ULTRAVIOLENCE 2026 NIGHT ONE
The city outlives the people who imagine it.
Philadelphiaâs streets lie empty beneath a sky the color of cooling ash, the towers standing black against a burning horizon like the ribs of some great behemoth left to weather where itâs fallen. Storefront windows stare blankly into avenues littered with broken glass. Traffic lights continue their endless cycle from green to yellow to red despite there being no one left to obey them. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell rings and the first chords of âEve of Destructionâ by Barry McGuire carry themselves across the silence.
âThe Eastern world, it is explodinâ⌠Violence flarinâ, bullets loadinââŚâ
Bryan Dawkins walks alone through Broad Street, his boots sending small echoes into buildings stripped long ago of their voices. He passes abandoned cars whose doors still hang open as if their occupants simply vanished mid-thought. A newspaper rolls lazily across the pavement before catching against his boot. He stoops, lifts it, studies a headline already faded by rain, then lets it fall again. There are no stories left worth reading.
âYouâre old enough to kill, but not for votinâ⌠You donât believe in war, but whatâs that gun youâre totinâ?â
Further downtown, another figure crosses an intersection.
Ivan Stanislav.
He moves through the ruined city without curiosity or hesitation, stepping over collapsed rubble and shattered brick. Thereâs a snarl on his lips, a hammer and sickle still stapled to the breast of his shirt. Around him, monuments have fallen. Steel has twisted. âStone has cracked. None of it seems remarkable. Cities, after all, are merely another thing destined to kneel before time.
âAnd even the Jordan river has bodies floatinâ..â
Elsewhere, beneath the rusting skeleton of the Market-Frankford Line, Nate Colton kneels beside a length of chain half-buried beneath soot and rainwater. He pulls it free one link at a time, the steel scraping softly against fractured concrete until a dog collar finally emerges from the rubble. Muddy water drips from the leather. He studies it for only a moment before slinging it across his shoulder and disappearing beneath the tracks.
âBut you tell me⌠over and over and over again, my friendâŚâ
A block away, Max Kael pauses before what remains of a department store window. The glass has shattered into a hundred crooked pieces, each one offering him a different face. He watches them all in silence before a wicked smile finds its way across, curling and twisting until every splinter of glass smiles back at him in kind.
âHow you donât believe⌠weâre on the eve of destructionâŚâ
The city watches.
It watches Kris Roswell and Satan Jones move shoulder to shoulder through a canyon of blackened office buildings, never speaking, their footsteps falling into the same steady rhythm as though they have long since learned there is no need for words.
It watches Stellan,Solomon, and Sebastian Cross emerge from the drifting smoke on the opposite side of the avenue, separated from the Foot Soldiers by little more than broken pavement. Neither pair change course. The distance between them never closes.
âDonât you understand⌠what Iâm trying to say?â
Rob Williams wanders through the shell of Reading Terminal Market, weaving between overturned tables and shattered glass display cases. He carries an already bloodied baseball bat at his side. Somewhere in the darkness ahead comes the faint echo of laughter. He stops and listens, but the laughter is gone before he can place it.
âCanât you feel the fears⌠Iâm feelinâ today?â
Elsewhere, Toddrick and Miguel sit atop a stack of weathered shipping pallets outside an abandoned warehouse, swinging their legs over the edge as though the world has not ended at all. One nudges the other. They grin. Then, without a world, both climb down to the streets below.
âIf the button is pushed⌠thereâs no runninâ awayâŚâ
Danny Christie sits alone on the cracked steps of Philadelphia City Hall. The Alias Championship rests across his knees while strips of athletic tape hang from his wrists like loose ribbons. Across the empty square, Ria Lockhart appears through the haze, the same championship reflected in her eyes long before either notices the other.
Neither breaks stride.
Neither looks away.
âThereâll be no one to save⌠with the world in a graveâŚâ
Father west, Clay Byrd and Scott Hunter walk the empty banks of the Schuylkill River, the water turned black beneath an overcast sky. The Tag Team Championships on their shoulders catch the faint light as they move along the riverwalk. Across the water, Elise Ares and The D keep pace on the opposite bank, neither side acknowledging the other, the current flowing silently between them.
âTake a look around you, boy⌠Itâs bound to scare you, boyâŚâ
A battered planetarium dome rises above the city skyline, its cracked ceiling exposing dead constellations. Kerry Kuroyama stands beneath it alone, gazing upward as faded stars continue their endless mechanical rotation overhead. Somewhere deeper within the darkness, Bobby Neptune walks the same exhibit halls, his footsteps swallowed by the enormous silence until the two shadows nearly meet beneath the center of the dome.
âAnd you tell me⌠over and over and over again, my friendâŚâ
The roads begin to narrow.
The empty avenues give way to forgotten side streets, then cracked alleys, then corridors of ruined buildings and twisting steel where daylight struggles to find the ground. The distance between them shrinks with every step, though none of them can yet see the others through the smoke and cinder.
Every path bends toward the same place.
The streets simply refuse to lead anywhere else.
âHow you donât believeâŚâ
The camera rises.
Above the rooftops.
Above the smoke.
Above the city itself.
Only then does the shape fully reveal itself.
Every shattered avenue.
Every broken boulevard.
Every forgotten alley.
All of them converge upon a single intersection near the cityâs heart.
A wrestling ring stands alone beneath the ashfall.
Its canvas remains untouched.
Its ropes stand perfectly still.
One by one, they all emerge from the shadows. Bryan. Ivan. Nate. Max. Rob. Toddrick. Miguel. Danny. Ria. Clay. Scott. Elise. The D. Kerry. Bobby. Kris. Satan. Stellan. Solomon. Sebastian. They come from every street the city has left to offer, each carrying the burden theyâve found along the way. A chain draped across one shoulder, a championship held close to another.
The wind dies.
The ash hangs motionless in the air.
The ring waits.
âWeâre on the eve of destruction.â
Cut to black.
ULTRAVIOLENCE 2026
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA
Welcome to UltraViolence! And how else would we start the show than with⌠SIGNS!?
YOUR ASS IS GRASS, AND IâM THE LAWNMOWER
GO BIRDS
DIRT BIKES GO VROOM
WHOâS DYING FIRST BETWEEN MIGUEL AND TODDRICK? YES.
CANE JILES
ELISE ARES CHARGES TOO MUCH FOR CAMEO
IF ELISE CHARGES TOO MUCH, YOUâRE A POOR
ELISE DOES CHARGE TOO MUCH! SHE CHARGES WAY TOO MUCH! AND I AMÂ NOT POOR I USED TO BE SOMEBODY GOD DAMN IT. USED TO BE SOMEONE RESPECTED. SOMEONE LOVED.
NATE COLTON IN A DOG COLLAR? STOP READING MY MELVIN BEAUREGARDâS FANFIC
CANER JILES
I AM HERE FOR TVâS MR. SEX
WHO REFEREES THE REFEREES?
WHOâS A GOOD BOY?
I HOPE THIS GUMMY KICKS IN FOR PANDEMONIUM IN THE PLANETARIUM
IâD LIKE TO GET HAMMERED BY IVANâS SICKLE, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN (HEâS SEIZED THE MEANS OF MY SEDUCTION, IS WHAT IâM SAYING)
CANEST JILES
I TRAVELED 97000 MEGAWATTS THROUGH TIME TO STILL SKIP THE MOSCOWVERSE
CAN WE FLIP THE STIP SO IVAN HAS TO RETIRE? STIP THE FLIP! STIP-STIP-STIPADELPHIA
WHY DID I SEE THE POP CULTURE PHENOMS HUFFING SPRAY PAINT WITH CHARLIE KELLY OUTSIDE PADDYâS PUB?
MAN THREE
Richard Parker: Oh BABY! This crowd is hot, hot, hot. Like Kelly Preston.
Nick Stuart: Interesting frame of reference.
Richard Parker: You seen Twins?
Nick Stuart: In 1988 when it came out, yes.
Richard Parker: Well, then you get where Iâm coming from.
Nick Stuart: Speaking of hot, the Foot Soldiers are absolutely on fire in tag team action. A win over the Albion might vault them into tag title contention, Richard.
Richard Parker: âŚhuh?
Nick Stuart: âŚwere you thinking about Kelly Preston again?
Richard Parker: (ignoring it, obviously was thinking about Kelly Preston)
âWoo! Woo!âÂ
Richard Parker: Thatâs right, Nick, itâs the Rubber Band Man himself.
Nick Stuart: Youâre a T.I. fan?
Richard Parker: Câmon, shawwwty, you already know.
After that normal interaction, âLet âEm Knowâ by T.I. plays over the speakers as the PRIMEView displays the Foot Soldiers logo, a cleat with devil horns. Kris Roswell and Satan Jones appear at the top of the ramp. Kris stands confidently, looking out at the crowd, while Satan Jones holds his phone out, streaming the whole process because of course he is.
Vince Howard: Making their way to the ring, at a combined weight of 425 poundsâŚrepresenting Grayâs Wrestling AcademyâŚKRIS ROSWELL! SATAN JONES! THEEEEEE FOOT SOOOLDIEEERRRSSSS!
Richard Parker: Heâs the best wrestling Satan of all-time.
Nick Stuart: Who is his competition?
Richard Parker: Exactly. He has none. He is peerless.
Kris walks to the ring, slapping hands with the crowd as Satan turns his phone on the front row, occasionally stopping to capture himself and crowd members together on his livestream. Kris slides into the ring first, then waits for Satan to hop up and enter. They slap hands and Satan ends the livestream, then hands his phone to the referee to have them put it somewhere safe.
Nick Stuart: Â Very magnanimous of Ashely Barlow to hold onto that phone for Satan Jones.
The lights die.
Richard Parker: Whatâs next: some early T.I. like â24âsâ or maybe a middle stage masterpiece like âBankhead?â You know P$C wiled out on that one, Nick.
Nick Stuart: Do I ever.
âClubbed to Deathâ climbs from the low end of the mix, strings building in the dark, and the crowd knows this music now. The reaction that comes up is not a welcome one.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Three figures at the top of the ramp.
The follow spot finds them and the noise sharpens. Solomon Cross stands with the grin already in place, unhurried and unbothered, the kind of smile that knows exactly how much it costs the people directing heat at it. To his left Stellan stands completely still, arms at his sides, receiving the crowdâs anger the way a wall receives weather. And half a step behind them both, hands clasped at the small of his back, Sebastian surveys the arena with the quiet attention of a man checking the time.
None of them acknowledge the noise.
They come down the ramp together: Solomon at a jog, grinning wider as the heat increases, making deliberate eye contact with the fans closest to the barrier rather than avoiding it; Stellan moving at that unhurried weight that makes the distance feel shorter than it is; Sebastian a half-step behind, already looking past everything between him and the ring.
Richard Parker: Despite their damning lack of T.I., Iâd sure like to see these Crosses duff out that livestreaming twit Satan Jones.
A fan leans over the barrier toward Solomon. He stops, looks at them for a long moment, says something they cannot hear over the noise, and walks on still grinning.
At ringside Solomon vaults the top rope. Stellan steps over it. Sebastian enters through the middle, pauses on the apron, and steps through.
Vince Howard: And their opponents, at a combined weight of 502 pounds, and being accompanied by Sebastian CrossâŚ.THEEEEEEEEEEE ALLLLLLLLLBION!
Richard Parker: Theyâre not albinos, Nick. Albion. Thatâs the original name for Great Britain. A lot of people making that mistake, but none of the three of them is an albino, I can confirm.
Nick Stuart: Is âa lot of peopleâ you? Did you think they were albinos?
Richard Parker: Back to the action in the ring!
The Crosses take their positions without discussion. Solomon turns to face the crowd, arms wide, performing enjoyment of the reaction he is getting. Stellan stands in his corner and is still. Sebastian walks to the centre of the ring and looks out at the building with an expression that does not change.
The music ends.
The noise does not.
Nick Stuart: Itâs the city of Brotherly Hate here for the Albion. Listen to that ovation for one of our newest teams, or should I say, cartels.
Ashley Barlow checks the competing Cross brothers, while Sebastian retreats to the outside, where he watches impassively.
Itâs all ready for the violence.
DING DING!
Nick Stuart: UltraViolence is now officially here!
Richard Parker: Satan v. Solomon to start here. Quite biblical, Nick.
Nick Stuart: And with significant consequences either way. If the Foot Soldiers win, then Sebastian Cross has to face Satan one on one.
Richard Parker: Counterpoint: when the Albion win, Satan has to interview Sebastian, real nice-like.
In the ring, Satan Jones smiles to hear the chant that can only come from a red hot crowd starting a two-night extravaganza like this PRIME supershow. Solomon Cross looks around and takes it in, though his face betrays no emotion!
A mighty chant, with a significant counter chant, ring out immediately.
ULTRA-VIO-LENCE! (FOOT SOL-DIERS!)
ULTRA-VIO-LENCE! (FOOT SOL-DIERS!)
Richard Parker: Glad I got this headset on. Itâs loud AF out here, Nick,
Nick Stuart: Loud and now itâs getting physical. The social media maven of the Foot Soldiers locking up here with the stoic Cross.
Out of the lock-up, Jones gets his hips low and transitions into a side headlock. He digs down with his leverage, but Solomonâs already using Satanâs momentum against him, and bounces Satan towards the ring ropes. Jones comes off with a shoulder block aimed right at Cross andâŚ.
Nick Stuart: Stonewalled!
Cross doesnât budge. Jones gives him a puzzled look. Itâs Solomonâs turn now, and he bounces off the opposite rope, rebounds, and offers a shoulder block of his own.
Richard Parker: Double stonewalled! Happy Pride! Shout out my beautiful LGBTIA+ homies!
The two men trade a knowing look, it now being established that neither has a power advantage, given the same sizeyness (definitely a word and a thing) between them.
Nick Stuart: Satan throws a right hand. Misses! Right from Cross! Solomonâs on the attack now!
Crossâs right having dazed his foe, he follows up with two more right hands that deposit a wobbly Satan Jones to the corner. Cross puts a boot into his midsection, then pulls him from the turbuckle into a wristlock. With snarling efficiency, Solomon snaps quickly with a northern lights suplex that bridges in fine form into a pin.
ONE!
Nick Stuart: Pinfall attempt!
Youâd never know from the look on Sebastian Crossâs face on the outside.
TWO!
