolls off the impact and ends up in the ropes, but doesn’t stay there for long as Ryan advances yet again. Meanwhile, the PRIMEates pick up a chant…

“ELL-TEE!! ELL-TEE!! ELL-TEE!! ELL-TEE!! ELL-TEE!! ELL-TEE!!”

Richard Parker: Why do these people keep saying “the tea?” Is there gossip to be spilled here?

Nick Stuart: Think letters, partner! Ryan has Troy around the waist AGAIN now… here comes ANOTHER SUPL–NO!! REVERSE BODY SCISSOR BY TROY BLOCKS THE SUPLEX!! She ROLLS FORWARD–INSIDE DOUBLE LEG CRADLE!! SHOULDERS DOWN!!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THR–KICKOUT!! SOOOOOO close…

Richard Parker: Unfortunately, I don’t think a flashy pin is ever gonna be enough to keep the Murder Daddy down for the count!

Ryan immediately erupts back to his feet, instantly CUTTING DOWN the rising LT with a back-handed chop that sends her flailing back to the mat! He takes her by the neck to pull her back up, but much to his surprise, the Queen starts FIGHTING BACK!

Nick Stuart: Lindsay Troy taking SHOTS right into Dan Ryan’s midsection! Still SO MUCH fight and heart left in the ever resilient Queen of the Ring! But NO!! Overhead clubbing blow to the back from Ryan forces her down once more!

Richard Parker: I think Ryan knows she’s running on fumes at this point! He can smell blood in the water! Another suplex, comin’ right up! Which one are we on? Nine? Ten?

Dan manhandles LT back to her feet and whips her to the distant corner. He follows through with an avalanche corner splash, but his chest hits nothing but turnbuckles as the Queen deftly cartwheels to the side.

Nick Stuart: LT making her move… but Ryan sees her coming, and dips down for the BACKDROP OVER THE ROPES TO THE–

NO!!

LINDSAY TROY LANDS PERFECTLY PERCHED UPON THE TOP ROPE!!

Richard Parker: WITCHCRAFT!!

Nick Stuart: TROY FROM THE TOP… PICTURE PERFECT MOONSAULT–NO!! DAN RYAN STEPS ASIDE!!

The Queen lands on her feet, but almost immediately cries out in pain and clutches at her knee.

Nick Stuart: Oh no… sticking the landing might have agitated something! Lindsay Troy’s has a number of injuries with that knee!

Richard Parker: Not good! You don’t want to be down a leg against the MURDER DADDY of all people!

Troy staggers, her leg suddenly not so stable. Blankfaced, Ryan pauses only for a moment to assess the situation, then charges forward…

Nick Stuart: Dan Ryan sees she’s in trouble, and he pounces! Here comes the LARIAT–NO!! LT GRABS THE ARM and PULLS HERSELF UP AROUND HIS SHOULDERS!! She’s going for the CRUCIFIX ROLL-UP!!

…only despite her struggle to leverage the legendary powerhouse onto his back, Ryan RESISTS the pin attempt and repositions LT onto his shoulders into an inverted fireman’s carry.

Nick Stuart: NO!! NOT THE HEADLINER!!

Sensing doom is nigh by way of a Burning Hammer, Troy desperately twists and squirms and struggles to free herself from Dan’s grip.

Richard Parker: But she sure ain’t going down without a fight!

Nick Stuart: Troy trying to break free! Dan Ryan just SMIRKS and SHAKES HIS HEAD!! Now she’s got a hold of the top rope… OH-MY-THERE-THEY-GOOOOO!!!

In a last ditch effort, Troy hooks her arm over the top rope and pulls both herself and the Ego Buster to the outside! Dan tucks and rolls on his way over the ropes, landing hard on his back. Keeping hold of the ropes, Troy SKINS THE CAT to reenter the ring, stomps her leg twice to shake off the pain, and heedlessly throws herself into the opposite ropes.

Richard Parker: How are these senior citizens still GOING?!

Nick Stuart: Troy in motion now… Ryan, on the outside, back on his feet… THE QUEEN WITH THE BASEBALL SLIDE, CATCHES DAN WITH THE HEADSCISSORS AND ROLLS HIM TO THE FLOOR!!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Troy pops to her feet, slides right back into the ring, and hits the ropes once more. Dan Ryan slowly gets up, lost in a daze.

Nick Stuart: Here comes Lindsay Troy again… CORKSCREW PLANCHA JUST ABSOLUTELY LAYS OUT THE EGO BUSTER!!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Nick Stuart: THE QUEEN OF THE RING IS A HOUSE ON FIRE RIGHT NOW! SHE JUMPS RIGHT BACK UP TO HER FEET AND SLIDES INTO THE RING AGAIN!

The winded Murder Daddy uses the barricade to pull himself up, looking lost and confused. In the ring, the Queen once more hits the ropes, picks up momentum by throwing herself into a graceful cartwheel, and LAUNCHES herself over the top rope…

Nick Stuart: LT WITH THE SUICIDE CORKSCREW SENTON–

…

…

…CAUGHT by the Ego Buster!

Nick Stuart: GOD NO!! DAN RYAN COUNTERS WITH A SPINEBUSTER ONTO THE FLOOR!!

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

The Murder Daddy turns to a set of jeering fans in ringside seats and shrugs.

Richard Parker: What else was he supposed to do?! Just let his sister-in-law hit the floor!

Nick Stuart: If this keeps up, Dan Ryan won’t be the only one wrestling the final match of their career here tonight! These two may be longtime friends, but the way they’re fighting tonight, neither one may leave the ring in one piece!

Ryan scoops LT up and rolls her in under the ropes, sliding in before official Elvis Nixon can even get to the count of four. He promptly makes the pin attempt.

Nick Stuart: Ryan hooks the leg!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THR–LINDSAY TROY KICKS OUT!!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Richard Parker: And Dan Ryan is SMILING?!

Ear to ear, in fact. And nodding, impressed. Rolling over and catching her breath, the Queen of the Ring begins pounding the mat. The fighting spirit hasn’t left her. In fact, it’s only burning hotter than ever.

Nick Stuart: This is a familiar place for the Ego Buster! And he has to be pleased to know that over all the years, the two legends and longtime friends can still go the distance with each other! Through this battle, they are reawakening something within each other!

Richard Parker: That’s a pretty weird friendship, if you ask me!

Nick Stuart: Do you even HAVE friends, Rich?

Richard Parker: Uhm… I mean, SURE! I have you, don’t I?

Nick Stuart: Eeehhhh…

Dan Ryan gets to his feet and goes to a corner. Despite being tired and exhausted, he makes a show of it, clutching his back and stepping tenderly like an old man having trouble getting around. Then laughing it off, he puts his back to the turnbuckles, sits, and waits…

Nick Stuart: The Murder Daddy has the Queen set right in his crosshairs!

Richard Parker: Looking for ye olde coup de gras!

Troy pushes her way to her feet. As she does, Ryan charges out of the corner, twirls, and fires a CANNONBALL of an elbow for her head!

Nick Stuart: DAN RYAN WITH ANOTHER HAND OF GOD–

…

NO!!!

REVERSED INTO AN STO BY LINDSAY TROY!!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Nick Stuart: AND SHE’S LOCKING IN THE DIVINE RIGHT!! THE DIVINE RIGHT!! SHE’S GOT IT LOCKED IN!!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

Ryan’s massive free arm wildly and ineffectively waves through the air as the onset of sudden, stinging pain overtakes his neck and shoulders. Referee Elvis Nixon leans in close, watching and waiting for the Ego Buster to tap out!

Nick Stuart: Dan Ryan’s got nowhere to go! The ropes may as well be MILES away! LT has him dead to rights in the center of the ring!

Richard Parker: What an unbelievable turn of events, Nick! Though for certain Ryan had her beaten to a pulp!

Nick Stuart: Never underestimate the die-hard resiliency of the Queen of the Ring, Rich! She’s now MOMENTS AWAY from finishing this match! But will Dan Ryan TAP OUT!

The Ego Buster twists, turns, and struggles, but the Queen’s execution is perfect, and she has him perfectly leveraged against the canvas. The camera zooms in on Ryan’s agonized face as it dawns on him that escape is futile.

And then…

…

Then the face of the Murder Daddy goes unusually CALM.

Nick Stuart: WHAT’S…?

Richard Parker: IS HE…?

The expression of pain is gone. All that’s left is peace and contentment.

Right then, a small, satisfied SMILE spreads wide across his handsome mug.

Nick Stuart: WHAT!?

Richard Parker: BY JOVE, HE IS!!

Dan Ryan’s holds out his free hand…

Nick Stuart: HE’S ABOUT TO TAP!!

Richard Parker: LIKE THIS?!

…

NO.

Nick Stuart: DAN RYAN JUST BOLTS RIGHT TO HIS FEET!!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

With the Koji Clutch still held in place, Lindsay Troy’s eyes go WIDE with shock and dread as she suddenly finds herself hanging upside down around the shoulders of the infamous Texas master of powerbombs.

Nick Stuart: We thought we were about to see the end of it, but Dan Ryan was playing us the WHOLE TIME!!

Richard Parker: Well good, because if I had to watch a legend like Dan Ryan just wear that stupid, content smile and tap out, I would have been pissed! I mean, like, REALLY, REALLY pissed, Nick! If that happened, I would have gotten up from this table, walked out of this stadium, and started writing my letter of resignation as soon as I got back to the hotel, because when legends go out looking like THAT, it’s a sure sign that your wrestling company is damaged beyond repair! I’m SERIOUS, Nick! That would have been stupid! I mean REALLY, REALLY GODDAMN STUPID, Nick!

Nick Stuart: Relax, Rich…

Wisely, Troy BAILS OUT before the Ego Buster can drop her onto her head and shoulders. A back-handed chop by Ryan just NARROWLY grazes the tip of her nose as she spryly backs out of reach, then retorts with a back-spin of her own.