Richard Parker: First kickout of the night. (looks down at his watch) If you had 2:26, then come collect your winnings, and first roundâs on you.
Satanâs kickout (sick band name) clears enough space for the Terror of Tiktok to scoot over to his corner, and slap the outstretched hand of Kris Roswell.
Nick Stuart: Tag! Roswellâs in.
He makes his way out of the corner, and thereâs some clear jawing between the Foot Soldier and his opponent. Kris gives a little flex, all 185 pounds of him, and then points to the behemoth in the corner.
Nick Stuart: Surely, heâs not calling forâŚ
Richard Parker: Sometimes, you gotta let a guy sign his own death warrant.
Solomon obliges, and applies the tag to his giant brother. In steps Stellan Cross through the ropes, to a few oohâs and ahhâs. Itâs from the people whoâve never been to PRIME live, and are just now realizing what it looks like when a real human person weighs three hundred damn pounds.
Nick Stuart: A bit of a size disadvantage for Roswell here.
Richard Parker: Turn him into roadkill, Stellan.
Roswell has pep, you have to at least give him that. He steps up to the goliath Cross, chest puffed out. Instead of going on offense, Kris puts both hands behind his back, tapping his sternum as if to say: put âer here.
Nick Stuart: In a word: unwise.
The largest Cross brother, with little pomp, obliges Roswell.
THWACK!
The backhand chop can be heard at the King of Prussia Mall.
Roswellâs eyes bulge out of his head, and he seems to be near a medical emergency, but he somehow stays upright, despite contorting almost all the way to the ropes.
Richard Parker: May I say? Hahahahha, you dumbass.
Stellan hasnât broken a sweat. But, as is tradition, he offers up his own chest. Roswell is a few steps away. He advances on Cross, building up momentum, winds up for a knife edge chop of his own andâŚ
Nick Stuart: Roswell went five-hole!
Indeed, he has scrambled between Stellan Crossâs legs before the big man knows whatâs going, hits the opposite ropes, bounces off at great velocity, and offers up a mighty running kick, heading straight towards Crossâs head.
Richard Parker: NOT cleared for takeoff, dimwit.
What had happened was: Roswell had the jump on Stellan, but the big man turned fast enough to see the plot, extended a tree trunk leg, and Roswell ended up running himself into a fierce big boot, sending him toppling to the mat.
Nick Stuart: Got his bell rung just a bit.
You can almost see the little cartoon birds flying around Kris Roswellâs head. Stellan offers no quarter, though, and as Roswell wobbbles to his feet, the big man extends a giant hand to the throat of Roswell andâŚ
Richard Parker: Chokeslam! Cover him and letâs wrap it up, weâve got a long night ahead of us.
Post-chokeslam, the ring still reverberating, Cross drops down and puts two hands directly on Kris Roswellâs chest.
ONE!
Nick Stuart: Could be it!
On the outside, you guessed it: Sebastian Cross has his arms folded and itâs just another Friday to him. A stiff upper lip if it was a person.
TWO!
A quick camera shot of Satan Jones, nervous.
Kickout!
Richard Parker: The whipping will continue until morale improves, I suppose.
Roswell, having just gotten his shoulder off the mat at 2.5, crawls towards his corner, but Stellan Cross wonât be having any of that. The big man pulls him up, and then pulls Roswell towards him, dropping him once again with a stiff short-arm lariat. The brutality of the hit invokes the Philly crowdâs ire.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Richard Parker: Getting booed in Philly is like getting a standing ovation anywhere else. The Albion have officially made it.
Stellan Cross pulls Roswell up again. In a show of extreme strength, the big man lifts Roswell up into a military press and begins to carry him towards the corner where Solomon awaits.
Nick Stuart: Look at that might!
Richard Parker: I just might, Nick.
Nick Stuart: Itâs all Albion right now, as Stellan Cross looks to get a tag team move in here to finish off Kris Roswell.
Cross goes to drop Roswell and deposit him directly in front of his corner. As he begins to fall, though, Cross shifts his weight and falls towards Solomon Cross on the apron. He flails his limbs out, and ends up both hitting Solomon with an elbow that knocks him to the ground and helps right Roswell so that he lands on his feet.
Nick Stuart: A surprisingly acrobatic escape from Roswell!
Kris certainly looks surprised by it. Stellan Cross looks at the smaller man like heâs grown a second head. A moment ago, Roswell was kaput, and now he just fell out of mid-air andâŚdid something kind of spectacular? The crowd reacts immediately.
LETâS GO ROS-WELL! (FOOT SOL-DIERS!)
LETâS GO ROS-WELL! (FOOT SOL-DIERS!)
Now, thereâs still the matter of Kris Roswell facing down a big olâ lad. Stellan Crossâs surprise is about to wear off, so Roswell does what he does best: kick.
Nick Stuart: Low kick to the shin, and Cross wasnât expecting it!
The surprise attack to his lower body causes Stellan to reach down in pain, doubled over. Kris Roswell seizes his opening, takes a running step, andâŚ
Richard Parker: Whoa.
âŚDIVES in a somersault over the bent-over Cross, landing in a roll that takes him directly towards his own corner andâŚ
RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
NIck Stuart: Thatâs a tag to Satan Jones! Foot Soldiers showing life!
Richard Parker: Better than live soldiers showing feet. Not kinkshaming whatsoever, but, you know.
Stellan Cross wears a slightly perturbed look on his face at his error in letting Roswell get the tag. Heâs ready for Satan, or so he thinks, as the KC native rushes towards him. Cross swings but misses, and Jones gets around to his opponentâs backside, lifting him up in an ugly but effective full nelson backbreaker.
Richard Parker: Best, and maybe only, wrestling move Iâve ever seen Satan Jones do.
Nick Stuart: Would you say heâs having a hell of a match out there?
Richard Parker: Oh Nicholas, you cad.
Stellan Cross grabs at his lower back (it was more a backhurter than a backbreaker, if you want to be technical about it), and drops to a knee. With the big man reeling, Jones drops low and applies a nifty crucifix pin.
Nick Stuart: Pin out of nowhere! One! Two! ThRNO! Cross powers out!
The bigger Cross now looks like heâs seen a bit of a ghost at the surprise offense from, of all people, Satan Jones. But the Philadelphians have caught the unholy ghost, and come alive for the one and only anti-God.
LETâS GO SAT-AN! (FOOT SOL-DIERS!)
LETâS GO SAT-AN! (FOOT SOL-DIERS!)
With a âyou like me, you really like me!â shit-eating grin on his face, Jones runs at Cross. Stellan catches him with a back body drop, and itâs not so funny now, is it, for Satan Jones as he goes keister over skull through the air untilâŚ
Nick Stuart: Jones lands on his feet!
And where heâs landed is directly in front of Solomon Cross, who swings out from the corner. Jones ducks and rolls out of the way. Stellan Cross makes a quick tag to take advantage of the moment.
Richard Parker: Two on one, dust his ass!
The Cross brothers, working in perfect harmony, link arms and go for a double clothesline on the stunned Satan Jones. Heâs a sitting duck.
Nick Stuart: Jones in a baaaad way here, despite that nifty piece of footwork in his landing.
The Crosses are one step away from a pulverizing two-man clothesline whenâŚ
Richard Parker: GAH!
Nick Stuart: UFO! UFO! UFO by Roswell!
Stellan Cross has shoved his brother out of the way at the last minute, only to take one hundred percent of the brunt of the running kick from Kris Roswell, whose dash out of his corner was timely. The UFO kick knocks Cross and Roswell over the ropes, and they tumble out to the floor in a tangled mess of humanity.
Nick Stuart: My goodness, the impact on that kick. The save by Stellan Cross. The carnage out here. These two men are in rough shape.
On cue, the camera shows both Stellan and Kris down on the ground on the outside. Roswell might be better off, but not by much. Both crawl in opposite directions, but show no sign of being viable tag options for their partners in the near future. The crowd has a cheeky chant to mark the UFO kickâs impact.
HO-LY FOOT! HO-LY FOOT! HO-LY FOOT!
The camera pans up slightly where, in the front row, thereâs a masked Bryan Dawkins fan. Heâs got a genuine PRIMEporium-approved Anglo Luchador mask, and is holding a pineapple plushie. He pumps the plushie-filled fist to lead another round of a new chant.
THIS IS AWE-SOME! (FOOT SOL-DIERS!)
THIS IS AWE-SOME! (FOOT SOL-DIERS!)
Nick Stuart: It is awesome. Back in the ring, though, weâve got two men who may be facing down winning a match for their team without any cavalry coming.
Satan Jones and Solomon Cross realize this too. Cross, the fresher man, smells blood. Jones goes for a heel kick, but Cross ducks in behind, pops up on the other side of Jones and, with all his momentum already on the move, delivers a vicious tornado DDT that introduces Satanâs head to the mat at a nasty angle.
Richard Parker: Ok, more of that. Do the fuck-his-head-up move again.
Jones is slower to rise than Cross, and the Albion member has Jones in a bad spot, with his back to turnbuckle. Jones goes for a lockup and gets a momentary advantage, but Cross powers out, and drops several forearms that pin Satan in the corner. Jonesâ chest heaves, and Cross allows him to stagger out of the corner.
Nick Stuart: Now why would Solomon Cross allowOHMYGOSH!
The reason Solomon Cross would allow Satan Jones to stagger out of the corner is only to give him time to hit the ropes, bounce off at top speed, andâŚ
Richard Parker: BRIXTON BLITZ! Count it, Barlow!
The Busaiku knee obliterates Jones.
ONE
Shot of Sebastian Cross. Go ahead and guess whatâs happening (or not) across his face.
TWO
Shot on the outside, where the mangled duo of Stellan and Kris are stirring, but not nearly enough to intervene.
THREE!
Nothing left but to ring the bell.
Ring the bell.
Ring the damn bell.
Oh wait a tick.
Ashley Barlowâs hand is pointing toâŚ
Nick Stuart: Foot on the ropes! Satan Jones saved his bacon with a foot on the ropes!
Richard Parker: Delaying the inevitable, Nick.
Thatâs the gameplan from Solomon Cross. He pulls Jones to his feet, the Foot Soldier with an egg already blooming above his right eye where the knee caught him flush. Solomon says nothing, but grabs Jones by the hair to add insult to injury.
Nick Stuart: If Cross hits thisâŚ
Richard Parker: Finito for el diablo.
Solomon ends up alongside his opponent, and grabs his near arm and head, with his own arm laid across Satanâs throat.
The crowd knows whatâs coming, and can do nothing about it.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Well, they can boo about it, but itâs not going to stop the impact of Satanâs brains against the mat.
The sound is as expected, a meaty thud.
ONE!
Sebastian Cross is unmoved.
Nick Stuart: Wait a second!
TWO!
The two men outside are unmoving.
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Solomon Crossâs eyes are wide. So are Satan Jonesâ.
Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER, BY PINFALLâŚ.
By a very specific pinfall.
A small package counter to Made You Look.
A last-ditch effort by a guy who mostly understands wrestling through whatever clips show up on his phone.
Vince Howard: âŚSATAN JONES AND KRIS ROSWELL, THEEEEEEEEEE FOOT SOLDIERS!
RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Richard Parker: Calumny! Chicanery! Wait while I get the thesaurus for other words!
Nick Stuart: A truly outâof-nowhere surprise pinfall attempt gets the job done for the Foot Soldiers, I can barely believe it. Solomon Cross had Satan Jones dead to rights.
Richard Parker: Injustice has occurred here today.
There is nothing but bewilderment on the faces of both winner and loser, as they realize what has happened here.
Still, nothing moves on Sebastian Crossâs face, though the camera lingers on him.
Nick Stuart: That man has a date with Satan, Richard.
Richard Parker: Please, Nick, itâs too soon. Not now.
The camera cuts back to Satan Jones, and now goes wide. Jonesâ smile is widening, while Kris Roswell slowly slides back in the ring to celebrate with his friend and partner. On the outside, Sebastian Cross, arms folded, isnât going to start betraying a speck of emotion now.
But the time will soon come when, emotion or not, heâs stepping in the ring with tonightâs victor.
Nick Stuart: Thatâs a heck of a way to start the show. Two teams, and one opener that weâll remember for a long time.
Richard Parker: (inaudible mournful pleading, moaning from deep within his chest)
Nick Stuart: Well said, partner. Stay tuned as Ultraviolence rolls on!
You know what time it is?
Lemme tell you what time it is.
Itâs time to get stupid.
Real stupid.
I feel like youâre not understanding how stupid itâs about to get.
I will explain.
First, there are the pallets. So many pallets. Enough pallets that if they were to be stacked together and set on fire you would be able to see the resulting fire from the International Space Station without the aid of a telescope. Aliens on their way to earth to probe hillbillies would pass by Mars and think, âHot damn thatâs got to be a lot of pallets to burn this bright.â And then they would go about their abducting and their probing as usual, but they would take a minute to bring their abductees slash experiments slash human pets to the window of their craft, so impressed would they be by this fire they could see from the sky.
Not like Fire In The Sky, which is a very creepy movie about aliens that has nothing to do with professional wrestling, pallets, or fires. DB Sweeney freaking out under that table with the maple syrup? Yikes. Big yikes.
Vince Howard is here, but heâs on a crane because thereâs honestly no room for him in the ring. Weâll get to why in a minute.
Vince Howard: The following contest isâŚ
And he draws a blank. Hall of famer Vince, and he doesnât know what to say. Can you blame him? You saw the first elevated pallet match, right?
Could you explain what the hell that was supposed to be?
Be honest with yourself. And be honest with me.
Iâll know if youâre lying.
Exactly. Thatâs what I thought.
By the wayâŚ
You like hot chocolate, donât you?
Sorry, that should have said Hot Chocolate. The band. You know, the British soul band? The one from the seventies?
I believe in miracles
Where you from? You sexy thing (Sexy thing, you)
I believe in miracles
Since you came along, you sexy thing
You might be asking yourself, âSelf, why is this song coming through the arena speakers right now? Iâm pretty sure that no one in PRIME uses this as their theme song.â Youâd be right. Also, I feel compelled to point out that the second bit there isnât actually a question, so youâd only be asking yourself the first part.
Itâs because the audio tech has decided to throw their hands up and just say âfuck itâ for this match⌠contestâŚ
Thing.
So what you and everyone else is hearing right now is from their rather eclectic playlist. The one thatâs saved in Spotify as âPhat Booty Fuck Jamz,â but the one that they insist is just their liked songs. But they renamed it. They sure did. Just donât try to peek over their shoulder to see the real name, because they get real defensive about that.
Where did you come from, baby?
How did you know I needed you?
How did you know I needed you so badly?
How did you know Iâd give my heart gladly?
Vince Howard, professional that he is, tries to shout over the audio, but the levels are way too high. Itâs like trying to have a conversation with that one guy whoâs turned his entire car into a subwoofer on wheels and insists on blasting his phat beats loud enough that your fillings hurt. The one you were behind at that red light two days ago. Him. You know the one I mean.
Vince Howard: Repr⌠tot⌠combined height⌠drick⌠Miguel⌠sagna
Yesterday I was one of the lonely people
Now youâre close next to me, making love to me
Miguel and Toddrick appear on the stage, utterly baffled by whatâs in front of them.
On either side of the entrance are giant fuck-you pyramids constructed of pallets. Each stands around thirty feet tall, and both have been airbrushed to look like heavy metal albums. Imagine if the van your Dio cover band used to transport their gear in was fed through an industrial shredder and then rebuilt from memory. Thatâs what the sides of these pallet pyramids look like.
You know, because pallets have gaps in them between the wood planks.
I believe in miracles
Where you from? You sexy thing (Sexy thing, you)
I believe in miracles
Since you came along, you sexy thing
Miguel is pushing a wheelbarrow. The wheelbarrow is full of individually wrapped Chipotle burritos. None of them have guacamole, because that shit costs extra.
Toddrick has an air-powered tee shirt cannon slung across his back, only someone has affixed pieces to the sides so it looks a little bit like a giant crossbow.
Where did you come from, angel?
How did you know Iâd be the one?
Did you know youâre everything I prayed for?
Did you know, every night and day for?
Remember how we said weâd get to why Vince isnât in the ring? Now is that time. Itâs because the ring contains a massive collection of pallets that have been formed into a ziggurat, which is different from a pyramid on account of the tiers. This one has no top, and something inside it periodically belches a geyser of flame into the air.
Someone actually got a permit for this.
Every fire department in Pennsylvania is just waiting for the moment when this whole thing goes up in flames.
Every day, needing love as satisfaction
Now youâre lying next to me, giving it to me
Connecting the pyramids and ziggurat are a series of long, sagging bridges made of pallets and chain, all clearly built by a man who has no understanding what the âlevelâ part of âdead levelâ means, having got very hung up on the âdeadâ part instead. One of them has a missing board that no one has bothered to fix.
I believe in miracles
Where you from? You sexy thing (Sexy thing, you)
I believe in miracles
Since you came along, you sexy thing
Despite the fact that no contractor in his right mind would certify any of these structures as safe for humans, the Lasagna Boys each climb one of the two pyramids and wait for their opponent.
Oh, kiss me, you sexy thing
Touch me, baby, you sexy thing
I love the way you touch me, darling, you sexy thing
Oh, itâs ecstasy, you sexy thing
Toddrick unslings the crossbow-cannon from his shoulder and aims at the entryway. It is then that he realized he does not have any ammunition. All of that is currently in Miguelâs wheelbarrow. The one thatâs 30 feet below him on the entryway.
Yesterday I was one of the lonely people
Now youâre lying close to me, giving it to me
He looks across the way Miguel, and gestures towards the wheelbarrow of burritos. The burritobarrow. Miguel does not move, because this is a rickety-ass structure that heâs perched on top of, and honestly it was a miracle that either of them were able to climb in the first place.
I believe in miracles
Where you from? You sexy thing (Sexy thing, you)
I believe in miracles
Since you came along, you sexy thing
Oh, touch me
Kiss me, darling
I love the way you hold me, baby
Oh, itâs ecstasy
The two men continue to gesticulate at each other, each one trying to get the other to descend, grab some âritos, and then climb up the other pyramid. When neither man acquiesces â which is a word thatâs way too big for whatever shit show this is â they play tonightâs first game of Distance Rochambeau.
Both men count three, then throw rock. A stalemate.
They count three again, then throw paper. Clearly this is going nowhere.
Oh, itâs ecstasy (Sexy thing, you sexy thing, you)
Kiss me, baby (Sexy thing, you sexy thing, you)
I love the way you kiss me, darling (Sexy thing, you sexy thing, you)
Oh, yeah (Sexy thing, you sexy thing, you)
Love the way you hold me (Sexy thing, you sexy thing, you)
Keep on lovinâ me, darling (Sexy thing, you sexy thing, you)
Keep on lovinâ me, baby (Sexy thing, you sexy thing, you)
Ah, ah, ah-ha, yeah (Sexy thing, you sexy thing, you)
On the third try, Miguel throws scissors to Toddrickâs paper, but just as Toddrick is about to descend in disgust a new song hits the speakers.
Yyyaaaa, ya, ya, yaaaaa, yaaaaa, ya, yaaaaaaa, yaa, oh
Yyyaaaa, ya, ya, yaaaaa, yaaaaa, ya, yaaaaaaa, yaa, oh
Itâs Man in the Box by Alice and Chains, and this isnât playing because itâs Rob Williamsâ theme song, this is just a really weird playlist the audio tech has. Donât spend any time thinking about how this song qualifies as a âPhat Booty Fuck Jam.â
IâmÂ
The manÂ
In the box!
BuuuuuuuuuuriedÂ
InÂ
My pit!
Everyone in the arena gets mad because this is the radio edit.
WoooooooonâtÂ
YoooooooooooooouÂ
CooooooooooooooomeÂ
AaaaaaaaaaaaandÂ
Save me?
Forklift violence is not new to the ReVival era of PRIME, dating all the way back to episode three when a real dumb motherfucker decided to hijack one and drive it all over a casino. That man was a big idiot and everyone should forget that he ever existed. The forklifts then had a long and illustrious careerâŚ
Well.
Not counting the time Impulse tried to ape the bit, but whatever.
Anyway, all this is to say that the last time there was a pallet match, there was also a man in the box on a forklift, hellbent for leather snakeskin with murder on his mind. That manâs name is Rob Williams. He is the Five Star Champion.
Save me?
He has once again revved a forklift to its maximum speed so that he can barrel-ass his way into the arena.
FeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeheeedÂ
My eyes
Can you sew them shut?
Jesus Christ
Deny your maker
Tonight, Rob has eschewed the all-snakeskin ensemble he wore during the first pallet match for, you guessed it, even more snakeskin. For this âmatch,â that means heâs wearing a snakeskin hazmat suit to complement his snakeskin boots.
And that forklift heâs driving? It holds a very interesting piece of cargo. There upon its tines, on display for all the world to see, is the most dangerous piece of equipment that PRIME knows.
Another, smaller forklift.
Heeeeeeeyeeeeeyeeeyeeee who tries
Will be wasted
Rob presses a button on his forklift, and the tines are raised to attack height. Also, the tines on the smaller forklift are raised as well.
Richard Parker: Of all the things Iâve seen in my life, Nick⌠this is one of them.
Oh, did you forget that Nick and Richard were here? Well, they are. Theyâve just been sitting in stunned silence as they take in the cavalcade of bullshit thatâs going on around them. They are also behind a solid wall of Lexan glass, because they remember what happened the last time PRIME authorized one of these debacles.
Nick Stuart: Iâm⌠Iâm just going to not, I think.
FeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeheeedÂ
My eyes
Now youâve sewn them shut
Toddrick looks down as his doom approaches on four wheels. This forklift appears to have been modified to have its speed increased, but itâs still a forklift, which means it travels at the speed of smell. Honestly, thatâs still pretty fast, if you think about it.
Though speed doesnât necessarily matter when youâre ramming a hastily-constructed pallet pyramid with construction equipment. Itâs enough force that the top of the pyramid is blasted out from under Toddrick, who suddenly finds himself in freefall before landing on the pallets and skidding face-first along the splintering wood.
DING DING
Iâm the dog who gets beat
Shove my nose
In spit
A collective groan rises from the audience because seriously who the fuck picks the radio edit of anything for their Phat Booty Fuck Jamz playlist?
Richard Parker: So⌠that was a bell.
Nick Stuart: Yep.
Richard Parker: Which means this, uhhâŚ
Nick Stuart: Yep.
Richard Parker: Whatever this is⌠itâs official now?
Nick Stuart: Sure.
Nick continues to disassociate.
WoooooooonâtÂ
YoooooooooooooouÂ
CooooooooooooooomeÂ
AaaaaaaaaaaaandÂ
Save me?
Toddrick hits the ground a bloody splintered mess, the modified tee shirt-turned-burrito cannon falling from his limp fingers as his body is buried under an avalanche of pallets. Rob spins donuts with the forklift, before aiming it at the pyramid that Miguel is perched on top of. But instead of ramming that one, he hops off the forklift and decides to climb it himself.
Save me?
The engine is left running.
FeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeheeedÂ
My eyes
Can you sew them shut?
Jesus Christ
Deny your maker
Miguel tries to gain the upper hand before Rob can get to the top, but his attempted kick is caught and shoved aside, then heâs punched squarely in the balls in one fluid motion. Big Lasagna drops to his knees, cupping his tender nethers with one hand. Itâs the other hand that gets the business, as the champion grabs hold of it, forces Miguel to hold his fingers out straight, and then begins dragging them along the grain of the wood to force splinters under his nails.
Whatever you do, do not think about what that would feel like. Do not imagine dozens of tiny wooden shards being driven under your fingernails by a man dressed like a cowboy boot.
Do not imagine how long it will take Miguel to pry each of those splinters out later, and what will be involved to remove the ones that are really wedged up in there.
Pay no mind to the fact that shipping pallets arenât treated kindly, and they spend a lot of time in dirty, dusty places.
Also, the entire arena collectively winces, because this is some POW torture shit.
Heeeeeeeyeeeeeyeeeyeeee who tries
Will be wasted
FeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeheeedÂ
My eyes
Now youâve sewn them shut
Rob pulls Miguel up to his feet. Miguel, trembling as he looks at his brand new porcupine fingers, is unable to defend against another shot to the crotch. Nor is he able to fend off the headbutt that catches him squarely between the eyes.
He is powerless to prevent Rob from using the most devastating wrestling move known to man, one that pulls down its pants and wiggles its ass in the face of physics.
The Irish whip.
<Bitchinâ guitar solo>
Because thatâs what Rob Williams does. He grabs Miguel by the wrist and the back of his neck, and he sends that sumbitch aârunninâ. He sends him aârunninâ right down the length of the incredibly precarious pallet bridge that connects the pallet pyramid by the entrance ramp to the top of the pallet ziggurat thatâs built in the center of the ring.
FeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeheeedÂ
My eyes
Can you sew them shut?
Jesus Christ
Deny your maker
Miguel runs, and runs, and he runs some more, because he is unable to stop his legs. Such is the power of the Irish whip. It doesnât matter that the bridge wobbles and waves beneath him, threatening to collapse at any minute. He has been compelled to run, and so run he must.
Heeeeeeeyeeeeeyeeeyeeee who tries
Will be wasted
FeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeeheeeeeeeeeheeedÂ
My eyes
Now youâve sewn them shut
Look, if you feel like you have to justify this to yourself, then hereâs the scoop.
The bridge is rickety, yes, but itâs also about fifty feet up over the arena floor. This means that if Miguel actually tries to stop, he runs the risk of taking a very hard fall with nothing beneath him but more pallets, and heâs already dealt with enough splinters in a very short time, thank you very much.
Meanwhile, Man in the Box has ended. Whatâs next? How about a familiar piano line and an overdriven electric guitar that is best described as âBroadway as fuck.â
Miguel continues to run, screaming all the while, while the opening to Iâd Do Anything For Love by Meatloaf begins to thunder through the arena.
Some days it donât come easy
Some days it donât come hard
Some days it donât come at all
And these are the days that never end
At the other end of the bridge, the part that sits atop the pallet pyramid, Rob patiently waits. He leans over and glances down at what might be part of Miguelâs fingernail thatâs sitting by his feet.
Some nights youâre breathing fire
Some nights youâre carved in ice
Some nights youâre like nothing Iâve ever
Seen before or will again
Just as Miguel reaches the other end of the bridge, the part that connects to the pallet ziggurat, it belches a column of fire from the middle and heâs forced to slam on the brakes. He skids, spins a half turn, and then starts hauling ass back the way he came.
Look, just tell yourself that he got really scared by the fire.
Maybe Iâm crazy, but itâs crazy and itâs true
I know you can save me, no-one else can save me now but you
If you thought Toddrick was dead, then think again. If you hoped Toddrick was dead, then what the fuck is wrong with you, man, seriously. Thatâs a human being weâre talking about. One with (probably) a family. One that has (maybe) people back home who love him. If those people exist, theyâre currently rooting for him, so maybe think about that for a minute, you absolute savage.
Speaking of savages, here comes Rob Williams surfing down the pallet pyramid on a makeshift pallet surfboard to make sure Toddrick doesnât get any ideas.
Miguel? Oh, heâs still running.
As long as the wheels are turning
As long as the bays are burning
As long as your dreams are coming true
Youâd better believe it
The Legendâs pallet slides to the ground, and the man himself doesnât break stride as he coolly steps off of it and moves towards Toddrick, just as Small Lasagna is about to get his fingers on the trigger of the tee shirt gun. Rob pulls the weapon away, jams a burrito into the barrel, and then uses his foot to roll Toddrick onto his back.
Toddrick has just enough time to plead with his eyes before the barrel of the gun is jammed into his abdomen and the trigger is pulled. With a mighty FLOOMPF the burrito is discharged into him at point blank range.
Richard Parker: Thatâs not usually how burritos give people a stomach ache.
Nick just keeps on pretending that heâs literally anywhere else.
I would do anything for love
I know itâs true and thatâs a fact
I would do anything for love
And thereâll never be no turning back
Letâs go back to Miguel for a second.
He is rapidly running out of room at the pyramid end of the pallet bridge, but wrestling physics are weird, so he continues to run despite the fact that his lungs and legs both feel like theyâre on fire. He manages to summon up all his inner âsagna and slow to a stop, just before reaching the edge. One more step, and he would have run right down the other side of the pyramid and into one of the supports holding up the entryway.