Nick Stuart: SPINNING HEEL KICK BY TROY!! DOWN GOES RYAN!!

The Ego Buster hits the mat, but the Queen forgoes the cover. Instead, she goes to the corner…

Nick Stuart: Lindsay Troy climbing up once more!

Richard Parker: At this point, it’s make or break!

Ryan slowly pushes himself off the mat, shaking his head and looking a bit shook up by the kick to the head. Lindsay’s climb to the top is briefly delayed when her knee gives out and causes her to slip, but retaining her grip, she stays on the ropes and reaches the top!

Nick Stuart: THIS IS IT!!

As soon as the Ego Buster is up, the Queen of the Ring DIVES OFF with a beautiful DRAGONRANA!!

Nick Stuart: ALL HAIL THE QUEE–

H U M I L I T Y   B O M B ! ! !

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

The counter shakes the entire foundation of the ring. Troy impacts the mat so hard she flips over and lands on her belly, where she remains motionless.

Nick Stuart: WHAT AN UNBELIEVABLY WELL-TIMED COUNTER!! THE QUEEN SWUNG FOR THE FENCES, BUT THE EGO BUSTER WAS LYING IN WAIT!! MY GOD, WHAT A HUMILITY BOMB!! IN ONE FELL SWOOP, DAN RYAN HAS FINISHED OFF THE CEO OF PRIME!!

“YOU’VE-BEEN-BUST-ED!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!
“YOU’VE-BEEN-BUST-ED!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!
“YOU’VE-BEEN-BUST-ED!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!
“YOU’VE-BEEN-BUST-ED!” CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!

Ryan walks the ring for a moment to catch his breath and bask in the ovation before rolling over the fallen Queen and draping himself over her chest.

Nick Stuart: THE COVER TO WIN…

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

TTTTTHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR–

KICKOUT!!!

“RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

Nick Stuart: I DON’T BELIEVE IT, SHE KICKED OUT!! LINDSAY TROY KICKED OUT OF THE HUMILITY BOMB!!

Richard Parker: I DON’T KNOW OF A SINGLE PERSON WHO EVEN LIVED TO TELL THE TALE!!

The Ego Buster looks up at Elvis Nixon in astonishment, who assures the wrestling legend that the Queen managed to get the shoulder up before the third count. For the first time, Ryan looks slightly frustrated.

Nick Stuart: DAN RYAN CANNOT BELIEVE IT!! THIS MATCH CONTINUES!!

Richard Parker: Or does it?

Ryan scoops Troy right off the mat and sets her into the standing headscissors.

Nick Stuart: GOOD GAWD, NO!! NOT AGAIN! NOT ANOTHER–

A   S E C O N D   H U M I L I T Y   B O M B ! ! !

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

The blast nearly knocks out the first three rows. The lights flicker. In the distance, car alarms are wailing. People watching on acid will later swear they saw Troy’s soul violently exit her body in that moment.

Nick Stuart: TWO HUMILITY BOMBS!! TWO HUMILITY BOMBS!! HOW IS THAT RING STILL HELD UP?!

Richard Parker: SHE’S DEAD! IT’S OVER! PRIME IS CLOSED FOREVER, EVERYONE!!

Nick Stuart: DAN RYAN MAKES THE PIN!!!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

TTTTTHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR–

SONOVAGUN, SHE KICKED OUT AGAIN!!!

“RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

Ryan bolts to his feet, wide-eyed and holding his head in disbelief. He immediately hops out of the ring and pulls up the apron to look underneath.

Richard Parker: WHAT IS HE LOOKING FOR?!

Nick Stuart: SHOCK ABSORBERS!! BECAUSE THERE’S NO WAY IN HELL ANY MORTAL HUMAN COULD SURVIVE TWO CONSECUTIVE HUMILITY BOMBS!!

Richard Parker: I’M TELLING YOU, IT’S WITCHCRAFT!

Ryan climbs back in and immediately encroaches upon the official, accusing him of being in his opponent’s pocket. And while he technically IS, Elvis Nixon staunchly maintains that the Queen of the Ring successfully kicked out

Still lying on her back in the center of the ring, Lindsay Troy is looking up at the lights and LAUGHING…

Richard Parker: THESE PEOPLE ARE INSANE, NICK!!

Nick Stuart: CULTURE SHOCK, BAY-BEE!!!

The Murder Daddy is incensed. Breathing hard and growing red with rage, he yanks LT off the mat once more, sets her head in place, and lifts her up for…

A   T H I R D   M O T H E R F U C K I N G   H U M I L I T Y   B—

TROY SLIPS DOWN RYAN’S BACK!!

“RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

Nick Stuart: TROY ROLLS OVER RYAN’S HEAD AT THE LAST SECOND AND COUNTERS WITH A FALLING NECKBREAKER!

Troy keeps hold of Ryan’s head as she forces her way back to her feet, keeping the two of them back to back. Still suffering the impact of the last stinger, Dan is too stunned to move.

Besides that the very LAST thing he expects is for Troy’s other arm to hook him through the legs…

…and for his FEET to leave the mat!!

Richard Parker: YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME…

In a jaw-dropping show of strength and fortitude, the Queen of the Ring RISES UP with THREE-HUNDRED POUNDS OF MURDER DADDY on her shoulders…

…and sends him STRAIGHT TO HELL!!

Nick Stuart: HEADLINER!! HEADLINER!! LINDSAY TROY NAILED DAN RYAN WITH HIS OWN ULTIMATE MURDER-DEATH-KILL FINISHER!!

The Burning Hammer sends the Ego Buster crashing down into a heap!

Richard Parker: HOW DID SHE DO THAT, NICK?!

Nick Stuart: I DON’T KNOW, RICH, BUT THAT WAS ONE OF THE MOST AMAZING THINGS I’VE EVER SEEN IN ALL MY YEARS OF CALLING MATCHES! NOW WHERE IS THE QUEEN OF THE RING GOING?!

Fighting through overwhelming physical pain and exhaustion, but cheering on by a wildly raucous crowd, Troy slowly drags herself to the ropes.

Richard Parker: What are you DOING, Boss?! Cover him and FINISH THIS!

Nick Stuart: The QUEEN has OTHER ideas, Rich…

The Murder Daddy slowly stirs to life and pushes his way to his feet, lost in stupor. Troy rolls under the ropes to the apron and arduously pulls herself back to a vertical base. The afflicted knee leaves her standing only on one foot, but nevertheless grabs the top rope and waits for Ryan to stand up.

Nick Stuart: DAN RYAN ALMOST TO HIS FEET… LINDSAY TROY LYING IN WAIT…

Ryan pushes himself off his knee.

As he does, Troy turns, and VAULTS over the ropes…

“RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

Nick Stuart: THE CROWNING GLORY!!! THE CROWNING GLORY!!! THE CROWNING GLORY!! THE CROWNING GLORY!!!

Richard Parker: I’M SORRY, DID YOU JUST SAY “THE CROWNING GLORY”?!

Nick Stuart: I SAID, “THE CROWNING GLORY”!! I REPEAT, “THE CROWNING GLORY!! THE CROWNING GLORY!!”

Richard Parker: AND NOT THE DROWNING STORY?!

Nick Stuart: NO, I SAID THE CROWNING GLORY!! THE CROWNING GLORY!!

Richard Parker: AND NOT WE’RE CLOWNING COREY?!

Nick Stuart: NO, I SAID THE CROWNING GLORY!! THE CROWNING GLORY!!

Richard Parker: OKAY, THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT! CROWNING GLORY!!

Nick Stuart: CROWNING GLORY!! CROWNING GLORY!!

Richard Parker: CROWNING GLOOORRYYYYY!!!

The Phoenix Tornado DDT could not have been pulled off with any greater degree of finesse precision. Defying all logic, a three-hundred pound wrestler is left almost perfectly upside down and swiveling around like a top off the impact of the expertly executed Tornado DDT. Then he collapses like a house of cards.

Nick Stuart: NOW!! NOW!! NOWWW!!!

With the PRIMEates of Mexico City nearly blowing the roof off the place cheering her on, Troy uses what strength she has left to flop across Ryan’s massive chest and hooks a leg.

Nick Stuart: SHE GOES FOR THE COVER!!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREE!!!

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: AND IT’S OVER!!

Richard Parker: MERCIFULLY!

“Trampled Under Foot” plays over the PA. Troy rolls off of Ryan’s chest, breathing heavily and smiling wide in triumph. Nixon assists the PRIME CEO to her feet and raises her arm in victory as she basks in the ovation.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match, by PINFALL… LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNDSAAAAAAAAYYYYY TRRRRROOOOOOOOOYYYYYY!!!

Nick Stuart: This match, blow for blow, was practically a battle of earth-shaking proportions! These two dealt unbelievable and sometimes inhumane amounts of punishment to each other, and not only withstood everything, but openly embraced it! Professional wrestling will never again witness a pair of standard-breaking athletes like these two for at least another generation! I am humbled to have been here to be a part of this, ladies and gentlemen!

Richard Parker: Says you, but I’m thinking these two are going to have a really awkward Easter holiday when the family gets together!

Nick Stuart: Is this truly the LAST we’ll ever see of Dan Ryan in a professional wrestling ring?? It feels premature to say something like “NEVER”, but honestly, I can’t think of a better way to go out than with THAT! Against an opponent that never fails to bring out his absolute BEST in their every encounter!

Richard Parker: Who knows? You’re never too old for a quick cash grab in this business.

Nick Stuart: We’ve still got more action coming up to round out this first night of Culture Shock, ladies and gentlemen! It’s been a stunning, surprising, and special evening thus far, but one that I’m sure will be remembered for years to come!

LT reaches down and offers to help Ryan back to his feet. Dan pretends that he’s fallen asleep. The Queen instead kicks him, and that motivates the Ego Buster to finally sit up. Chuckling with bemusement once more, he accepts her hand. As soon as she pulls him back to his feet, they wrap up into an emotional hug.

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

Are they?

Are they gonna?

Is the crowd gonna do the thing?

Vince Howard: And is for the INTENSE CHAMPIONSHIP!

Huh, guess not.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the challenger…

“The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir erupts as Ivan Stanislav emerges from the backstage area. Stanislav raises his arms, roars at the crowd, and pointedly makes his way towards the ring.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Arkhangelsk, Russia and weighing in tonight at four-hundred pounds…

Stanislav points and jaws at several fans along the way, though the interactions feel somehow less complete without the presence of Alexei Ruslan.

Vince Howard: He is the Russian Bear… Ivaaaaaaaaaaaan STANislaaaaaaaaaav!!!

Stanislav steps over the top rope and thunders into the ring. He raises his arms over his head and bellows at the camera.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

The arena’s 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.

“WOO HOO”

“Song 2” 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 Champion…

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 Bruh’s 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

Dawkins circles quickly, continuously changing levels to try and stay mobile while avoiding getting trapped within the reach of the Russian Bear. For his part, Ivan doesn’t chase. He takes a position at the center and forces Dawkins to work around him. There’s no reason to overextend himself, not yet anyway.

Nick Stuart: Clash of styles on display here in the early going.

Richard Parker: Well let’s hurry up and make with the punching. I have stuff to do later.

Nick Stuart: Like?

Richard Parker: I dunno… things?

Dawkins darts in and lands a quick low kick to Ivan’s lead leg, then follows with a jab to the body and immediately backs out. He’s moving quickly, picking his shots. He tries another quick entry, this time a low single just to test Ivan’s balance. Despite the difference in age and speed, the larger man stuffs the takedown attempt and reminds his opponent of that disparity with a clubbing forearm to the upper back.

The Intense Champion isn’t down for more than a second before he pops back up and immediately fires off a right hand to the ribs. He follows with a left hook to the body and concludes with another low kick before circling out and away from Ivan. For now the game plan is simple – stick and move, pick your shots, and don’t get caught.

But no matter what Dawkins throws at this stage, Ivan continues to walk him down. This time, the Bear manages to use his size advantage to trap Dawkins in the corner. And despite trying to slip away, the champion is met with a hard forearm shot to the side of the head. The challenger places a massive paw against the chest of the champion and holds him in the corner before quickly shifting his own position to drive a shoulder into Dawkins’ midsection.

Before the champion can escape, Ivan grabs either side of the second rope with both hands and uses the extra leverage to help drive his shoulder into Dawkins’ ribs a second time, and then a third. The latter he holds, using his legs to drive himself further towards the ring post to put extra pressure on a man who came into this fight wounded.

Ashley Barlow starts counting, urging Ivan to back away, but the gesture is largely symbolic. Even if the history between these two men was anything less than it is, this is still an Intense Championship match, so the rules were always going to be more of a guideline than absolute law.

Richard Parker: Referee out here practicing her math skills. Because honestly why else would she be counting right now?

Nick Stuart: Because rules exist for a reason?

Richard Parker: You sure about that?

Still, Ivan backs off before the count gets to five. He takes one step back from the corner, grins, and then puts all of his weight into a stomp aimed directly at Dawkins’ left knee.

Dawkins hobbles away, using the ring ropes as a railing as he moves out of the corner. Ivan turns to give chase, but Dawkins moves first and peppers the bigger man with a series of quick body shots. When Ivan tries to close the distance and grab the champion, Dawkins dodges to the side, darts to the ropes, and uses the momentum to cut Ivan down with a chop block.

Ivan stumbles, but he doesn’t fall. He barely gives any ground before surging forward with a lariat that sends Dawkins spinning through the air like a plastic lawn chair in Tornado Alley.

Nick Stuart: Huge lariat by the challenger! And now Dawkins is heading to the arena floor to buy himself some time and regroup.

Richard Parker: Pretty sure that was a clothesline, Nick.

Nick Stuart: No, a clothesline is one your opponent runs into. A lariat is, well, what we just saw.

Richard Parker: Yeah, well, I have it on good authority that in communist Russia, clothesline runs into you.

Nick Stuart: Did… Did you just Yakov Smirnoff me?

Richard Parker: Ummm…

Nick Stuart: You know that maybe five people watching will get that reference, right?

Richard Parker: And they’ll all love it.

Nick Stuart: Debatable.

Dawkins, clearly a bit thrown by the lack of ringside support for the big Russian, takes a moment to check behind the timekeeper’s table and under one side of the ring to make sure Alexei isn’t hiding anywhere. Which is why he doesn’t see that Ivan has rolled under the ropes and followed him to the floor. The champion is just standing back up from peering under the ring apron when he feels a huge hand on the back of his head, and then finds himself shoved chest-first into the corner of the ring.

Bruh crumbles to the floor, his ribs clearly smarting from the blow, but he’s pulled right back up by the Russian Bear and thrown shoulder-first into the ring post. The velocity is such that not only does Dawkins catch air, but the impact causes him to spin halfway around the post and he topples to the mats with a thud.

Richard Parker: Do you see this, Nick? This is what happens to dirty traitors and defectors!

Nick Stuart: Defectors? Bryan Dawkins left the Red Army, Richard, he didn’t betray them. I’m not sure how you justify calling this treason.

Richard Parker: I mean those are basically the same thing.

Ivan stalks around to where Dawkins lays trying to catch his breath.

Nick Stuart: They’re really not.

Richard Parker: Sure they are! It would be just like if you quit PRIME and started working for the Ooze Pits. I mean, like, they’d have to come back from the dead first, but you get the idea.

The big Russian pulls his former comrade up and over his shoulder.

Ashley Barlow: Bring it back in the ring, gentlemen!

Nick Stuart: Richard, if you even think about joking about that again I’m going to get Doug Tim and his shock collar out here so goddamn fast…

Richard Parker: Whoa! Whoa! We do not need to escalate things like that. Settle down, Nick, geez.

He drives Dawkins hard into the barricade, dislodging a section and shoving it back into the crowd. The person behind it isn’t quick enough to get out of the way in time. Their beverage – a cola by the looks of it – bursts in the air and drenches some nearby fans.

Richard Parker: It has to really suck to get Gallagher’ed like that.

Nick Stuart: First Yakov Smirnoff and now Gallagher? Richard, what year do you think this is?

Richard Parker: What? I found some old VH1 recordings on some VHS tapes the other day.

Nick Stuart: …

Richard Parker: …?

Nick Stuart: You still have a VCR?!

Dawkins, desperate to try and get back in this match, slowly starts to stand up, but he’s grabbed by the face and shoved right back to the ground.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAAHAA!!

Nick Stuart: Is he laughing at Dawkins or all of those people he just send flying in the crowd?

Richard Parker: If I really stop and think about it, I’d have to say yes.

Nick Stuart: Well that certainly clears things up.

Ivan, now very content with himself, takes a moment to posture outside the ring. He gestures first towards Dawkins, then the collection of fans trying to get their bearings, and then barks something in Russian as if to compare the two. He’s met with an entire firing squad of middle fingers, but Ivan shrugs off the disrespect. There are other matters to attend to right now.

Dawkins crawls along the floor toward the steps. He turns to brace against them just in time to see Ivan’s hand reaching for him. Sensing an opening, the Bruh kicks out hard with both legs and catches Ivan just above the ankle. The momentum causes the big man to lurch forward unsteady, and he crashes knees-first into the risers of the ring steps.

The champion pulls himself to his feet and wastes no time in continuing the makeshift assault on Ivan’s base. He snaps off a quick kick to the knee, then grabs Ivan by the ankle, lifts his leg into the air, and spikes the Russian Bear’s leg against the unforgiving steel. Once is not enough, so he repeats the attack a second time. A third.

Ashley Barlow: Come on! I said get back in the ring! Let’s go!

Though Barlow hasn’t even bothered to start counting, Dawkins rolls back in the ring and uses the moment to catch his breath. Ivan returns to the ring at a very deliberate pace, but it’s enough that the former Flyin’ Hawaiian can get himself into the proper position.

The champion catches Ivan on entry with a front facelock and starts snapping short elbows into the side of the head. He tries to drag the challenger into a grounded scramble and put his grappling game to good use, but Ivan is able to power him up and away. Dawkins comes right back with a double-leg, not looking to lift his opponent, but instead to force Ivan to post and try to defend.

Ivan sprawls and clubs Dawkins again. This time, however, he hauls him up and flings him across the ring with a one-handed scoop slam. As soon as he lands Dawkins tries for a breath as he reaches for his ribs. He begins moving across the mat, then comes to a dead stop as Ivan plants a foot firmly in the small of his back. The self-proclaimed Locker Room Leader first steps on to Dawkins, driving the rest of the air from his body, and then over him.

Using the ropes, Dawkins is able to pull himself back up to his feet, but he’s met with a hard boot to the stomach. An Irish whip sends Dawkins into the ropes, and he’s caught on the rebound with a thundering powerslam.

Nick Stuart: We’ve got our first cover of the match…

1

Richard Parker: And at this rate it might be the last cover of the match.

2

Despite the damage his ribs have taken so far during this match, Dawkins’ kick-out is defiant. It earns a brief sneer from the Russian Bear, who pulls the champion up by the head. Now it’s his turn to fire in with strikes, and a series of heavy body blows land hard against Dawkins’ midsection. The champion tries to fight back, throwing knees and forearms from the clinch, but Ivan’s weight and reach advantage is too much.

The challenger backs Dawkins to the ropes and begins blatantly choking him over the top rope, all while glaring at Ashley Barlow.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav daring the referee to disqualify him right here and now.