But Iâll never do it better than I do it with you
So long, so long
He puts his hands on his knees, body doubled over from the exertion of all that running, and is momentarily able to block out the pain and focus on his breathing before thereâs a rumble from underneath him.
And I would do anything for love
Oh, I would do anything for love
A rumble, and the beep of a forklift thatâs backing up.
At the bottom of the pyramid, Rob Williams sits in the driverâs seat of the main forklift. He has lowered its forks to the ground, and thus also lowers the forks of the forklift it carries enough so that it can slide beneath some of the pallets the pyramid is built from.
I would do anything for love but I wonât do that
I wonât do that
The forks are raised. The smaller forklift is raised. Its forks are raised.
The pyramid collapses.
Everything in lasagna world goes to hell.
I would do anything for love
Anything youâve been dreaming of, but I just wonât do that
Once again, Rob Williams exits the forklift. Once again, he leaves the engine running.
Hey, you never know.
I would do anything for love
Anything youâve been dreaming of, but I just wonât do that
He pulls both Lasagna Boys to where he has set up a few dozen burritos in a single layer on top of a stack of pallets.
I would do anything for love
Anything youâve been dreaming of, but I just wonât do that
He bashes Miguelâs face into one. Then Toddrickâs into another.
I would do anything for love
Anything youâve been dreaming of, but I just wonât do that
Miguel.
Toddrick.
Miguel.
Toddrick.
I would do anything for love
Anything youâve been dreaming of, but I just wonât do that
Rob looks down at the burrito-y mess that heâs made, and a new kind of sneer takes form on his face. Itâs the look of a man who has realized that his enemies brought burritos to use as weapons, but did not have the common fucking decency to spring for guac. As if heâs not worth it. As if being the Five Star champion is not worth adding guaca-fucking-mole to your burrito weapons.
I would do anything for love
Anything youâve been dreaming of, but I just wonât do
He scoops up Toddrick around the waist and atomic drops him across one of the forkliftâs tines. Then does the same to Miguel.
The Legend gets back in the driverâs seat, only this time he aims his ride at the ring. With a few flicks of the controls he raises the forks up into the air again, then stomps on the accelerator and tears ass down the ramp, swerving in between piles of broken pallets that were once bridges and pyramids.
But Iâll never stop dreaming of you
every night of my life, no way
But I would do anything for love
But I wonât do that
Oh, I wonât do that
He makes a point to drive over some debris, which causes the entire ride to jostle the Lasagna Boys by the jimmies. Just as the forklift is about to crash into the ring, and the ziggurat it contains, Rob dives from the driverâs seat.
Miguel and Toddrickâs fates are less pleasant. Gravity has its way with the two men, sending them sailing through the air and into the side of the wooden ziggurat. The collision sends scraps of wood flying from the ring, so itâs probably a good thing that there is also a Lexan shield that prevents the crowd from being injured by any of this.
One of the boards smacks into a glass directly in front of a man sitting ringside with a Dawkinâs tee shirt and Hawaiian shirt over it. He brings up his hands â hands that hold a pineapple plushie â to shield his masked face, only to watch as the wood hits the invisible barrier and slides to the ground.
Will you raise me up? Will you help me down?
Will you get me right out of this godforsaken town?
Can you make it all a little less cold?
Rob grabs a broken board in his hands before storming into the ring where both Lasagna Boys lay in a heap of broken bodies and broken wood. Before he can assault either one of them with it, he first has to kick aside the pieces of the bridge that came crashing to the ground when the ziggurat fell. Fortunately, the flame-belching mechanism at the heart of it didnât also topple.
I can do that
I can do that
The champion shatters the board across Toddrickâs back, then finds another for Miguel. Big Lasagna kicks out with his feet, but his shoes slide right off the snakeskin hazmat suit with no effect.
Will you hold me sacred? Will you hold me tight?
Can you colourise my life, Iâm so sick of black and white?
Can you make it all a little less old?
Richard Parker: So.
Nick Stuart: âŚ
Richard Parker: Meatloaf was definitely a choice, huh?
Nick Stuart: âŚ
Richard Parker: Not what Iâd have on my playlist⌠or whatever this is, but⌠yâknow.
Nick Stuart: âŚ
I can do that
Oh I can do that
Richard Parker: Hey, you good over there?
Nick Stuart: âŚ
Richard Parker: Cool. Cool. Just thought Iâd ask.
Will you make me some magic with your own two hands?
Can you build an emerald city with these grains of sand?
Can you give me something I can take home?
Outside the ring, Rob begins stacking as many pallets as he can find. There are only ten or so on the nearby arena floor that are still in decent enough condition, and judging by the expression on his face this is less than he had hoped for.
I can do that
I can do that
With the makeshift structure in place, he rolls back into the ring, careful to not stab himself on a particularly nail-infested piece of lumber. He then begins shoving whatever of the debris thatâs still in good condition into a new pile, one just inside the ropes.
Toddrick is the first victim. The smaller Lasagna Boy finds himself draped across Rob Williamsâ shoulders fireman-style, the two of them standing on top of the pallet altar Rob has constructed in the ring. And then heâs gorilla pressed out of that position, and let to fall face-down onto the pallet pile outside the ring.
DING DING DING
Richard Parker: So, uhh⌠I⌠I think that means Rob won? Maybe? Yeah?
Nick doesnât answer.
Richard Parker: Okay, good talk.
Will you cater to every fantasy I got?
Will you hose me down with holy water, if I get too hot?
Will you take me places Iâve never known?
Not content with the havoc heâs wrought, Rob drags Miguel up onto the same platform before powerbombing him on top of the pile of boards and body that is Toddrick.
I can do that
Oh, I can do that
A wind gains strength in the arena as a helicopter begins descending towards the ring. This particular model is Sketti Bucket branded, and has the words âApache Fun-shipâ painted on the side near a smiling bucket of sketti.
Eagle-eyed viewers will see that the pilot, a dark-skinned man with Pacific Islander features, appears to have his face painted.
After a while youâll forget everything
It was a brief interlude and a midsummer nightâs fling
And youâll see that itâs time to move on
Richard Parker: Nick? Hey, Nick?
No, I wonât do that
I wonât do that
Richard Parker: NICK!!
I know the territory, Iâve been around
Itâll all turn to dust and weâll all fall down
Sooner or later youâll be screwing around
Nick Stuart: GAH! What?! What happened? Where⌠where are we?
Richard Parker: That guy in the helicopter⌠does he look familiar to you?
I wonât do that
No, I wonât do
The chopper gets lower and lower, until a crew of what appear to be EMTs dressed in Sketti Bucket branded attire jump from the side and begin loading both Toddrick and Miguel onto a medical pallet that is lowered from the helicopter by some cables.
Anything for love
The Five Star champion shoves past the men as they try to work, causing one of them to stumble over an errant piece of lumber.
Oh, I would do anything for love
But he doesnât attack again, simply gets back in the driverâs seat of the main forklift, spins some donuts around the ringside area, and then heads back up the ramp towards the entrance.
I would do anything for love
but I wonât do that
The crew hop back into the helicopter now that Miguel and Toddrick are secure, and the Fun-ship takes to the skies again now that the two Lasagna Boys have been successfully Skettiâvacâed.
Itâs like being medevaced, but for Skettis.
No, I wonât do thaaaaaaaaaaaaaat
We fade to something else.
Literally anything else.
âWELCOME, MY LITTLE DEVILS!â
RRRAAAAAAAAHHH!
We immediately cut to the live streaming version of Satan Jonesâ face. Portrait mode, of course, so your television has those weird black bars on either side. And between those two bars is the wide open maw of Satan Jones, his devil horn hair pristinely twisted, his tongue out, his neck and shoulders glistening with sweat.
Satan Jones: And you areâŚ
LIVE! WITH! SATAN!
Satanâs mouth forms an âoâ, clearly shocked by the crowd chanting along with his intro. He shakes it off and smiles.
Satan Jones: My little devils, I donât know if you heard that at home, but the entire wonderful crowd here in Philadelphia just chanted along with my intro! This channel grows bigger every day, and itâs thanks to all of you. I love you all, and clearly you all love me!
As he says this, Kris Roswell casually raises an âEVERYBODY LOVES SATANâ shirt in the air.
Satan Jones: Weâve got a great one for you, guys. Kris and I just finished a grueling match with The Albion, and we came out on top, natch. And so to celebrate, weâre going to have the debut interview with brand new PRIME star Chad Freedom. Iâve been prepped that Chad is a really interesting guy with tons of stories to tell, so please welcome to Live With Satan: Chad Freedom!
Satan moves the phone so that Chad is in the shot. Freedom is ostentatiously outfitted in red, white, and blue. Every garment and accessory â cowboy hat, faux leather jacket, tights, knee pads, boots â feature fireworks, bald eagles, and American flags.
Freedom is clearly nervous. His eyes are the size of dinner plates, and dart back-and-forth between the phone and his interviewerâs ridiculous hairdo.
Chad Freedom: My name is Chad Freedom. That is my legal name. Iâve had it my whole life.
Chad Freedom lifts his cowboy hat and clears the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, which is visibly trembling.
Chad Freedom: Anyway, itâs, uh⌠a pleasure to be here with you today, Satan.
Satan Jones: Believe me, the pleasure is all mine, my little devils, and my tag team partner back there.
Behind them, Kris Roswell nods.
Kris Roswell: Yep.
Freedom jolts in his chair when he hears the gentle voice behind him.
Satan Jones: So, Chad Freedom, letâs start with a softball. Where have you wrestled before?
Caught off-guard by the question, the interviewee stares blankly at the interviewer and pauses entirely too long before answering. In the awkward silence, Freedomâs right hand begins picking at the cuticles on his left ring finger, which still has an untanned line where a ring used to be.
Chad Freedom: N â nowhere.
Satan nods slowly, the fake smile never leaving his face.
Satan Jones: From nowhere straight to the big leagues, what an incredible story! Iâm guessing someone saw your training videos or some amateur fighting somewhere that got you accepted to the best wrestling company in the world, right?
Freedom opens his mouth to reply, then quietly exhales through his nose instead. After several long seconds, he shrugs.
Chad Freedom: Sure.
Satan Jones: Sure!
The veneer is starting to crack, just a little bit. The fake smile is still there, but it isnât stretching as far across his face.
Satan Jones: Man I love doing these interviews, the give and take really gets me going!
From behind them, Kris Roswell clears his throat. Satan turns to him quizzically.
Kris Roswell: Soldier on, Foot Soldier.
Satan Jones: I intend to!
The fake smile completes its recovery.
Satan Jones: All right, moving on! We covered how you got hereâŚsort of. Now letâs cover why youâre here. What do you want to accomplish in PRIME?
For the first time since the interview began, Freedom unclenches his jaw.
Chad Freedom: Iâm going to survive, thrive, and stay â I mean, feel! Feel alive! Iâm going to build a new life thatâs worth livingâŚ
The enthusiasm fades from his voice and his gaze drops to the floor. He snaps back into it after a moment.
Chad Freedom: ⌠and, you know, win some matches.
A beat.
Chad Freedom: Championships would also be nice.
Satan Jones: They are nice! Or at least they look nice. Iâve never held one.
Kris Roswell: Not yet, but soon.
Satan Jones: And hopefully soon for you too, Mr. Chadwick Q. Freedom!
Chad Freedom: Thatâs notâŚ
Satan Jones: Next question! The lights in PRIME are bright, and the expectations are high. What are you going to do to make sure you rise to the top?
Freedom doesnât answer immediately. He adjusts his cowboy hat first.
Chad Freedom: Wrestling isnât just something I do. Itâs not just a hobby anymore, and itâs more than a job. Itâs my life. Itâs⌠everything. ItâsâŚ
His attention drops to the concrete beneath his boots. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter.
Chad Freedom: Itâs all Iâve got.
He lifts his eyes, meeting Satanâs for the first time.
Chad Freedom: Every time I step into that ring, Iâm going to fight like Iâve got nothing else to loseâŚ
Freedom runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek.
Chad Freedom: âŚbecause I donât.
Freedom sits back in his chair, shoulders slumped, as though the answer had cost him something. After several moments, he blinks rapidly, clears his throat, and rises. Freedom extends a hand to his host for an awkward handshake.
Chad Freedom: Thank you for your time, Satan.
Without another word, Freedom turns and exits the frame, leaving Satan Jones and Kris Roswell alone.
The Foot Soldiers stare at each other for a moment before Satan shrugs.
Satan Jones: And that was the debut interview with newest PRIME star Chad Freedom! I got to tell you, Kris, I like the guy!
Kris Roswell: You like everybody.
Satan Jones: And everyone loves me! Except for Sebastian Cross. And maybe Lindsay Troy? She seemed to like when I got kicked in the junk that one time.
He thinks about it and frowns, then realizes heâs still streaming.
Satan Jones: Anyway! Iâm sure weâll see more from Chad down the line, and Iâm really excited to have him back on to ask him if Freedom is really his last name.
Kris Roswell: It very obviously isnât.
Satan Jones: Maybe heâll bring his birth certificate next time. All right, My Little Devils! See you next time!
The feed cuts.
From Satan, who by all accounts, is a very nice guy, we are back at ringside in Lincoln Financial Field. The camera shot begins to do a sweep over the front row, showing off the Philadelphia faithful decked out in various summer attires to feel comfortable as the evening progresses. Then, there are those that are there to make a show of themselves, face painted, throwing up their signs. Moving on by, a bevy of some such fans comes to view, a man in an Anglo Luchador mask and Bryan Dawkins branded skull pineapple shirt with a Hawaiian button up short sleeve over top. This gentleman, seeing the lens of the camera on him, pushes out his Dawkins pineapple plushie, causing it to fully cover the shot.
Nick Stuart: Anticipation running rampant for tonightâs main event, where Bryan Dawkins puts his career on the lineâ
Richard Parker: And what does Ivan put upâ
Nick Stuart: âI would say that he has a lot of personal and national pride, as well as a need to make a definitive statement on the man who once was a soldier in his Red Armyâ
Richard Parker: âbut the Intense Title is not on the line. The whole thing, everything built up, itâs for Bryan Dawkins to feel the pressure, the heat. He game planned this, Nick, and that weâre allowing this to happenâ
Nick Stuart: âin any event, we are not back here, live, to give an extended preamble of the events yet still to come, but rather, what is right in front of us. And what is in front of us? It is the first of two championship contestsâŚand itâs not even set to take place here! InsteadâŚthe Alias ChampionshipâŚThe Old Fashioned Straightener ChampionshipâŚheld by Danny Christie, will be defended against someone who themselves is a former Alias Champion in RIA Lockhart.