Richard Parker: I bet Bryan Dawkins would be grateful.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think the champion wants to win that way, Richard.

Richard Parker: Yeah, but I bet he’d like living.

Ashley Barlow looks annoyed, like Ivan is calling her bluff. After a moment of contemplation she begins her count.

Ashley Barlow: One! Two! Three! I will disqualify you! Four! Last warn-

Ivan breaks his grip and takes a step back, then rakes his boot across the face of a slumped Dawkins. Barlow, eager to get her point across, can be seen barking at Ivan that just because this is an Intense title match and the rules are relaxed doesn’t mean they stop existing altogether.

Meanwhile, Dawkins pulls himself up in the corner and once again scans the ringside area. He’s still not entirely sure that bastard Alexei isn’t hiding somewhere, and needs to be ready just in case.

Sensing a distraction, Ivan charges in looking to crush Dawkins in the corner, but the champion rolls away at the last second and the challenger runs chest-first into the buckles. The Bruh drives a knee into Ivan’s lower back, then grabs one of the big man’s ankles and uses it to pull Stanislav into a leg corkscrew.

He follows with stomps to the thigh and knee, looking to keep the big man grounded now that he’s taken him off of his feet. Ivan rolls through and pushes himself up, but he’s not able to avoid a fast twisting neckbreaker that sends him right back down to the mat. Now it’s the champion’s turn to make the cover, hooking a leg and leaning back deep.

1

2

Ivan kicks out, but Dawkins doesn’t give him even a moment to breathe. He shifts his position on the mat, transitioning from the pin into a mount, passing Ivan’s guard and leaning into him with short elbows from the top. Three elbows connect in rapid succession, and when he draws his arm back for the fourth it’s covered in a red smear. The blood is not his own.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav has just been busted open! The Russian Bear is literally thinking red and seeing red!

Richard Parker: I want you to know that as bad as that joke was, I will still be groaning about it later.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins not giving any ground here. Shot after shot connecting hard with the challenger!

Richard Parker: When the stars blink out and the sun grows cold… When I and everyone else is long dead…

Nick Stuart: Ivan trying to shove him away, but Dawkins keeps shifting. He will – not – stop!

Richard Parker: When the universe takes its last, slow breath… I will still be irritated at your awful pun.

It’s only when Dawkins makes the move to transition into a choke that Ivan is able to get his arms in between them and shove the champion away. It creates enough of an opening that the big man is able to scramble to his feet, but the blood and sweat stings his eyes and he’s forced to wipe it away before he can act. He doesn’t see the kick that connects with his thigh, or the body punches that follow, but they land all the same.

Dawkins closes the gap between them and tries to hook a suplex, but Ivan doesn’t move. Instead of burning himself out trying to complete the hold, Dawkins lets go immediately and changes levels. He drives Ivan towards the ropes, then lands a quick takedown to regain top control.

Richard Parker: I kind of can’t believe what I’m seeing right now.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav is seven feet tall…

And you can’t… teach…

Ummm.

Sorry.

Nick Stuart: …and close to four hundred pounds, and Bryan Dawkins is treating him like a day-one white belt right now.

Richard Parker: Thank you, mini-mall kung fu man, for your incredible analysis.

Another elbow storm rains down on the challenger, but this time Ivan powers out immediately when Dawkins tries to transition into a choke. The challenger rises to one knee, and then blasts the champion with a short-arm clothesline.

Nick Stuart: I’m sure you have rules for what that move is called?

Richard Parker: Yup. Painful.

Once again Dawkins spins from the impact.

Ivan snarls through the red covering his face. He plants one foot down on Dawkins left ankle to keep him from moving, and then stomps his other foot down on the bad knee. He grinds his heel into the joint, forcing Dawkins to try and scramble for a way to break free. Ivan does not relent. He picks the ankle and lifts Dawkins’ leg off the ground, then drops a massive knee into the knee joint. The big man wrenches back, and Dawkins flails for the ropes to try and find safety.

Once again Ashley Barlow finds herself forced to count, and once again the Russian Bear holds until just before the five count before he releases his opponent.

As Dawkins pulls himself up, Ivan clubs him across the back and tosses him over the top rope to the arena floor. The champion lands awkwardly on his feet, causing his leg to buckle and send him spilling into the barricade.

Ivan steps out onto the ring apron. He leans down and grabs Dawkins by the head with both hands before lifting him straight up into the air.

Nick Stuart: Incredible display of strength by the challenger!

Richard Parker: Incredible that Bryan Dawkins hasn’t soiled his pants just now. Not that I would soil myself in this situation, just that most people would probably have a little accident if a big Russian picked them up by the head. Mine is a bladder of steel.

Nick Stuart: Yeah? Then explain the pads I saw in your duffel this morning.

Richard Parker: They’re… umm… you know for like… Look a wrestling move!

It is a wrestling move, sort of. Ivan drops Dawkins ribs-first across the apron edge, which sends the Bruh gasping as he falls to the ground. Ivan hops down from the apron, lifts Dawkins up again and begins walking towards the ring post with evil on his mind. As Ivan begins to charge towards the unforgiving steel, Dawkins slips free and slingshots Ivan into the post in his place.

The champion takes a second to shake out his leg, and then just as Ivan is stumbling back from the impact Dawkins throws all of his body weight into Ivan’s back, sending him careening into the ring post once again. Ivan stumbles on wobbly legs around the outside of the ring. This time, Dawkins builds up a head of steam, charges his opponent, and tackles him around the back into the ring steps. Ivan is driven head-first into the stairs, which split into two pieces and move a good three feet from the impact.

Dawkins rolls into the ring, instinct saying that he needs to reset the count, but he rolls right back out when he sees that Ashley Barlow is reluctantly letting this all play out. The Flyin’ Hawaiian tries to ram Ivan into the barricade, but the move is blocked and reversed, crushing Dawkins against it instead.

Ivan follows this up by turning the champion around and connecting with a huge headbutt that leaves Dawkins staggering, and paints the top of his face with a smear of Ivan’s own blood. The challenger follows this up in turn by grabbing Dawkins by the throat and driving him spine-first against the ring apron in a variation of Stalin’s Sickle. Before Dawkins can crumple, Ivan gathers him up and tosses him back into the ring.

Nick Stuart: Ivan back in the ring. He’s going for the cover.

1

Richard Parker: Okay this has to be all.

2

Nick Stuart: No! Dawkins got his shoulder up at two and a half.

Richard Parker: Closer to two and three quarters, but who am I to nitpick.

Nick Stuart: …

Richard Parker: What?

Ivan sits up and drills Dawkins with a clubbing forearm between the shoulders. He slaps at the back of Dawkins head, shouting for him to stay down. Dawkins fires back from his knees with punches to the body, which are answered by another forearm and then a stalling fist drop right to the ribs.

Dawkins rolls away, once again using the ropes to pull himself up to his feet. The big man points to his opponent, mocking him once more. And then comes the laugh.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAA-

SMACK

Richard Parker: Ope.

The arena goes stone silent. In the middle of his thunderous laugh, Dawkins’ right hand connects hard across Ivan’s face with an equally thunderous open hand slap. Ivan’s eyes go wide, and for a moment there is no expression on his face. Just the shock, the sheer audacity that Bryan Dawkins would disrespect him like this. And then, the rage sets in. His lip begins to quiver, the facade begins to crack. Teeth clench behind blood-spattered lips. Ivan turns back to deliver a violent reprisal for this mockery.

SMACK!!

Richard Parker: He… he just…

Another slap connects with his face, this one harder than the first. He whips his head back, he starts to take the first step towards Bryan Dawkins, towards the end of Bryan Dawkins.

SMACK!!!!

This time Ivan staggers back, the increasing intensity of the blows now turning his whole world blurry. He tries to shake it off, to regain the edge, but when he charges in to try and retaliate Dawkins simply steps to the side and lets Ivan careen into the ropes.

Nick Stuart: He just slapped the “dyaa” out of his “haahaa”!

Richard Parker: Okay, maybe don’t.

Dawkins grabs the big man around the waist, and with some effort and an aside from the momentum off the ropes, takes Ivan down hard to the mat with a big German suplex. It’s ugly, it’s strained, and given that Dawkins immediately puts a hand to his own knee, it’s certainly cost him.

Ivan’s own weight and momentum cause him to roll through into a seated position, and the look on his face is one of stunned surprise mixed with disbelief. He lumbers to his feet. Dawkins limps into position.

Richard Parker: No way.

Nick Stuart: You have got to be kidding me.

Richard Parker: No fucking way.

Nick Stuart: If Bryan Dawkins pulls this off…

The champion cinches in a front facelock, grabs Ivan by the belt, and lifts with everything he has. A primal roar erupts from Dawkins’ lungs as he attempts to take the challenger up and over with a vertical suplex, but near the zenith of the move it becomes clear that Dawkins’ knee isn’t going to hold out. It buckles, Dawkins falls, and Ivan lands awkwardly in the makeshift brainbuster.

Nick Staurt: That was almost catastrophic! We’ve seen what that move can do when executed perfectly, Richard…

Richard, for his part, is dead silent. At least until Ivan starts moving his arms and legs.

Richard Parker: (long exhale) Luckily we’re not going to live through that again tonight, Nick.

Dawkins makes another cover. This time trying to hook both of Ivan’s massive legs to help hold him down.

1

Nick Stuart: That said, I’m not sure he gets up from this.

2

Richard Parker: Russian machine never breaks, Nick. I read that on a blog.

3??

The challenger gets his shoulder up just a fraction of a second before the referee’s hand comes down a third time.

Richard Parker: Sure, it was a hockey blog, but still… it do be facts.