Richard Parker: No countouts, no pinfalls, no submissions. A fight in a barn. Danny Christie, The Realest Motherfucker In The Room, this is his wheelhouse. These are his terms. Heâs shown his grit, and he wants to impose it upon others. No rings. No canvas. Just the ground underneath your feet.
The Alias Championship graphic becomes transposed over a wide shot of Lincoln Financial Field, and just as quickly, the shot cuts to the inside of a barn. High vaulted ceiling. Horse stables and tack and hay bales and grain bags are located in places which look haphazard to the untrained eye. The conditions, being what they are, and the time of day, there is lighting that has been placed by PRIME support staff, the drone of a generator lingering in the background. The flood lights give us a full view of the battlefield; the hay bales form a wide circle, and the ground underneath is pure mud, not from rainfall, but a hose. Elvis Nixon stands in the center of the shot.
Elvis Nixon: You both understand the rules. There will be no pinfalls. No submissions. No count outs. No disqualifications⌠the winner will be decided by whomever is the last manâ
RIA Lockhart: Last WOMAN standingâ
RIA Lockhart looks different than when last we saw her. Deep black hair with dark red bangs. Combat boots with black joggers with red and white camouflage stripping down the inseams. Her fists are taped in black, and the glower that comes from her indicates a noticeable shift from the more colorful and upbeat do-gooder fight against the odds RIA weâve come to know the last year plus. Her tank top? It doesnât have her name, instead, saying New World Trash in matching dark red.
If Danny Christie cares, he isnât showing it; The Alias Championship is slung over his shoulder, his head bobbing slightly as he does a muddy pace to and fro. Itâs around the fifth pacing that he motions for her with his hands to come on, to come get her some.
Nixon, looks back and forth.
Elvis Nixon: âstanding. Are you ready?
A point to RIA. Her hands clasped, she nods.
Elvis Nixon: Are you ready?
Danny Christie doesnât so much as place the Alias Championship for safe keeping, but instead, pitches it forward, into the mud and the space between them.
Danny Christie: Realest Motherfucker In The Room. Realest Motherfucker in PRIME. You going to be the last person standing? Prove it.
Suddenly, Elvis slaps his hands together, and we are underway.
And what does getting underway mean?
It means Danny Christie charging forward.
It means RIA charging with higher velocity, ready to strike.
It means the moment they get close, with RIA looking to load up and unleash an elbow smash, that Danny Christie sways his shoulders and NAILS her pin point on the chin with a brutal jab that damn near spins her head around 360. The difference here is so stark; Christie kept orthodox in stance, using his rear foot to load up on his driving plant lead.
It isnât a boxing ring, but it might as well have been. And RIA is planted, face down, in the mud, not even moving. Christie looks to load up to continue toward his downed opponent, but he quickly turns his brain around when he realizes he might have just flash knocked out RIA Lockhart.
ONE
TWO
THREE
If this was a standard match, if this were a standard MMA fight, Elvis Nixon would have called for the bell. It is clear that RIA is knocked out stone cold dead. If it wasnât for the engines, he could probably even hear her snoring. Danny Christie? His eyes remained trained on her, sweat dropping from his upper lip.
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
There is no indication of movement.
Christie keeps bouncing on the balls of his feet in the mud pit.
SEVEN
Nick Stuart: IâmâŚfansâŚ
Richard Parker: This is embarrassingâŚ
Nick Stuart: That shot, as we see on the replay hereâ
You can hear the entirety of Lincoln Financial Field audibly groan and gasp at the concussive power from the perfect clean punch. And the slow motion of RIAâs head flying back, and the way she fell? It only made things worse.
EIGHT
Richard Parker: You donât come back from that. You never live that down the rest of your careerâ
NINE
Itâs at this count that RIAâs arms shoot outward, heels of her hands planting in the mud, and she pushes herself upward. Yes, her feet are wobbly. Yes she nearly teeters over and collapses when hitting a nearby hay bale. Her newfound ring gear is a complete mud soaked and caked mess. We can barely make out her facial features.
We can, however, see the big gob of blood she spits out, and again, and through the muck and the brown, a shock of crimson through it all.
Richard Parker: âŚholyâ
Danny Christie charges forward, ready to grab hold of the stunned RIA and slam her to the ground with a takedown. He launches and grabs hold of her, slamming her with a massive UMPH to the ground with a side takedown. He works in side control, trying to maneuver himself to bring down elbow and forearm blows to the head of the once Psychoberry, but all attempts are met with struggling, grunting resistance. Itâs at this point that we get a made scramble, with Christie still maintaining a grip, and trying to wrestle Lockhart back to the mud whilst driving his legs. He tries and captures her leg, causing her to begin helplessly hopping.
The camera shot shows her with a wide beaming bloody smile through her mud mask.
How long does it last?
Not that long.
Christie manages to smash her down to the ground again, and he seems well positioned to get into a full mount, but any sort of transition is slowed, and the small space allows RIA to racket a volley of wild elbows into the face of Danny Christie, to and fro, angled, hitting him in the bridge of the nose and everything else.
The Alias Champion tries to work himself so he can get advantage and start raining down hammers onto his challenger, but even as he tries to post up, he finds no solace; there are no Unified Rules here. Both of RIAâs thumbs seek out and find refuge in the eye sockets of Danny Christie, and if one is to believe there is hesitation in what she is attempting to do, you can squad that away right quick, and Lockhart seems intense on scooping his eyeballs out. Deep like painful knuckles. Enough that we see the wounds and the blood ringing the sockets as Christie flails and nails a hellacious fist into RIAâs face, crossing her eyes.
Elvis Nixon wants to step in, but is powerless in this situation.
The wildness loosens the space between RIA and Christie, and affords Lockhart he ability to blast The Realest Motherfucker In The Room with a Sagesplitter headbutt and drops him onto his back. Christie struggles to try and get up, shooting to his feet and wildly swinging, but the damage is done; he appears to be vision impaired. Blurry visages of RIA are all he can make out, and with animal instinct, he roars, charging toward the blob, and once again, he blasts RIA into the ground.
Outside the hay bales.
Near the tacking station.
The stumble and bumble causes saddles and pads to splay all across the dirt. It also causes the same to happen to horse bridles. And as Christie tries to push forward, RIA grabs on, and whips it right across his face.
Instant down. Metal and buckle and all. There is no hesitation in her next movements. Wild snapping of the bridle across Danny Christie. Head. Face. Back. If itâs available and close? She hits him with all she has. Brutally. Without a thought to stop.
While Christie tries to recover from the hellacious whipping, and RIA trying to catch her breath, another gob of blood falls from her maw. Itâs here that she sees something similar to what she just usedâŚjustâŚmuch shorter.
The Alias Champion pushes his fists in the dirt, trying to force himself up.
RIA Lockhart, garrots him with a leather girth, knee planted into the high point of his back, her fingers laced through the steel buckles. And she yanks backward. Yanks. With everything she has. Christieâs hands instantly go for his throat, the life being choked from him. A mad scramble of hands. He tries to reach back, to get ahold of RIA, but all he gets is air.
The longer it goes, the more intense his struggle becomes, the more dire the colors flushing his face grow. There is no effort to tap. He isnât interested. He is going to fight to his last goddamn breath.
Unfortunately, oxygen is very important to human physiology and function. His struggles become more weak, and as they do, RIA plants her boot into the place her knee had been, and yanks back on the girth until the very last of Danny Christieâs wind goes.
And once it does?
He slumps limp.
RIA releases the girth.
Elvis Nixon, mortified, begins his count.
ONE
TWO
THREE
RIA stumbles and falls, but uses a hay bale to pick herself up.
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
Danny Christieâs arms start gingerly moving.
SEVEN
EIGHT
His fingers dig into the dirt.
Lockhart is back to her feet, and looking around, ready to do whatever is necessary if he gets up.
NINE
Christie tries to push up. Heavy gasp.
Get the oxygen into the blood.
Fire off the muscles.
Come on.
COME ON.
TEN
Too late.
He slumps, hands on his throat, gurgling, on his knees.
RIA Lockhart, for her part, just looks toward him, then to the center of where this all started, gingerly walking over and pulling the Alias Championship out of the mud.
Elvis Nixon goes to lift her hand, but she has no interest.
He then tries to go to Danny Christie, who forcefully shoves him away as he tries to reorientate his damn jugular.
Catching all of this has been a marvel by the camera crew that are in this barn. RIA finds one, drawing close. She uses her shirt to wipe away the mud from the face plate of what is now, once again, HER Alias Championship.
A beaming, sadistic smile.
Her mouth opens, and her bloody tongue licks a path up the globe, all before she smashes the faceplate against her forehead and begins laughing maniacally.
Weâd ring the bell, but there is no bell.
We do, however, go elsewhere.
The preshow for the mega-show extravaganza of the year comes back from a short commercial break, and surprisingly, Mr. Night Two himself is standing in the ring. He is joined by his lovely Valkyrie, Vickie Hall, his shovel in crime, Big Ian Salt, and the once lost but now found, Tiny Tony Two Books eh, Gamble.
All four are in matching garments/jumpsuits of an electric-blue variety, and look the part to the nines.
Also, thanks to Lady Troy, you wouldnât know it but itâs currently minute three of the standing ovation.
Ha.
See, since Lindsay Troy is a viper who enjoys depriving others of joy, local hometown favorite Cancer Jiles, and the rest of the troop, made their way down to the ring to the biggest pop of the weekend during the commercial break.
Shame!
On the long way down to the ring, Jiles uncharacteristically took some pictures with a few lucky PRIMEates along the guardrails; he even signed a couple of autographs. In fact, there was even some crumb in a Hawaiian shirt and a TAL replica mask that was fortunate enough to get an egg cracked over top of his head, and then absolutely belittled by the entirety of the Carton.
Tony, and his âOur Intense Championâ t-shirt really went in on the guy.
For obvious reasons.
Now though, the four of them are all in the ring, and the chant of the wolf has come to an end. Jiles, microphone in hand, T-shades on his face, and his hair looking like a million dollar bill, raises the microphone to his lips, but words elude him until finally, the crowd relents long enough for him to speak.
Cancer Jiles: Thank you. Really, I mean it. Even to that crumb sitting there looking all salty in the Saxon mask. Thank you. If I were capable of crying I would be. Hand of Zeus.
The King of Crumbs opens his palm just long enough for Dirty Dick Parker to get a snide quip in.
âThese people make me sick!â â Dirty Dickâs snide quip
Cancer Jiles: This is just amazing. I mean, as a little boy you dream, and then you walk, and then you dream again⌠and no matter how hard you try, take it from me, you can never imagine it. This is truly incredible. Thank you from the bottom of my bottomless heart. THANK. YOU.
Ringside, both Parker and Stuart scratch at their respective heads in confusion. The crowd however, erupts once more and the ring all of a sudden is overcome with roses. Vickie grabs one, takes a whiff, and then begins to prance merrily about the ring like she just walked down the wrong street in Kensington.
Cancer Jiles: I want you all to know that I wonât be able to do this without you. As much as I live to hate on Brandon Crumblood, and our treacherous eGG Queen for that matter, and as much as it pains me to admit it â but I canât lie in front of all of you â thereâs no denying I will be in for the fight of my life tomorrow night at 2300 PIT Street.
A beat.
Cancer Jiles: I am going to need your help, just like Iâm going to need the help from the people standing with me in this ring.
The crowd swoons once more, propping up their embattled son on a perch Big Ian might not even be able to reach. Yes, that means Jiles is RICK hard. Ha. Luckily, heâs a pro. and as such he taped down before the commercial break.
Cancer Jiles: Moreover, and because I am the bigger, more responsible, more remarkable, more relatable, MORE HUMAN of the wretched lot, and since I know I can trust all of you with Vickieâs life, well, I have no problem asking for it.
More cheering, and more raucousness. Jiles waves to the crowd like heâs out on the campaign trail. Big Ian tears one of Tonyâs phonebooks in half. Vickie takes another hit from a nearby rose.
Cancer Jiles: In return, I promise you this, my lovely little COOLympians. That crumb, that scab, he will never touch a single strand of hair on top of my COOL head. EVER. AND, and, I will make him the best Bandit he can possibly be!
Vomit noises from commentary can be heard even after their micâs have been cut.
Union labor.
Cancer Jiles: Even if that means replacing his singlet straps with a dog collar and a leash.
Ha.
Cancer Jiles: Hear me, Philadelphia, and hear me well! Tomorrow night, down the street a little bit, we all get our lick back against Brandon Crumblood, and welcome a new Bandit into the carton!
More cheering. More dapping and high fiving amongst the carton. More roses getting thrown.
The show cuts away from the ring.
Nick Stuart: The PRIME Tag Team Titles are on the line in our next contest, ladies and gentlemen! The champions, Scott Hunter and Clay Byrd of VAE VICTIS, are set to defend their straps against the Elise Ares and The D of the Pop Culture Phenoms!
Richard Parker: I gotta say, Nick, Iâm really questioning Eliseâs decision to cash in her Silver Ticket for the tag titles. She won that ticket herself. So why share the wealth with The Deadweight and Olâ Boxhead? An absolute STAR like her could really propel herself back into the upper echelon of PRIME with a singles title win!
Nick Stuart: Possibly, Rich, though given the Leading Ladyâs longstanding history with Vae Victis, I canât help but think that this is more about taking the tag titles as much as it is about fulfilling a personal vendetta!
⍠âLive For The Nightâ by Krewella âŤ
A fog fills the stage, illuminated by colored lights of purple, pink, and blue. Across the LED screens, three bold letters scroll by.
P Â C Â P
The electronic beat escalates. Elise Ares is the first out, striding through the fog and performing a quick, showy pirouette for an audience that is half jeering and half simping. The D and Klein follow her out, and the trio arrange themselves into a dynamic pose just as the bass drops.
KA-BOOM!!
Rocket pyros erupt across the stage. The Pop Culture Phenoms maintain the pose a moment longer before heading down the aisleway in single file. Elise lives up to the namesake of Leading Lady by taking point, staring straight at the ring. The D holds to the middle, looking left and right and heckling on the fans packed at the barricade. Klein, the hometown boy, takes to the rear, spreading love and joy in his Eagles jersey.