Despite the visible frustration at both the kickout and his own knee giving out, Dawkins once again shifts his position to try and take advantage of the prone Stanislav. He returns to what worked: a concentrated striking effort on the trapped Russian. He tries to lace his body into a front head-and-arm position, teasing a path towards Undeniable, but Ivan manages to power to his feet with Dawkins still attached. He backs Dawkins hard into the corner, causing him to break his grip.

Dawkins collapses forward, but he’s grabbed by Ivan before the champion can collapse to the mat. Ivan lifts Dawkins up, lets him drop…

Nick Stuart: Iron Curtain!! Ivan Stanislav just hit the Iron Curtain on Bryan Dawkins!!

Ivan makes the cover.

Richard Parker: Welp, I think this one’s in big Ned Reform territory.

Nick Stuart: What?

1

Richard Parker: Or maybe Nick Pfefferman, if that’s more your vibe.

Nick Stuart: I say again, what?

2

Richard Parker: I’m saying it’s academic, Nick, god.

But before her hand can hit the mat, Ashley Barlow looks up and realizes that Bryan Dawkins has his foot on the bottom rope. She points to his foot despite Ivan’s protests that her count was too slow, but that doesn’t keep the Russian Bear from trying to argue his point.

Ivan pulls Dawkins up, then scoops him up onto his shoulder. Dawkins manages to slip away. He backs towards the ropes to build some momentum, and sets off a chain reaction of events.

First, Ivan turns just in time to catch the Proof pump-style kick square in the jaw. The impact is hard, and it sends the big man reeling backwards to the ground. As his arms flail, he crashes into Ashley Barlow who was not able to move in time to avoid the blow. She tumbles to the ground and rubs at her eyes, hoping to shake away the stars that now cloud her vision.

Second, Bryan Dawkins falls to the mat, his left knee having betrayed him on the landing. It was a high-risk shot, he knew that when he took it, but the reward outweighed the risk. His kick has landed flush, and in any other situation it would create the opening he needed to put this match away.

Instead, Dawkins has to crawl towards his dazed opponent. Ivan tries to swat him away, but Dawkins still has the advantage on speed, and that gives him the opportunity – bad knee and all – to snake his arms around Ivan’s neck and roll.

Richard Parker: What?! WHAT?! No! NONONONONONO!!!

Nick Stuart: UNDENIABLE!! Bryan Dawkins has got that D’arce choke locked in, and he’s got it locked in TIGHT!!

Ivan flails. Right now it’s all he can do. The world around him is slowly drifting away, like someone is turning the lights and the volume down. He kicks out towards the ropes, but can’t find purchase.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav looks like he’s going out! This could be over! This could be all over!

With no other options available to him, Ivan reaches into his pocket and withdraws a collapsible baton. It resembles the one that Alexei always keeps hidden inside his coat of tricks, with one major difference: the size. This one is scaled for a much larger hand. Ivan snaps it open, revealing a length that rivals a child’s baseball bat in size. And with Ashley Barlow regaining her composure, Ivan rolls to his side and swings.

CRACK

The baton lands hard against Dawkins’ left knee, and the Flyin’ Hawaiian drops to the canvas. Ivan holds the baton and gestures it towards the camera, a nod to Mr. Ruslan, before letting it fall over the ropes to the arena floor.

Dawkins tries to stand, to claw his way back to his feet using the ropes for leverage, but every time he attempts to put weight on his leg it gives out and he slumps back down to a knee.

Ivan stalks forward and grabs Dawkins, pulling him up against his will.

Nick Stuart: RED SCARE!!!

Richard Parker: It was only a matter of time, Nick!

Bryan Dawkins sails across the ring, landing hard on the mat just short of the turnbuckles.

Nick Stuart: And Ivan Stanislav has made the cover!

This time, he is careful to try and pull as much of Bryan Dawkins towards him as he can. Ashley Barlow, having regained her full faculties, hits the mat to make the count.

1

Richard Parker: New champion in three…

2

Richard Parker: Two…

Dawkins’ left arm drifts free, his fingers slowly reaching for something, anything, to help him stay in this just a little longer.

3!!

Richard Parker: One!

But he’s too far from the ropes for them to be of use any longer.

DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Vince Howard: The winner of this match…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Vince Howard: And NEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWW Intense Champion… Ivaaaaaaan STANislaaaaaaav!!!

Dawkins slowly rolls towards the ring ropes and out to the arena floor. Despite his knee being incredibly sore, he waves away the PRIME medical team’s attempts to help him get to the back. The Flyin’ Hawaiian limps along the guardrail under his own power, though the medical staff hovers around him like a swarm of mosquitos.

Richard Parker: Okay, look, if you tell anyone I said this I will deny it until I die, but Bryan Dawkins came ready tonight. Another few seconds and we’re looking at a different result. Well, another few seconds and no collapsible baton, but still. You get what I’m saying.

Nick Stuart: He definitely did, Richard. These last few months have really upped the value of his stock here in PRIME, and it’s only a matter of time before he’s getting another crack at an even bigger prize.

Richard Parker: I wouldn’t necessarily go that far.

Nick Stuart: Also…

Richard Parker: Yes?

In the ring, Ivan Stanislav is unsteady on his feet, and is still trying to blink the world back into clarity. The timekeeper brings over the championship belt, and it’s only when Ashley Barlow leans over to retrieve it does she see the baton laying flat on the arena floor. A bitter expression washes over her face as she turns to present the new champion with his prize, but there’s nothing that can be done at this point.

Nick Stuart: Everything you just said was on a live mic and is being recorded, so you can deny it all you want. We have video evidence.

Richard Parker: What?! I thought we’d gone to break!

Nick Stuart: Not yet. I still have to say, “Fans, don’t go anywhere, because we’ll be back with our main event right after this!”

Richard Parker: So hurry up and say it.

The camera pans over the crowd.

Nick Stuart: I just did.

We fade elsewhere.

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 Estadio Azteca. 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 gentlemen…the 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, Estadio Azteca’s 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 “Rivalry” by Colin O’Malley 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-Wolf’s 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. Chicago’s 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 isn’t 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 can’t 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 director’s 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 ‘the big one’. 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 life’s 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 doesn’t 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 ReVival’s promise and dreams comes in his chiseled form. His reverence to PRIME’s 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 doesn’t 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
REZIN 

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 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 Proprietor’s 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 do…something 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 reality’s 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; it’s 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 a calendar year, it is he who has been the central focus of these pieces. The End of The Line.

This…is his domain.

36th Champion
CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON

Glue.

It binds us together. For PRIME, such a statement makes sense, even if it doesn’t to the rest of the world. Throughout The ReVival, it is them, this group, through changes, through what it represents, that has come to define it as much as any other singular entity. And why wouldn’t it?

Cecilworth Farthington.

FLAMBERGE.

They both played their roles in the creation and the legitimizing of Glue. And while the mission has changed from those early days, what remains is a force of professional wrestling excellence unparalleled.

But throughout all, there was been one question; when forced to face one another, how strong are the elements that bind them together? They haven’t had to do so, and that in and of itself is a small miracle.

But it isn’t forever.

Cecilworth Farthington’s reign as Universal Champion is unparalleled.

FLAMBERGE’s rise has been unparalleled.

Two of the most feared, most ferocious, most powerful forces in the sport. So alike.

All leading to this night.

To this moment.

We pause a dramatic pause.

…

…

A familiar keyboard.

♫…

ROOOOOAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…oh, shit.

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

AHH SI SI! AHH SI SI!

AHH SI SI! AHH SI SI!

AHH SI SI! AHH SI SI!

AHH SI SI! AHH SI SI!

It’s an absolute cascade of fireworks. When it’s a PRIME pay-per-view, they shell out.

Teals, coppers, whites surround the stage. KABOOMS as each accolade fires across the screen in electric teal lettering:

HALL OF FAMER

PRIME WRESTLER OF THE YEAR 2023

LE GRAND CHELEM

THE BEARDED DRAGON

THE LIZARD KING

THE ACE

LE PROTAGONISTE

THE YOUNGEST LEGEND ALIVE

THE NECK COLLECTOR

F   L   A   M   B   E   R   G   E

FLAMBERGE emerges onto the stage and it is LOUD. He’s got fresh gear once again – this time his boxing shorts feature a sharp electric teal lizard face across the front with copper accents. His boots are electric teal with copper flamberge swords running down his shinguards. His bonkers entrance jacket this time is almost entirely copper lizard scale, lined with white velvet accents. He looks out to the Mexico City crowd and soaks it in.

AHH SI SI! AHH SI SI!

AHH SI SI! AHH SI SI!

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest set for one fall is for the PRIIIIIIIIME UNIVERSALLLLLL CHAAAAAMPIONSHIIIIIIP! Introducing first, the challenger! Hailing from Strasbourg, France!

AHH SI SI! AHH SI SI!

AHH SI SI! AHH SI SI!

Vince Howard: Weighing in at 206 pounds…Theeeeeeeee NECK…COLLECTORRRRRRRR! FLAAAAAAAMBERRRRRRRRRRRGE!

ROOOOOOOAHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: This has got to be one of the most hotly anticipated Universal Championship matches I can remember, partner. Two Hall of Famers, two of the top wrestlers in the world – two allies, two friends, two Glue Boiz.

Richard Parker: Let me tell you Nick, this tears me apart a little bit, to see these perfect angels on opposite sides tonight. It tears me APART!

Nick Stuart: There have been rumors for months now – even years, depending who you ask – that there’s been a simmering tension between these two men. They may deny it all they want, but it’s hard to argue this point – only one wrestler in the world can call themselves the PRIME Universal Champion.

He enters the ring and flourishes his wild jacket to the side dramatically before sloughing it off his shoulders. He looks out into the crowd and it’s clear by his expression, he’s absolutely locked in.

As his music fades, he stomps around the ring, pumping his arms up, egging the crowd on to get louder and louder as a ringside attendant reaches through the ropes and removes the accoutrements he’s shed.

The lights dim in the Estadio Azteca, perhaps for the very final time of the evening, as PRIME’s Mexican fans buzz and make excited murmuring noises about this battle between Glue. The old and the new, gathered in the ring, not out of animosity, but to decide the future of the stable and of the company.

FLAMBERGE is already in the ring, he is focused, he knows what awaits. There are the Neutral Glue Men, or Gluetral Men, at ringside, occupying neither man’s corner. The atmosphere is set, the expectations are there, and as people settle themselves in for a battle, a bright spotlight shines upon the entranceway. The spotlight is quickly followed by the jaunty tune that many have come to know and love, “Choke” by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME. There’s only one man that this song can beckon, PRIME’s Universal Champion, Cecilworth Farthington.

Nick Stuart: For three hundred and eighty five days, this man has been the Universal Champion of PRIME. More than a calendar year. There’s only one man in the illustrious history of this company who can make the same claim. Farthington has faced the very best PRIME has to offer, Hall of Famers, high ranking wrestlers, both of the future and past of this company, but tonight, he faces something I think he hoped he never had to, his own stablemate.

Richard Parker: Since the Culture Shock Battle Royal three years ago, these two men have stood side by side. There’s always tension in the high octane world of wrestling, but not matter the problem, Glue friends have stuck together… but I’m worried, Nick, I won’t lie, when the it’s about the pinnacle of this sport, will they still have sticktuidedness after tonights battle?

Nick Stuart: Not sure if that’s a world, but I completely understand the sentiment. We’ve seen infighting between almost all of PRIME’s stables, but Glue… I can’t think of a time they’ve had to face each other until tonight.

As “Choke” gets into its “ah ah ah ah” vibe, the Universal Champion appears in the centre of the single spotlight shining upon him. The spotlight makes the Universal Championship shine ever brighter as Cecilworth Farthington stands with his eyes locked into the ring, the belt wrapped incredibly tightly around his waist. Farthington begins his slow walk down to the ring, spotlight following him as the Azteca crowd certainly demonstrates a strong degree of appreciation for man who has held down the belt for more than a year.

I’ll break your pretty face.

Yeah.

Yeah.

The lyrics of “Choke” give Farthington a little bit of a smile as he keeps his eyes locked on his challenger, FLAMBERGE. The bottom lip of Farthington begins to curl into his mouth as he nods his head, clearly demonstrating a degree of anxiety about the battle he is about to find himself in the middle of.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE and Farthington have definitely fueled each other in a competitive nature, but fighting for the biggest prize in the sport, surely that changes the dynamic.

Richard Parker: God willing it doesn’t, these are the only guys who can deal with the likes of Jiles in the world.

As Farthington begins his walk down to the ringside area, he pats the Universal Championship around his waist, looking back to FLAMBERGE in the ring, with the sort of signal that would imply “this is mine”. FLAMBERGE, for his part, just continues to stare, because that’s just sorta what he does the entire time of his whole career. Uncharacteristically of Farthington, he slaps the hands of a few of PRIME’s Mexican fans, almost absent minded of the whole process as he keeps an intense focus on that which awaits him in sporting competition battle.

Nick Stuart: He’s conquered the company, but he’s never conquered an ally.

Richard Parker: Max Kael is probably the closest you could say until this point and look how all that went, what with the attempted murder and maybe actual murder and what not.

From the apron, Farthington drops down and rolls into the ring under the bottom rope, leaping up and quickly backing into his corner, eye contact still very much on FLAMBERGE, much like FLAMBERGE’s was very much on Farthingtons.

Richard Parker: I don’t like saying this but someone may die tonight.

Nick Stuart: We hope not, would really put a damper on Squad Goals tomorrow.

Elvis Nixon makes his way over to the Universal Champion to do his final checks, as well as claim the Universal Championship that is about to be defended.

DING

DING

Upon the ringing of the bell, everything changes. The sound and its very tenor. The sensation throughout Estadio Azteca and the latent electricity therein. Even the pressure and oxygenation of the very air shifts, somehow made more oppressive than the heightened elevation forces upon the unknowing. FLAMBERGE has yet to move from the challenger’s corner. Cecilworth Farthington remains occupied in his own, though he is not static in his manner, his fingers slithering along the top rope, his grip tightening, the blades of his shoulders pushing with the sharpness of guillotines as he tests the elasticity. Two and three pushes of the back, and then, right foot forward, he explodes forward, not in speed, but in manner of approach, his boots stabbing into the canvas as he draws close to the latest competitor to challenge his domain.

FLAMBERGE moves to meet him.

The Universal Champion’s knees are dipped slightly, his lanky arms positioned in the ready with his shoulders loose. The Neck Collector, for his part, has his knees bent and feet positioned shoulder length apart with his back ramrod straight. Both men’s hands remain active as they softly circle each other, eyes transfixed on the other. Subtle feints go both ways, but neither man bites. A totality of awareness, down to the hips. The body can’t go if the hips remain in place.

Farthington extends first.

FLAMBERGE is at the ready.

The pair lock up in a clinch hold, Farthington taking hold of FLAMBERGE’s left hand, while Le Protagoniste fights off and grips at The Financier’s right wrist. The fingers of Farthington instinctively attempt to maneuver alongside his wrists as the two plant their feet, working to exert a level of control over the other. It appears as though Cecilworth is shimmying, with how his left hand is trying to push forward, extending out his opponent and Glue Brother’s left arm, but the strength of the French Phenom is working in his favor for the moment. All the while, FLAMBERGE is maintaining effective fighting tactics in preventing Farthington from wrenching his right hand and wrist free. Fingers latching and lacing together on the left. A stabbing step forward. The center of leverage of FLAMBERGE is upset, with Farthington creating an extension backward of the left hand and arm, trying to push it out further and further, forcing The Neck Collector to fight off the manual spreading going on. FLAMBERGE feels the pressure being applied to his shoulder joint just in this simple maneuvering, but with his foot driving forward, knees almost knocking together, he wrenches the wrists of Cecilworth’s right hand inward, the heel of his hand driving toward the carotid.

The pair remain locked together, grappling, muscles burning through oxygen with fervent intensity as the subtle motions and guards require the utmost attention. FLAMBERGE steps forward again, nearly between the legs of Farthington, and in so doing, is better able to fight the stress of the left hand trying to push outward. It’s in doing this, however, that he feels the vice like clamping of the Universal Champion, his fingers stabbing into The Neck Collector’s knuckles, the heel of his hand driving forward above the heel and into the palm. FLAMBERGE, in a sudden burst, wrenches his left wrist clockwise. This sudden movement throws the tension off, and The Lizard King probes forward with his arm jostling forward, his muscles flexing and the movement pressure attempted akin to launched uppercuts.

The Universal Champion smothers this volley. There is a problem, however; FLAMBERGE is now the one with the leverage, his feet firmly planted in a manner that steps forward cause The Financier to have to back pedal. The push nearly unbalances him, causing him to fall, but his feet catch up as his shoulder blades hit against the top rope behind him. FLAMBERGE tries to maneuver both wrists into an upperward position, believing that if he can, he can control where Farthington goes. However, like a bull, Farthington forcefully swings his hips away from the ropes, his body flowing with him, and in ferocity, gets his right hand free. The moment he does? His hand grabs around the outside leg of his Gluepponent, his left hand forcing its way so he can wrap around on a dipped single leg. FLAMBERGE is hopping at this point.

A takedown should come next.

FLAMBERGE splays out in defense.

Farthington’s hands remain locked on the leg for a moment.

FLAMBERGE grabs hold of Cecilworth’s neck in a quick Marie Antoniette guillotine choke attempt.

Cecilworth flows and forces his way out, climbing up the ladder, one hand going up the thigh of FLAMBERGE, all as he gets into a back waistlock. An odd manner of grip, but FLAMBERGE is trying to roll out, roll to his side, but Farthington takes the opportunity to adjust grip and maintain the waistlock, holding firm like a gator roll. The toe of the inside of his boot digs in, and his arm uppercuts through the body of FLAMBERGE, but at the end, forcefully, his hand and palm grapple with a half nelson on Le Protagoniste. A burst of movement. Farthington launches upward, looking to bring his leg around at the same time as his other hand comes to help grab his other hand. Outside leg and calf trying to find the head and neck of FLAMBERGE.

Article 51, out of the grapple.

But Farthington’s adjustment and sudden attempt sparks a sense of danger within FLAMBERGE, and to answer, The Neck Collector’s other hand grabs onto his wrist to prevent the quick extension, while also preventing himself from being tucked and rolled over in a spot where Cecilworth can fight and isolate the arm and take it as his own.

A pregnant pause as FLAMBERGE uses his strength and lifts Cecilworth up off the canvas slightly. The fans can see, more clearly, what exactly is going on. Another lift, but this time, with a more forceful drop. Cecilworth on his back, both hands on FLAMBERGE’s wrists. The position, however, is not the most advantageous; he finds himself in z guard, keeping his challenger at bay only with a knee guard. FLAMBERGE tries to push forward, use his other arm to do something, anything, to change the trajectory of what is transpiring. His attempt is thwarted by Cecilworth, his timing impeccable as is his read, grabbing hold with a tie up.

But Le Protagoniste is not one to stay idle in this scenario, and on his knees, drives his shoulder forward, trying to push back against the position of the Universal Champion. The two continue to jostle with each other, one and the other trying to exude some level of control against the other. Pressure on pressure. Something has to give, no?

Moments bleed by as the two competitors try to get the better of the other, only to find themselves stalemated. FLAMBERGE makes another attempt, but Farthington combines his knee guard with a post, creating space so that he can step up while also switching his lingering grip around FLAMBERGE’s head. The Lizard King follows, but the moment he does, Farthington latches on with his hands and his arms, trying to wrestle the arm free and isolate it, once again, for Article 51.