Nick Stuart: The challengers are making their way to the ring in their usual flamboyant style, although I am sensing a real air of confidence coming from them!
Richard Parker: Of course theyâre confident! Theyâre being led by the QUEEN of Sports Entertainment Style! And they know tonight is the night sheâll lead PCP back to top of PRIME!
Passing by the camera, Ares holds up the pink and blue âPerpetuity Gauntletâ mounted on her right hand. Mouthing off incoherently, she points to the two empty knuckle slots labeled âCBâ and âSHâ, right next to a pair of green and pink jewels respectively marked âKKâ and âLTâ.
Weâre just gonna overlook the empty fifth slot labeled âHKâ for now.
Nick Stuart: What happens if she competes the gauntlet, I wonder?
Richard Parker: She snaps her finger, and the eGG Bandits dissolve from existence.
⍠âStranger Fruitâ by Zeal & Ardor âŤ
Deep pink colored lights spread across the stage. Upon the PRIMEview, two massive words appear like stone engravings.
V A E Â V I C T I S
The tandem of Clay Byrd and Scott Hunter stride out together, greeted by a thunderous ovation from the Philly crowd. They pause briefly on the stage to unclasp the belts strapped around their waists and raise them high for another generous pop. A fist bump later, the tag team champions head to the ring.
Richard Parker: You think theyâre ready for this, Nick? Itâs been a couple months since the champs last teamed up to defend those titles.
Nick Stuart: That may be, Rich. But whether they be on their own or as partners, Clay Byrd and Scott Hunter have proven to be the kind of wrestlers that are known to always be ready for anything the ring may throw at them! And as they make their way to the ring right now, itâs clear the two of them are ready for this challenge!
Riding his rascal scooter as he follows the champions out is Kerry Koalayama, wearing an empty box of Eucaleez-its over his head to imitate Klein. The eyeholes donât quite line up right, however, and he drives the scooter straight off the edge of the stage and crashes into a pile of equipment.
Byrd and Hunter slide into the ring together and hit the corners, hoisting up their titles once more. The crowd throws their support to them, much to the chagrin of PCP in their own corner.
When the music cuts, Vince Howard begins the announcementsâŚ
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall, and will be for the PRIME Wrestling TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS!
RRRAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!
Vince Howard: Introducing first, the challengers! Accompanied to the ring by KLEINâŚ
The HUGE hometown pop for the Man in the Box briefly interrupts Vinceâs announcement. Klein basks in the love.
Vince Howard: At a combined weight of three-hundred and forty two pounds⌠the team of âTHE LEADING LADYâ ELISE ARES⌠and âTHE DIRECTORâ DEREK âTHE Dâ EDWARDS⌠POPP⌠CULTUURRREE⌠PPHHHEEEEEEENNOOOOOOMMMSSS!!!
Philly jeers. And simps.
Vince Howard: And the opponents⌠accompanied to the ring by KERRY KOALAYAMAâŚ
Like a fuzzy beachball being thrown from the crowd, the Eucalyptic Apex suddenly flies in and flops down at the feet of Hunter and Byrd.
Vince Howard: âŚthey weigh in at a combined weight of five hundred and forty pounds⌠please welcome, the TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS of PRIME WRESTLING⌠CLAY BYRDâŚ
Clay holds up his belt.
Vince Howard: âŚSCOTT HUNTERâŚ
Scott does the same.
Vince Howard: VVVAAAAAAAAEEEEE VIIIIICTIIIIIIIISSSSSS!!!
RRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!
Both teams line up in the center of the ring as Vince takes his leave. The champions hand their belts over to referee Jimmy Turnbull, who promptly holds them up in all four cardinal directions.
Byrd sneers down at Ares. Ares glowers back up to Byrd.
The D and Scott Hunter lock eyes, looking eager to tear into each other.
Klein stares down at Kerry Koalayama, wondering how an endangered species is just allowed to freely wander around without supervision. The box-headed koala stares back in dumbfoundment, no doubt wondering where this humanâs head disappeared to.
Nick Stuart: The ring is a powder keg of tension right now! The challengers look determined to regain their former glory, but the champions are resolute in keeping their hold at the top of the PRIME tag team division!
Richard Parker: Phenoms and Victises are natural enemies in the wild, Nick.
Turnbull hands over the title belts while the teams pick their starters. Elise and Klein head out to the PCP corner while Clay grabs Kerry Koalayama by the scruff of the neck on his way to the apron.
Nick Stuart: Looks like it will be Hunter starting for the champions, and The D beginning things for PCP! The teams are ready! This crowd is ready! And Jimmy Turnbull is ready, as he gives the cue for the bell!
DING DING
Off the bell, Hunter and The D immediately throw themselves into a lock-up. They dance in the collar and elbow for a few moments before The D snags an arm and slips behind into a hammerlock. He only has a moment to wrench the forearm, as Hunter quickly sidesteps and counters with a hiptoss into a wristlock.
Nick Stuart: Quick counter by Hunter, keep hold of that wrist!
Richard Parker: Heâs got The D held tight in his grip!
The D gets to his feet as Scott maintains his hold of the wrist and torques the shoulder. The D suddenly flips forward to reverse the leverage and yanks Scott to the mat with a wristlock of his own. He immediately goes for the headlock, but Hunter surprises him with a snapmare to set him into a rear chinlock of his own.
Nick Stuart: From the offset, looks like weâre watching a technical battle between The D and Hunter! Scott has The D set into the chinlock, wrench back on the head and neck⌠but The D is forcing himself to his feet!
Richard Parker: The D is UP, you say?
Nick Stuart: Sharp elbow to the gut⌠ANOTHER⌠and The D escapes by dropping to his knees and rolling Scott over with the firemanâs carry!
Hunter sits up, putting himself right in place to receive a basement dropkick to the back from The D. As he winces on the mat, The D shoots up once more and hits the ropes. Scott rolls himself into a prone position as he rebounds, and The D skips over him on his way to the other set of ropes.
Nick Stuart: The D is in motion⌠Hunter back to his feet now⌠back bodyâNO!! The D sticks the landing! Low SWEEP kickâSCOTT HOPS IT! Here comes Scott with a right hookâDUCKED and REVERSED by The D into a crucifix roll-up!
One!
Two!
Hunter kicks out!
Richard Parker: This escalated quickly!
Nick Stuart: Both competitors back on their feet⌠The D with a flying crescent kickâDUCKED by Hunter, who immediately grabs him from behindâOâCONNOR ROLL!!
One!
Two!
The D kicks out!
Hunter and The D roll apart and scramble to their feet, simultaneously hesitating and staring each other down after a stalemate of move exchanges. The purist wrestling fans in the crowd applaud favorably. Elise Ares yawns with boredom. Kerry Koalayama yawns with eucalyptus-induced drowsiness.
Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter chooses to tag out to fellow champion Clay Byrd, and now the Cowboy Colossus will try his hand!
Richard Parker: Real cowboys squeeze The D dry!
Nick Stuart: Oh, would you stop?!
Clay advances on The D. With the obvious size differential, The Director isnât about to go hold for hold with the Cowboy Colossus. Instead, he slips under his arms and tags the left leg with a trio of sharp kicks to the side of the leg.
Nick Stuart: The D immediately targets the legs of Clay Byrd, hoping to cut this giant down to size!
Richard Parker: Itâd be easier to reach The D while on his knees, anyhowâŚ
The kicks leave Clay smarting, but The D goes to the well too many times on the fourth, as Byrd quickly catches it and yanks him off his remaining foot. Clay backs into the ropes for a bounce of momentum and returns, dropping the kneeâŚ
Nick Stuart: Hereâs Byrd with the knee⌠NO! The D rolls out of the way at the last second!
Richard Parker: Heâs gotta protect his head! Itâs the most sensitive part of The D!
Nick Stuart: Byrd is stunned on one knee, and The D is back up⌠he grabs Clay by the head⌠looking for NETFLIX MONEYâbut NO!! Clay Byrd COUNTERS the modified Shrianui with a groundshaking POWERSLAM! Hooks the leg for the cover!
One!
Two!
The D kicks out!
Byrd immediately forces The D up and shoves him into a neutral corner, softening him up with a series of hip attacks against the turnbuckles until referee Jimmy Turnbull calls for the break with a four count. Clay takes him out of the corner by way of an Irish whip. The D braces himself for the impact of the opposite set of turnbuckles, and looks up in time to see the Cowboy Colossus barrelling toward him like a runaway freight train.
Nick Stuart: Clay coming for the AVALANCHE SPLASHâNO!! The D jumps out of the way at the last second! Leaping tag made to Elise Ares!
Richard Parker: Time to break the internet!
Clay staggers out of the corner, clutching a chest that slammed itself a bit too hard against a top turnbuckle that should have had a nice, force resistant human skull in front of it. When he refocuses on the action, he spots the Leading Lady perched on the ropes. Ares comes diving into the ringâŚ
Nick Stuart: SPRINGBOARD TORNADO DDT by Elise Ares!
Richard Parker: Even when she enters the ring, she does it in STYLE, Nick!
Nick Stuart: That brought the nearly three-hundred pound Cowboy Colossus right down to the mat! Ares isnât looking the gifthorse in the mouth here⌠lateral press for the cover!
One!
Two!
BENCHED RIGHT OFF BY CLAY BYRD!
Ares gets an impressive hangtime off of Byrdâs powerful shove, hitting the mat several feet away. She quickly rolls under the ropes out to the apron as Clay sits up and begins to rise to his feet.
Nick Stuart: Clay Byrd is up⌠but Elise Ares comes back into the ring with a SPRINGBOARD CROSS-BODYâNO!! Caught right in the arms of the Cowboy Colossus!
The springboard press doesnât take him, but nevertheless throws Clay off balance, sending him backpedaling toward his corner and tagging out to Scott as his back hits the ropes. Hunter climbs the turnbuckle while Byrd keeps Elise held in place.
Nick Stuart: Tag made to Scott Hunter, who is climbing up top! Byrd has Ares in his hands⌠DROPS HER across the knee with the backbreaker⌠Hunter off the TOPâLEGDROP CONNECTS! Masterfully executed tag team move by the champions!
Richard Parker: Thatâs no way to treat a celebrity, I tell ya!
Hunter quickly peels Elise off the mat, scoops her up, slams her down, and begins a repetitive sequence of dropping elbows and popping back to his feet to which the crowd cheers along.
ONE!!
TWO!!
THREE!!
FOUR!!
Nick Stuart: ELISE ROLLS TO THE SIDE!
âŚbut Scott Hunter just takes a step forward.
FIVE!!!
Richard Parker: SmartassâŚ
Nick Stuart: Hunter hooking the leg after that one! Could that be it?
One!
TWO!
NO! Ares rolls the shoulder up!
Hunter pulls Ares back to her feet and gets behind her in preparation for a back suplex. But at that moment, Elise gets reeeeeaally excited about showing Scott the job they did on her nails and OOPS! Sorry, guess that one got in your eye. And your other eye. And letâs throw a little fishhook in there too, for good measure.
Nick Stuart: Ares with a RAKE OF THE FACE that Jimmy Turnbull doesnât see!
Richard Parker: I didnât see anything either! Youâre delusional, Nick! Stop showing bias!
Nick Stuart: Ares has Hunter by the head now⌠running BULLDOGâINTO A CUBAN NECKTIE through the ropes!
The Leading Lady gracefully slips through the ropes and sticks the landing at ringside, while Hunter is garotted over the middle rope, sending him thrashing on the canvas clutching his back for air. Ares celebrates her comeback by posing to the ringside fans.
Her showboating brings many of them to their feetâincluding the zealous Bryan Dawkins fan under the replica TAL mask. The Hawaiian-shirted fan is leaning hard over the barricade, visibly giving two thumbs DOWN to the Leading Lady.
Richard Parker: Eyes on the Hawaiian Luchador there! That man could be a threat to a valuable talent!
Nick Stuart: Thereâs clearly a lot of enthusiasm with PRIME fans⌠although I donât know how he can breathe under all those shirts and that mask with his heat.
Ares rolls back into the ring before Turnbull can reach the count of four, entering near the PCP corner and making the easy tag to The D. Across the ring, Hunter rolls to the VV corner and tags to Byrd.
Nick Stuart: Ares tags to The D, and Hunter buys himself a chance to catch his breath by tagging in Clay Byrd!
Richard Parker: The D is IN!
Byrd storms the ring like a house afire, charging down The D with an absolutely murderous TEXAS LARIATâŚ
âŚwhich The D DUCKS.
Nick Stuart: Lariat MISSES! The D spins Clay around⌠BRINGS THE BIG MAN TO THE MAT WITH THE CONTRACTUAL OBLIGATION!
The legsweep faceplant brings Byrd down hard to the mat, and the Cowboy Colossus rolls onto his back stunned. Back on his feet, The D kicks his arms together, runs against either set of ropes, moonwalks to where Clay lies on the mat, and caps off the routine with a standing moonsaultâ
Nick Stuart: CAUGHT BY CLAY BYRD!!
Richard Parker: NO!! The Dâs finish was RUINED!
Byrd sits up right before The D completes the moonsault, catching him over the shoulder and raising him up as he powers his way back to his feet.
Nick Stuart: Clay Byrd is back UPâŚ
Richard Parker: And The D is UP with him!
Nick Stuart: But now he has nowhere to go but DOWN! Clay Byrd driving him into a SHOULDER BREAKER⌠a SECOND⌠GOOD GOD, A THIRD⌠pulls him into a cradle⌠FALLAWAY SLAM SENDS HIM RAGDOLLING!
Richard Parker: The D is just wildly FLOPPING AROUND in there!
Byrd pulls The D back up and leads him to his corner, where he tags Scott back into the action once again. Hunter steps through the ropes, takes the free shot on The Dâs exposed inside when Byrd holds his arms, and takes control with a facelock.
Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter back in the match, and heâs got The D hooked⌠lifts him UP⌠HOLDS HIM⌠HOLDS HIM⌠HOOOLLDSS HIIIIM⌠and DROPS HIM with the vertical suplex!
Richard Parker: He was holding The D for quite a long time!
Nick Stuart: Hunter makes the cover!
One!
TWO!
THRâNO!! The D kicks out with just half a second to spare!