Blast double leg.

Farthington is off his feet and on his back, in butterfly. He works to start elevating, posting FLAMBERGE’s head in the process. The Lizard King pops to his feet, trying to pass guard, but Farthington is able to get a leg underneath himself, and stand up.

Elvis Nixon begins the count to break this up.

FLAMBERGE with the trip, and in the process, his body forcing Cecilworth to slam into the canvas with a powerful thud. The Universal Champion, however, refuses to let go, either by sheer determination or pure will. The challenger fights and fights, driving his forearm toward the throat of Farthington. No. Not happening. Side control for FLAMBERGE, however. A position change affords new opportunities with a sudden stab; the Universal Champion finds himself fighting with all his might to not give fully to an ude garami, but FLAMBERGE is looking to get hold of a kimura, and is pushing himself to get a good grip with it.

Farthington works to leverage himself out, seemingly giving up the arm, but only for a moment, pulling FLAMBERGE over and working to get his arm loose and grab hold for another attempt at Article 51, but Le Protagoniste does not abide, and with a flurry of movement and a powerful adjustment on grip, he has the Universal Champion locked with an Anaconda choke!

ONE!

TWO!

Wait.

What?

Farthington got to his feet as best as the position could be done, burying the point of his crown into the canvas while his upperbody powered FLAMBERGE into a pin.

The raucous explosion of sound isn’t for any of that, however.

It’s for Marie Antoniette.

The Guillotine is there, and FLAMBERGE is readying to take his most prized neck of all, that of the ReVival’s longest reigning and most defendingest Universal Champion.

ONE

TWO

Bridge.

FLAMBERGE tries to wrench him back into place.

Farthington’s fingers are like nails, the way they probe his opponent’s arms. Like right at the crook. Driving and digging pressure. Alleviating just enough so that he is able to snap himself out, his hands never leaving the arm, a roll through, both men on their stomach’s, Cecilworth in position to make the earnest attempt at a full on armbar, but FLAMBERGE prevents it by holding his trapped wrist with his free hand. Farthington tries to climb up the arm, tries to exert more force, his head brushing against the canvas as he does so. FLAMBERGE decides to move with it.

ONE

TWO

It’s Farthington fighting off a pin attempt, only getting his shoulders off the canvas by bridging with his head. The whole absurdity of this grappling and limb entanglement is taken to its next phase as FLAMBERGE suddenly grabs the arm of the Universal Champion, and quickly, viciously, tries to torque and grab hold of a cross armbreaker.

At the very last second, Farthington latches onto his own wrist, and forces FLAMBERGE over and onto his shoulders.

ONE

TWO

FLAMBERGE is guttural as he tries to push and take the arm of his Gluepponent. There is a desperation here. Farthington feels the pressure applied to his shoulder, the strain pushing deep into his elbow. He stands as best as he can, and lifts his opponent off the canvas. Held up for a few moments. Another form of guillotine, this one more of a drop, onto his own skull.

Le Protagoniste isn’t about that life; he grabs hold and tangles himself up with the Universal Champion, a wild splay of movement, and in the miasma, a roll up from the grapple.

ONE

TWO

Farthington reverses by leveraging his hands and mounting forward with a driving side headlock.

ONE

TWO

The Universal Champion is quickly taken over and forced onto the canvas himself.

ONE

TWO

Farthington’s immense ring awareness provides him an advantage in this scenario, however.

Marie Antoniette of his own.

FLAMBERGE digs his fingers underneath the grasp of The Financier, providing just enough leeway to breathe. He hops over and bridges.

ONE

TWO

Farthington works and forces himself out, but as he does, FLAMBERGE looks to grab hold of a keylock from a ude garami. Cecilworth, however, pushes his free arm through, grabbing onto his own wrist, gritting his teeth in the process. Hip bump and roll. Forearm choke applied on FLAMBERGE.

Made even worse with his shoulders being pinned to the canvas.

ONE

TWO

FLAMBERGE gets his shoulders off the canvas.

Farthington isolates the arm, his ear against FLAMBERGE’S elbow. Compression on a wristlock. The Lizard King’s eyes bug out as he feels the most unnatural of pressures tearing at his trapped wrist from the predatory grappling brutality of the Universal Champion. The extension could pop the wrist and break it. Cecilworth stands with his toes digging into the canvas.

Just enough.

FLAMBERGE shoots his legs up and manages, in a hail mary, to get latched into closed guard. His legs aren’t stopping. The sudden jostle throws Farthington’s balance off just enough, and in so doing, FLAMBERGE quickly wraps his legs around the Universal Champion, keeping him close. A work and a fight. Grapple on grapple. The Lizard King of PRIME gets Farthington’s arm right across the centerline.

The Bearded Dragon throws his legs over the top as he pivots.

Armbar.

Fucking.

Locked.

Cecilworth’s stomach drops.

Quick.

Quick!

With everything he has, he jerks upward and lifts up, then smashes FLAMBERGE into the canvas on the top of his head.

Armbar broken.

For the first time since the bell rang, these two are not in the throes of gripping and grappling each other.

Cecilworth explodes backward into the ropes, charging forward.

Penalty.

Fucking.

Kick.

FLAMBERGE catches it against his chest.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH.

Le Protagoniste looks upward, incredulous at first. Cecilworth’s eyes meet his, however, the sockets vibrating from the fight or flight he just experienced. A sick smile spreads across FLAMBERGE’s face. He refuses to let go, no matter how hard Farthington tries to jerk himself free. A step back.

Farthington bites hard on his own lips.

FLAMBERGE.

Isn’t.

Letting.

Go.

Okay then.

Farthington throws a knee into the head of his Gluepponent. Vicious. Head seeking. And that’s enough to get the leg let go.

But FLAMBERGE is smiling. “Je t’ai eu, et tu le sais bien!” he shouts. “Je t’ai pris par le bras, et tu le sais bien!”

Sweat pours from Cecilworth, his chest heaving. Suddenly, all that closeness, all that grappling, all those attempts at submissions, they take their toll, mixing with the elevation and the light oxygen that was anticipated but so hard to truly prepare for. To exert himself in such a manner, good lord, it felt as if he’s wrestled fifty minutes already, and it had been nowhere near. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one absolutely drenched; his opponent looks as if he’s just spent the last three hours in the dripping room, sweat gushing from every pore. Their breathing ratches up as FLAMBERGE makes his way to his feet, a growing swagger emanating with his every movement. “Bon, là, tu es sur mon terrain!”

Farthington’s eyes vibrate with malice. An open handed palm strike to the chest of his opponent.

Another.

And another.

Sweat mists from each of the blows smashing into the chest of The Lizard King. FLAMBERGE? His eyes only grow wide. His teeth bared. Laughing. He’s laughing.

Slap.

Across.

The.

Face.

That stopped all that.

Farthington quickly tries to follow it up with a tie up, but his opponent catches him and takes him over with a high hiptoss, and upon the Universal Champion landing on his backside, the entirety of Estadio Azteca groans as FLAMBERGE kicks him right across the spine.

Farthington winces, again, heavy mist spraying from his body, his fingers wiggling as he feels the numbness rush throughout his entirety. His eyes water as he looks backward. FLAMBERGE hits him in the right shoulder from the top with a 12 to 6 elbow. And another. Another kick to the spine. A 12 to 6 elbow. FLAMBERGE explodes off the ring ropes and his leg lashes out for a penalty kick to the back of the Universal Champion, but Farthington rolls away.

A step forward.

Penalty.

Fucking.

Kick.

On.

The.

Recovery.

Farthington doesn’t as much as collapse to the canvas as, rather, he crumples. Chest and face branded with the leg and kickpad of his challenger.

The Bearded Dragon lifts Farthington off the canvas and clinches with him. A knee to the gut buries itself into place. Another. Another.

ANOTHER.

It’s as if FLAMBERGE is released in full now.

Each blow lands with brutality, driving precious oxygen out of the Universal Champion. For a year, the challengers. The standard laid out. Everything on the line. And for a year, every time The Pinnacle Of All Sports was defended, he answered the bell. But the cost is so vicious, so tiring. He’d held on for a year.

It is okay to rest.

The title stays in the family.

The title stays in Glue.

The young give way to the old.

It is simply the way of things.

No.

NO!

NO!

Cecilworth Farthington’s hair is a mess, flopping over, drenched in sweat. And his challenger looks to find purchase with another sharp knee center mass. No. Farthington throws a knee of his own.

Knee caps collide.

A yelp from FLAMBERGE.

Cecilworth drops, his hands reaching and wrenching and grabbing at a leg lock. Heel hook. FLAMBERGE cries out as he looks and sees the attempt at torquing his leg. With all he has, he throws his foot downward, catching Cecilworth in the jaw, over and over and over again, all before getting free of the heel hook. Facelock on the canvas. The Universal Champion on his knees.

HEAVY

KNEE

TO

THE

CROWN

OF

HIS

HEAD

But Cecilworth fucking Farthington pushes through, once again trying to wrestle the leg free.

Yeah, really?

How about another knee?!

That’s it.

That does it.

A gash.

Blood cascades down the face of Cecilworth Farthington, pissing down him like a faucet. Mixing with copious sweat. It’s insane. It’s enough to even shock Le Protagoniste…if only for a moment. Brutality is necessary…but he didn’t…intend…for that.

But there’s no taking it back now.

Another knee smashes into the crown of Farthington’s head, and his entire body slumps in the process, wilting under the pressure.

It’s time to be merciful.

FLAMBERGE releases the grip to grab Marie Anton–

Farthington snaps quickly and latches onto the arm of The Lizard King, looking to wrench him over fully.

FLAMBERGE drops and hellacious forearm into the mush of his brother, his friend, his opponent. Slippery and sticky. And he looks to throw another elbow strike downward.

It hits the canvas.

Farthington stands on his own two feet, a hand lashing outward and slapping FLAMBERGE across the cheek. There’s a smile through the crimson. No, that’s not crimson. That’s something more…primordial. FLAMBERGE hits him with a forearm strike. Another slap from Farthington. A forearm strike from FLAMBERGE. Laughter. The palm strike is like a lash, connecting with ferocity. It buckles The Bearded Dragon at the knees. Farthington notices. European uppercut. And another. And another. And another. AND ANOTHER. A barrage!

Downward palm slap across the chest of FLAMBERGE.

Another.

Another.

Farthington’s blows might well rip away full bits of flesh, of skin. Each blow carries with it a hellacious brutality, forced forward with a survival instinct birthed from being The Hunted for a full on year.

FLAMBERGE strikes outward.

Komi Goshi Throw.

But Cecilworth doesn’t stay down for long, springing up and throwing a heavy boot into the stomach of FLAMBERGE.

Standing headscissors.

Lift.

Repositioning of hands.

GOTCH.

STYLE.

PILEDRIVER.

The Financier hooks the leg.

ONE

TWO

THREE

NO!

NO!

FLAMBERGE kicks out!

And he tries to start sitting up.

Farthington springs out and hits the ropes, dropping and hitting a european uppercut into the back of FLAMBERGE’s shoulder.

The youngest PRIME Hall of Famer in history seizes.

Cecilworth grabs hold of the arm. Elbow to the shoulder. To the bicep. To the forearm. Down to his knees, he throws the blows. FLAMBERGE winces, but reaches out and grabs hold of a facelock, quickly standing up.

Oh no.

We ain’t doing that knee to the head murder shit anymore.

Forearm to the face from Farthington. Another open palm strike to the chest. FLAMBERGE nearly drops to his knees.

He doesn’t.

Instead, his hands smack into the throat of the Universal Champion.

Deep, guttural roar.

CHOKE.

BOMB.

HANK.

STYLE.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

WAIT!

NO!

KICKOUT!

And with the kickout, both FLAMBERGE and Cecilworth lay on the canvas, their chests heaving. The fans in Mexico City are raucous in their reaction, in their cries, as though this is the World Cup in full display. And now…

We see them.

Joe Fontaine.

Hayes Hanlon.

At ringside.

Joe is apoplectic, a bag in his hand. Looks like the air hasn’t just been a problem for these two tonight. Hanlon is trying to keep him calm, his eyes focused on the ring.

The Event Horizon helps Smooth Joe Cool to the bell keeper’s table, helping him sit down.

FLAMBERGE begins to stir.

Cecilworth begins to sit up.

Elvis Nixon, this whole time, has been counting them both down.

Nobody in the ring is paying attention to The Comeback Kid.

But the fans do…

Especially when he grabs a metal folding chair.

A smile of malice spreads across his face.

Oh no.

OH NO.

We all know what this means.

We all do.

There’s only one way this ends…

And Hayes Hanlon will ensure that Glue will never be the same.

He smashes the chair into the ring post.

Again.

And again.

Heavy, like lightning.

Smashing the chair over and over into the ring post.

Smashing it into it until the metal is mangled.

Useless.

He then begins hooting and hollering. Throwing his hands skyward.

Get on your feet!

Mexico City, GET ON YOUR FUCKING FEET!

Give us your energy!

Give THEM your energy.

Both Cecilworth Farthington and FLAMBERGE rise. The count doesn’t matter. They beat it.

Of course they beat it.

But across the ring from each other, they stand. In opposite corners. Exhaustion fills every bit of them. The elevation has made this into a hellacious marathon. Oxygen is currency, and neither man’s lungs are rich with it now. And their eyes catch each other.

Smiles.

A bit of a laugh. They step forward to each other, latching onto the other in a collar and elbow.

Wrestling brothers.

Wrestling family.

The Glue that binds.

Both men try to jostle forward, to push through. Farthington manages to get the advantage, locking onto FLAMBERGE’s waist. His hands fight with the grip, and reaching back, he snapmares the Universal Champion over.

A wild scramble.

FLAMBERGE tries to prevent Farthington from smothering him, but the bleeding Farthington maintains top position, trying to wrench and grab desperately at the right arm of his challenger.

The Lizard King latches onto him.

Roll through.

ONE

TWO

NO

KICKOUT

Cecilworth tries to pull himself up.

PENALTY KICK FROM FLAMBERGE!

Misting blood and sweat. And now…

And now…

Marie

Antoniett

No!

Farthington cannot!

He WILL not!

Arm trapped, just like it was before in the keylock escape.

FLAMBERGE pushes free. Mad scramble.

Farthington with the back.

THE TARP!

REAR NAKED–

It was FLAMBERGE who was witness, personally, to the most important rear naked choke in the history of professional wrestling, and there was NO WAY Cecilworth Farthington would use it to his advantage.

Brother or not.

He was the one who kept Glue alive. The one who kept it in place. Standing by himself and alone. Against the world.

He was the one given the faith.

The voice.

The resplendent guidance.

And it fueled him to the most unimaginable heights.

It would do so again.

Drop to the backside.

Jawbreaker.

Farthington drops.

ANOTHER.

GODDAMN.

PENALTY

KICK.

Farthington crumples. But in a last gasp, he shoots back up, to his feet.

FLAMBERGE smothers him.

THE TARP.

Ton règne a été extraordinaire. Sois-en fier, mon cher ami.

Cecilworth’s eyes, through the haze of blood, grow wide, from the rear naked choke.

The rear naked choke from his mentor.

From the man he financed to the heights of PRIME.

The one that was to choke the life out of him.

And end the single.

Greatest.

Championship.

Run.

In all of sports.

FLAMBERGE’s legs wrap around the standing Cecilworth’s waist.

Farthington drives The French Phenom into the corner.

Umpppph.

Ummmmf.

An inch.

One.

Inch.

Please…

Farthington’s hands grab onto the wrist of FLAMBERGE.

The movements are wild. Hard to focus upon. Hard to understand. Cecilworth wrestled FLAMBERGE to the canvas in a swirling array of grappling, of maintaining hold, of pitch perfect positioning.

And with it…he has the wrist of FLAMBERGE in his grasp.

And his legs in full extension.

Center of the ring.

With everything he has.

With EVERYTHING he has!

There is no hesitation in the strain put on this cross armbar from the stomach. The entire elbow joint is going to explode within seconds of the application of Article 51.

FLAMBERGE has never the oncoming of pain like this ever in the ring.

His eyes flare out.

Center of the ring.

Try to get out.

Fight to get out.

Everything he has.

Everything he can give.

But the torque.

Instantly, he begins to weep.

Because he knows there’s nothing he can do.

He…

Taps against the thigh of Cecilworth Farthington.

Elvis Nixon calls for the bell.

DING DING DING DING DING DING

Farthington releases the hold instantly and collapses to the canvas in a heap.

“Choke” by I Don’t Know How But They Found Me blares.

FLAMBERGE openly weeps, head pressed against the canvas, his left hand reaching from his right arm.

The display of pure professional wrestling has the crowd in an absolute frenzy.

Vince Howard: YOUUUUUUUUR WINNER…AND STIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILL!

Cecilworth tries to push himself from the canvas, but is unable to.

Vince Howard: UNIVERSAL CHAMPION!!!!!

He rolls onto his back, his eyes looking out into the night sky as best as they can manage. At the stars littering the sky. Of the universe.

His.

Universe.

Vince Howard: CECILWORTH! FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARTHINGTON!!!

Pyro explodes all across Estadio Azteca’s perimeter, bathing the skyline in beautiful colors.

But it is only ugliness for Le Protagoniste, weeping bitter tears as he sits in the corner, his back resting against the turnbuckle pads. His head remains cast down. He is…utterly…inconsolable.

Farthington tries to pick himself up off the canvas, dropping to knee before falling over once again. He tries to fight up, as much as he can. But finds himself unable.

That is, until Hayes Hanlon brings him up to his feet with a big ole paw.

The Universal Champion for over a year. From Culture Shock to Culture Shock. And his legs are buckling. Nearly giving away. Everything washes over him. He feels so tired.

So

So tired.

But Joe Fontaine and Hayes Hanlon brace him against themselves, giving him the time to compose himself, to gather what little strength he has. A few moments, and he looks back and forth between the two of them, speaking to the both of them. Whatever he says, it feels quite heavy. Quite…emotional.

After speaking, he finds the strength with his legs to hold firm.

It’s then that Elvis Nixon offers to him the Universal Championship. He takes the belt he has called his own, that he has made his own, and looking back and forth with Joe and Hayes, thrusts it skyward.

Another volley of pyro.

He slings the Universal Title over his shoulder, and finally, looks in the direction of his opponent. At the man who pushes him so hard.

Perhaps more than anyone ever has.

His feet carry with them the weight of the world, knowing what he had to do to remain Universal Champion. And as FLAMBERGE sobbed, helplessly, he knows well what the young man could be feeling. It’s only natural. And could he blame him?

Could he?

He trudges over to Le Protagoniste…and stands over him.

Lords over him.

Supremacy over him in this, the royal squared circle.

Julien Lavigne looks upward toward his God.

No.

No.

Cecilworth drops to both his knees, his arms wrapping around his friend, drawing him close, hugging him with everything he has. Those sobs racking FLAMBERGE, he is there to comfort. There to acknowledge. To let him know it’s okay. That he has nothing to be ashamed of.

That he has everything to be proud of and for.

Head to bloody head. Farthington speaks to Julien. Nobody can hear but him. And once he’s done speaking, Cecilworth stands up, and with his own hand, helps FLAMBERGE to his feet.

Lifting his arm in the air.

Glue acknowledging glue.

Brother acknowledging brother.

Another volley of pyro for the Glue Boys.

And why wouldn’t it?

GLUE

STANDS

TOGETHER