The D makes a mad crawl for his corner, only for Hunter to snag him by the leg. The D pushes up to one foot, but before he can even think of an enzuigiri, Scott flings him across the ring once more with a Dragon Screw legwhip!
Richard Parker: Oh man, The D is really getting FLOGGED right now!
Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter may see his chance to finish things off here⌠he keeps hold of that leg and⌠YES⌠GOING FOR THE FIGURE FOURâNNNNOOOO THE D BOOTS HIM IN THE POSTERIOR as he was turning around!
The kick launches Scott into his corner, sending him headfirst through the turnbuckles and butting his head with the steel post. Seeing the situation turning for the worst, Clay instinctively blind tags himself in. Across the ring, The D crawls the last few feet to his own corner, and dives to tag in Elise.
Nick Stuart: Tags made on either side of the ring! In comes Ares! In comes Byrd!
The Leading Lady comes in SWINGING with lighting fast kicks to the midsection of the Cowboy Colossus. Clay winces off the impact, but weathers the storm and comes back with a sharp toe kick to the gut that doubles her over.
Nick Stuart: Waistlock applied by Byrd⌠he lifts Ares up for the POWERBOMBâNO!! NO!! ELISE GOES OVER HIS HEAD AND COUNTERS WITH A MEXICAN DESTROYER!! MEXICAN DESTROYER BY ELISE ARES!!
Richard Parker: WOW! Sheâs such a mainstream star, Nick, sheâs got even giant Texans doing backflips over her!
Byrdâs head spikes the mat in a way that rolls him right back to his feet, though his eyes are rolled back in his head. He backpedals on his tiptoes, looking like a slight breeze might knock him down. Then his back touches the turnbuckles, and the inner spark of fighting spirit kicks in.
Nick Stuart: TEEXXAAASSS LAAARRIIAAATTT OUTTAA NOOOOWHUURRRRR!!
Elise twirls through the air like it were an Olympic sport, and crashes violently to the canvas. Still only half conscious, Clay Byrd collapses next to her. The Philadelphia PRIME Faithful ROAR approvingly.
Nick Stuart: What a back and forth contest this has been! But with that devastating lariat, Clay Byrd has put this match squarely in the favor of Vae Victis! He crawls over⌠inches away⌠now he hooks the leg⌠cover is made!
ONE!
TWO!
THREâBROKEN UP BY THE D!!
Richard Parker: The D just THRUST HIMSELF right into the action and SLAPPED Byrd across the face!
Nick Stuart: Oh would you stop?! Scott Hunter looking like heâs ready to run in and pay that receipt, but he holds back and lets Jimmy Turnbull do his job as he directs âThe Directorâ back to his corner!
Byrd shakes his head in frustration. But with Hunter holding to the apron, he sees the opportunity to hand things over to his fellow champ.
Nick Stuart: Clay Byrd goes to tag outâWAIT!!
Before he can get there, Hunter suddenly drops from the apron and DISAPPEARS behind the ring.
Nick Stuart: WHAT HAPPENED TO SCOTT HUNTER?! WHERE DID HE GO!?
Richard Parker: Someone get a camera back there!
The camera runs around the ring, revealing Scott Hunter on the floor, receiving kicks from someone that perfectly explains why we couldnât see them from the other side of the ring.
Nick Stuart: TONY GAMBLE?!? WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE!?
Richard Parker: Freakinâ BanditsâŚ
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
While the Grin gives Scott the Boots, another story unfolds across the ring. Ushering The D out to the apron, official Jimmy Turnbull suddenly hears the commotion.
Unfortunately, when he turns his head, his eyes are lamblasted with a handful of stinging SALT.
Nick Stuart: AND BIG IAN SALT!! HE JUST THREW SALT IN THE EYES OF JIMMY TURNBULL!!
Richard Parker: FREAKINâ BANDITS!!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Turnbull falls onto his back and writhes in pain, clutching his salted eyes. Meanwhile, Claybyrd is halfway out of the ring to intervene in the attack on his partner when Big Ian Salt charges across the ring and clobbers him with a double axehandle.
Nick Stuart: BIG IAN SALT just attacked Clay Byrd from behind⌠now heâs taking him back to the center of the RINGâŚ
Big Ian Salt sets Clay into the standing headscissor and wraps his arms around his waist.
Richard Parker: NO WAYâŚ
Defying all expectations, Big Ian Salt powerfully LIFTS the nearly three-hundred pound Cowboy Colossus up to his shouldersâŚ
Nick Stuart: BIG!! SAALLT!! BAAAAWWWMBB!!!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
The impact nearly forms a CRATER in the center of the ring! Byrd is left motionless on his back, while Big Ian rolls outside and collects Gamble to make their escape. Before leaving, Tony picks up Kerry Koalayama and dropkicks him into a stack of equipment.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Richard Parker: Not Kerry Koalayama too! He didnât do nothing to nobody!
Nick Stuart: I donât believe this! Vae Victis just get LAID OUT, and Salt & Gamble quickly make their escape after the damage has been done!
While all this has taken place, Elise Ares has slowly revived her way back onto her feet in the furthest corner. As she comes to, she sees the Bandits quitting the ring, Turnbull wiping salt out of his eyes, and Clay Byrd lying discombobulated on the mat after an earth-shattering powerbomb.
Nick Stuart: WAIT A MINUTE⌠THE LEADING LADY IS BACK UPâŚ
Byrd rolls onto his belly, instinctively trying to crawl for his corner and make a tag. Scott Douglas is still recovering from the mudhole stomping his receiving only moments ago. Without thinking, Elise bursts out of the corner, springs off the ropes, and sticks the Cowboy Colossus with a curbstomp that nearly leaves him in a vertical headstand!
Nick Stuart: ECKS!! TREE!! MAY!! KOH!! VERRRRRRR!!!!
Clayâs inverted body topples like a mighty oak tree. Using what strength she has left, Ares drapes an arm across his chest. Jimmy Turnbull finally wipes away enough salt to see whatâs happening, and drops to his knees for the count.
Nick Stuart: ONE!!
Scott Hunter crawls into the ringâŚ
Nick Stuart: TWO!!
âŚand The D runs in from out of nowhere, tackling him to the ground!
Nick Stuart: THREEEE!!!
DING DING DING
BBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
⍠âLive For The Nightâ by Krewella âŤ
Ares rises up to her knees, pumping her fists in triumph. The D and Klein swarm her from both sides, interlocking the trio into an emotional grouphug.
Scott falls into his knees, holding his head in anguish. Clay remains flat on his back, unconscious.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of the matchâŚ
Official Jimmy Turnbullâs eyes are red, but he can see enough to call for the tag team championships from the timekeeper.
Vince Howard: AND NNNEEEEEEWWWWW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS OF PRIMEâŚ
The ref hands the new champions their belts. Elise and The D hold them up in triumph, with Klein between them, holding their arms up in victory.
Vince Howard: THE PAAAAAWWWPP⌠CYYYYYUUUUUULLLTTCHURRR⌠PHWUAHEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNAAAAAAAWWWWWMMMMZZZZ!!!!
Hunter tends to his partner, lightly slapping him to bring him back to reality. Ares, The D, and Klein are already in the midst of their celebration, posing their newly won titles to the ringside photographers. The crowd is hot, in large part due to the shenanigans that took place.
Nick Stuart: We have new tag team champions tonight, ladies and gentlemen! What a glorious moment of triumph for the Pop Culture Phenoms, though it canât be said they didnât have help in the form of Tony Gamble and Big Ian Salt!
Richard Parker: This is the part where I brush that comment aside by saying something like, âEverything is fairplay in Hollywood, baby!â But something skeeves me out with the Bandits sticking their nose in this, Nick. I honestly hope they arenât expecting a QUEEN like Elise to owe them any kind of favor!
Nick Stuart: One can only imagine what interests the eGG Bandits had in this contest⌠but their influence over this match cannot be understated. The now former champions, Vae Victis, looked to be in the perfect position to win this, were it not for that interference.
Richard Parker: If itâs any consolation, at least they didnât get SALT in the eyes!
Nick Stuart: It remains to be seen how Clay Byrd and Scott Hunter will respond to this. For tonight, however, PCP gets the last laugh over their Vae Victis nemeses! Elise Ares cashed in her Silver Ticket, and tonight it paid off, and now she is a Tag Team Champion once more SEVENTEEN YEARS after her last run! And with this victory, the entire tag team division of PRIME has been turned on its HEAD!
In the ring, The D hands Elise her Perpetuity Gauntlet, while Klein awards her with two new jewels: a yellow citrine for the âSHâ slot, and a brown-orange spessartine to fill the âCBâ.
Only one slot remains.
Earlier Today.
Down the I-95 some distance from Lincoln Financial Field is a bingo hall⌠no, not that one. The building youâre thinking of is a proper venue now, and weâll be seeing that place busy tomorrow night. No, weâre in the heart of Blue Grass Bingo, where the Masters of the Moscowverse are surrounded by, well, an ongoing game of bingo. Kenny Freeman looks around with a furrowed brow before turning to Randall Schwartz.
Kenny Freeman: Weâre not supposed to be here.
Randall Schwartz: What are you talking about? You said you wanted a fight in a bingo hall. I found us a bingo hall, now go get yourself a fight.
Kenny Freeman: Buddy, I was talking about a FORMER bingo hall. You know, the 2300 Arena, where things get taken to the extreme or something.
Randall shakes his head, pulling his phone out to open the MapsterOfTheMultiverse app, showing the location theyâre at to his friend.
Randall Schwartz: See? Bingo hall. BINGO.
Randall shouting that last word stops the game dead in its tracks as everyone in the room stares at The Entertainer.
Randall Schwartz: Whoops⌠sorry, folks.
The game goes on as Randall turns back to Kenny.
Randall Schwartz: Anyway, if youâre not gonna pick a fight here, letâs play a game or two. I mean hell, you beat William Tellâ
Kenny Freeman: Still.
Randall Schwartz: Still, you beat William Still. Maybe itâs a sign that your luck is about to turn around.
Kenny nods with a light sigh, walking over to retrieve a card for the next game.
Kenny Freeman: You might be onto something, bud. Weâll play a couple rounds and then head back, we have a busy weekend ahead of us.
The pair take a seat nearby, waiting for the current game to wrap up⌠and that is our cue to move on from whatever the hell this is supposed to be, and get us over to some Pandemonium at the Planetarium!
We cut first to ringside, where Nick and Richard await.
Nick Stuart: The next match is going to be something really specialâŚhonestly, it fits in more with the Madhouse than with PRIME.
Richard Parker: Except this match is actually happening.
Nick Stuart: A month ago, Bobby Neptune lent Kerry Kuroyama a special visor thatâŚ
Richard Parker: Did some outer space bullshit. Kinda like magical bullshit, but with more lasers.
Nick Stuart: Right. Anyway, Kerry wasnât ready to give it back, which sets up this match: Pandemonium in the Planetarium! Both men are phenomenally talented wrestlers, but theyâre entering a whole new world with this oneâin more ways than one!
Richard Parker: This is gonna be absolute chaos, and anyone associated with it is about to be barred from the Franklin Institute for life.
Nick Stuart: Then weâd better get started!
The feed cuts LIVE to the Fels Planetarium at the Franklin Institute, where the area is decked out in preparation for this match. Thereâs a wrestling ring in the center, since this is ostensibly a wrestling match. But high above it is a bright yellow half-dome, representing the sun, with all eight planets suspended around it. The four terrestrial planets are in motion; the jovian ones are not.
Thereâs also all manner of plunder surrounding the ringâmodels of comets, space stations, land rovers, flying saucers, alien architectureâŚbasically, anything that can be found in space, either in real life or in cartoons. Possibly even an Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator. Thereâs even a landing capsule hanging above a bright blue crash pad, meant to simulate splashdown.
Finally, thereâs what appears to be a pitching machine and a pile of what appears to be baseball-sized asteroids. Thatâs probably fine.
Thereâs also Ashley Barlow, who stands in the middle of all this nonsense. Sheâs a trooper.
PA Voicever: We turn now to the eastern skyline, where âStarboyâ Bobby Neptune joins the solar system.
The opening synths from âCosmic Roadâ hit and the entire planetarium as awash in blue. The planet Neptune fills the entire sky, its rings shining, a cosmic storm at its center.
Into this, Bobby Neptune strides. He takes in the entirety of the planetarium setup and smiles like a kid about to jump into a ball pit.
He climbs the model of the planet Neptune, spreads his arms wide for the remote-viewing crowd, then does his signature backflip off it into the main fighting area.
He takes his spot in the corner, with Jupiter resting right behind him, and readies himself for the match.
The lights of the planetarium dramatically DIMâŚ
⍠âSpace Truckinââ by Deep Purple âŤ
Purple and green aurora borealis line the horizon of the overhead dome. Through a veil of lasers, smoke, and disco lights, âTHE EMERALD APEXâ KERRY KUROYAMA enters the planetarium in his standard wrestling get-up.
PA Voiceover: Ladies and gentlemen, if you direct your attention to the western skyline, you will see that âThe Emerald Apexâ Kerry Kuroyama has entered the planetarium.
Because there is no live audience, Kerry forgoes the posturing, instead just walking into the ring set up in the middle of the planetarium and setting his focus on the visor posted up high above.
As Ami Troy follows him in, she looks point blank into the camera.
Ami Troy: Men will literally fight in a space dome instead of going to therapy.
In the ring, Ashley runs down the rules to both men, checks them for objects outlawed by interplanetary treaty, then motions for the bell.
Just as it ringsâŚ
DING DING
âŚthe lights go out.
The Fels Planetarium plunges into darkness. Only a faint glow somewhere near the canvas can be seen; this is how Ashley Barlow finds out that her new socks glow in the dark. Neat.
And thenâŚ
âŚthen, the sky lights up.
Rather, the dome-like screen covering the upper half of the planetarium lights up. First an inky blackness, then the soft glow of distant nebula, the twinkle of millions upon millions of stars, and finally the large and glorious moon, so bright and beautiful, so close that you could reach out and touch it.
Itâs not made of cheese though, so donât bother.
Both men take a moment to absorb the wonder and majesty of the heavens. Bobby has an odd little smile on his face. Ashley Barlow taps her watch; if she misses a minute of New Zealand/Belgium for this, sheâs going to kick both their asses.
The Emerald Apex takes an aggressive stance; the Starboy does the same. They lock up, immediately jockeying for control.
As they begin their dance, the stars continue theirs. Soft music swells, and a voice narrates the spectacle.
PA Voiceover: SpaâGAAKKKHH!!
That doesnât sound good.
What comes next sounds worse.
âSPACE!â
Huh. Not the voice Iâd choose, but you do you, Fels Planetarium.
âThe fugginââŚcosmic ballet!â
Yes, itâs Rezin. Apparently he broke into the observatory specifically for this event. Fourteen cops and three space cops were injured in the process.
Rezin (V/O): Heavenly bodies fly through theâŚhey, wait a damb minute! None of them stars look like Kat Dennings!
Back in the ring, Kerry Kuroyamaâs taken control with an arm wringer. Neptune reaches for another point of attack, but when he doesnât find one, he rolls forward, twists, rolls again, and reverses into a wringer of his own. Kuroyama, not to be outdone, quickly executes the same counter, putting Neptune back in the position he was before. Neptune goes to repeat, but after the first roll, he switches to a one-handed cartwheel, then twists Kerryâs arm back into a wringer.
Bobby transitions again, this time into a hammer lock, but Kerry slips behind him and applies the same move, then rotates into a top wristlock. Rather than extricate himself again, Bobby leaps up, swings his legs out, and brings the Emerald Apex down with a headscissor!
Rezin (v/o): And another fugginâ thing! They say the universe tastes like raspberries! Well, I licked the damb thing RIGHT ON THE COSMIC TITTY and no it fugginâ donât! It tastes like Pall Malls and old hot dogs!
Kuroyama rolls to his feet and charges, throwing a lariat that Bobby ducks. Kerry rebounds, and Bobby leapfrogs over himâŚor at least tries to, but heâs caught with a spinebuster! Kerry gives Neptune no time to breathe, as he grabs the Starboyâs leg and starts working the knee.
THOOM!
An âasteroidâ sails through the air, passing only a few inches from Kerryâs face. He turns and glares at Ami, who shrugs.
Ami Troy: Pick it up, nerds!
He does so, picking up Bobby Neptune and holding him in a vertical suplex, just long enoughâŚ
THOOM!
âŚfor Ami to fire another asteroid, which hits Bobby in the stomach right before Kuroyama brings him crashing to the mat. Neptune tries to get back up, but that only puts his head at the right height for a running knee strike!
Nick Stuart: Kerry Kuroyamaâs in control now! You were right about his resilience, partner!
Richard Parker: Iâm right about everything.
Nick Stuart: Only this and your hatred for Cancer Jiles.
Richard Parker: Iâm right about everything that matters.
Kerry looks up at the sun-dome, but notices Bobby stirring already. Too soon to make his move. Instead he reaches up and snatches the planet Mercury out of the air as it whizzes by. Holding it both hands, he notices itâs about the size and shape of a basketball. That gives him an idea.
Kerry Kuroyama: KOBE!
The trajectory is a little less jump shot and a little more dodgeball, but the end result is the same: the planet Mercury exploding into shards of plaster and sparks as it collides with Bobby Neptuneâs face.
The Starboy collapses, giving Kerry the opening he needs. He climbs up the turnbuckle and reaches out for the edge of the solar domeâŚwhich is just a little too far away. Heâs gonna have to jumpâŚ
BANG!
âŚbut doesnât have time, as he gets a faceful of Mars. Neptune recovered faster than expected, and used the Red Planet to stop Kerryâs ascent to the heavens.
The Emerald Apex slumps over, but doesnât fall. Bobby reaches up for another projectile, this time the Earth. It soars through the air along its orbit, straight into his handâ
BANG!
âand explodes immediately.
Richard Parker: Wait! What happened to us? AreâŚare we dead now?
Nick Stuart: IâŚyou know what? Yes.
Richard Parker: Aw, man.
But not even the destruction of planet and the death of all known life in the universe is enough to slow things down. Bobby goes for Venus instead; no doubt inspired by Bananarama. Heâs your Venus; heâs your fire.
Whatâs Kerryâs desire? Probably not having a planet slammed into his head and falling out of the ring. Which is unfortunate, because thatâs what he gets.
BANG!
Kerry lands roughly on the apron, then rolls down to the floor. Bobby immediately slingshots over the top rope, lands on the middle one, and arcs backward into a beautiful quebrada, landing squarely on top of Kuroyamaâs prone form! Itâd be the perfect pinning predicament, if not for two factors.
First, theyâre outside the ring.
Second, pinfalls donât count in this match.
Instead, Neptune mounts his opponents and starts raining fists down onto his face, since the technical part of the match ended when they started smashing planets over each othersâ heads. As he does, an eerie smoke starts to fill the air.
Rezin (v/o): Neboolas! Thatâs where stars are born and where they die. TheâKRRAAAAAAWWWWWWFFFFKKKOOOOFFFFGGGHHHAAAAKKKâthe Indiana of space.
Bobby stands up, taking advantage of the cover to grab another weapon. The first thing he sees is a model of the International Space Station. But by the time he picks it up, the smokeâer, nebulaâhas gotten so thick that he canât see the Emerald Apex anymore.
Kerry canât see the Flying Object, either. But he stays low and sweeps the ground, staying small and hoping for a glimpse of Bobbyâs legs.
There they are.
He lunges forward, shoot for a double-leg takedown that drops BobbyâŚwho narrowly misses dropping the ISS on his own head. Kerry stands, cinching the legs under his armpits, and falls backward, launching Bobby forward through the cloud.
BONK!
And right into Jupiter.
Richard Parker: Ha! Bullseye!
Nick Stuart: Bobby Neptune went facefirst into the Great Red Spot!
Rezin (v/o): Thass the planet where boys go to get more stupider, accordinâ to outdated science. YOU FUGGINâ HEAR THAT, MIDDLE SCHOOLERS? IT AINâT FUGGINâ SO!
Kerry searches through the fog for his own weapon, eventually finding a flying saucer, then turns back toward BobbyâŚor at least, where he guesses Bobby is.
He walks toward the Space CadetâŚand unknowingly, right into the path of Saturn.
BONK!
CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG!
Saturn drops to the floor, and the rings go flying like Sonic the Hedgehog just stepped on some spikes. Only the smallest stays up, lazily dangling from Saturnâs hook and swinging through the air in the planetâs place.
Kerry staggers, but does not fall. He shakes off the sudden planet attack and holds his weapon back up, ready to smash it over Bobbyâs head.
Bobby seems to think thatâs a good idea, and does the same with the ISS model.
CRASH!
CRASH!
Great minds think alike, I suppose. Interstellar debris showers around them, but they barely notice as they teeter back and forthâŚand fall down.
Ashley Barlow goes to check on them, and Ami fires another asteroid in Kerryâs direction.
Ami Troy: Get up, dummy!
Rezin (v/o): THE BLACK HOLE! It takes light and matter and hoards it, never givinâ nothinâ back! Just like LINDSAY GODDAMB TROY tries to take EVERYTHING FROM ME and WONâT EVEN GIMME MY OLD JOB BACK, WHAT KINDA FUGGINâ BULLSHIT ISâ
Ami fires another asteroid, hitting the loudspeaker dead center.
Rezin (v/o): YOWWWWWWWWW!
âŚwhat?
The smoke starts to clear away, drawn in by the powerful vacuum. Some of the smaller planet chunks and debris go as well. Even Ashley Barlow starts to slide backward.
Ashley Barlow: Hey!
Neptune and Kuroyama are back up, and they go for weapons againâŚbut theyâre quickly ripped out of their hands by the black hole. Theyâre also starting to lose their footing, just as Ashley is.
Both men know they need to get away from the awesome gravitational force of this astronomical anomaly. Bobby Neptune instinctively leaps for his namesake planet, leaving Kerry only one option. He sighs heavily, but starts his journey anyway.
Friends, itâs time for the part of the match youâve all been waiting for.
Richard Parker: Kerry Kuroyama is climbing right upâ
Nick Stuart: No!
Kuroyama mounts the seventh planet from the sun, balancing himself on its round surface just as Bobby has done upon Neptune. Theyâre just close enough that they can trade blows, but only a few before they have to stabilize themselves again. Itâs a good thing only the terrestrial planets were in motion; these two hang side-by-side and allow the fight to continue.
Richard Parker: Bobby needs to watch his punches! If he gets too wild, heâll end up fistingâ
Nick Stuart: NO!
Hey, remember earlier when the larger planets werenât moving?
WHIRRRRRRRRRRR!
Somebody fixed that. Probably the same somebody who finally turned off the black hole.
That, or Rezin showed up and smoked the whole nebula, like he probably did with the Oort Cloud.
Bobby nearly falls from his perch as the planets start orbiting the sun-dome. Curiously, Neptune is moving considerably fasterâso much so that from his perspective, Kerry looks like heâs heading the other direction.
Richard Parker: A lot of you only know it from astrology, but what youâre seeing right here is a retrogradeâ
Nick Stuart: Stop it!
Richard Parker: But itâs true!
Neptune needs to hold on to his planetâs cable for dear life as it zooms around the room. Eventually it catches back up, where Kerry is ready to renew their brawl. Bobbyâs got a different idea, first lowering himself to the planetâs surface, then leaping through the air toward the Emerald Apex, ready to cast him out of the heavens with a majestic spear.
Itâs a shame he didnât quite account for velocity.
CRASH!
Neptuneâs trajectory came in low, missing Kuroyama but completely destroying the planet he was standing on.
Richard Parker: Bobby Neptune just splitâ
Nick Stuart: Knock it off!
Richard Parker: I mean, he absolutely exploded throughâ
Nick Stuart: I said knock it off!
Kerry barely avoids falling with the devastated planet, clinging to its cable for dear life.
THOOM!
Until the love of his life, who happens to be an utter chaos gremlin, shoots him with an asteroid.
Ami Troy: Sorry!
Thatâs a lie.
Kerry loses his grip, and quickly commits to an elbow drop onto the prone form of Neptune! Bobby clutches his chest, the wind knocked out of him, giving Kerry the opening he needs. But first, he needs to widen that opening a little.
He grabs a hunk of planet and slams it down onto the Space Cadet. A shot or two to the chest, then a few more to the head.
Richard Parker: Heâs getting a face full ofâ
Nick Stuart: Richard, I swear to GodâŚ
Rezin (v/o): Heh heh heh hehâŚUranus.
Richard Parker: No fair! How come he gets to sayâ
Nick Stuart: I canât do anything about him!
He canât stop the fans, either.
âUR-A-NUS! UR-A-NUS! UR-A-NUS!â
Kerry staggers back toward the ring, where he slowly climbs the turnbuckle again. The edge of the dome is just beyond his outstretched hand, forcing him to make a leap!
The cheers can be heard through the announcersâ microphones.
âRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!â
Nick Stuart: Kerry Kuroyama has reached the sun! Now all he has to do is climb the pole and retrieve the prize!
Richard Parker: Sure, you can say âclimb the poleâ but Iâm not allowed toâ
Kerry tries to shimmy up the pole, but a hand on the sun gives him pause. Thatâs the hand of Bobby Neptune, who shook off his planetary assault and took the same path as Kerry did. He tries to scramble on top of the sun-dome, but Kerry comes back down to stop him. Kerry lifts his foot and tries to stomp on Bobbyâs hand!
Bobby releases his grip just before the boot comes down, which Kerry expected. What he didnât expect is for Neptune to grab him by the ankle and yank him down!
Nick Stuart: What an incredible leverage move by Neptune, and now both men are on equal footing!
Indeed they are. Both men are finally on the sun, though neither one is standing. Nor are they walking, for you Smash Mouth fans out there. But they are fighting.
Rezin (v/o): The sun! STRAWbviously too hot to be near! Youâd burn out quickerân an olâ joint in the hands of this olâ gal from San Raphael, I mean GAWD DAMB I couldnât even keep up with her!
Theyâre barely on their knees when they start trading blows, and it continues as they push themselves up to their feet. As the fight continues, Kerry starts to back offâŚtoward the center of the sun. Even in the heat of battle, his mind is always on victory.
Before long, his back is against the poleâŚand when Bobby throws his next punch, Kerry ducks.
CLANG!
Neptune howls in pain, then collapses as Kerry gives him a stiff boot to the face. The Emerald Apex heads for the top again, where his destiny awaits.
Hand by hand, foot by foot, inch by inch, Kerry climbs upward. The visor is close now. It will be in his hands in just a few seconds.
Just a few seconds that Kerry doesnât have.
Neptune peels Kerryâs legs off of the pole and positions himself underneath Kuroyama, setting him up in an electric chair position. He starts to fall backward, and while Kerryâs hands grip the pole as tight as he can, eventually their combined weight and momentum loosen his grip and send him crashing backwards.
CRASH!
The downward force causes some pain, but the true danger is forward (or rather, backward) momentum. Kuroyama slides across the surface, putting him perilously close to the edge.
Nick Stuart: Incredible desperation move by Neptune, and a near disaster for Kuroyama!
Richard Parker: Could have been worse. It could have the sunâs heat up there.
Nick Stuart: Ami tried, but they wouldnât let her bring in the flame thrower.
Now itâs Bobbyâs turn to try for the visor. With his height and agility, it should be an easier reachâŚbut nothing ever comes easy, especially when Ami Troy fires more meteors at you. None of them hit their mark, but theyâre enough to make him a little more cautious as he ascends. It slows his progress, but wonât stop it.
Thatâs what Kerry is for.
He wraps his arms tightly around Neptuneâs waist pulling him back with a picture perfect German suplex!
CRACK!
The sun wobbles, and the surface cracks. Kerry releases the bridgeâa shame, because pinning someone on the surface of the sun would be a highlight reel moment for sure. But heâs got a different one in mind as he pulls Neptune upright.
He grabs Bobbyâs arm and feeds it through his legs. He laces the other arm with his own, setting up a pumphandle. He lifts Neptune over his shoulder. He releases Bobbyâs arms so that the can set up the impact of the Kuroyama Driver I.
But when he gets to that last step, he finds Neptune to be much less cooperative. The Starboy kicks his legs, pushes with his hands, does everything he can to wriggle free of Kerryâs grip. He even gets in a few stray elbows, which finally stun Kerry enough for Bobby to slip behind himâŚ
THUMP!
âŚwhere he catches a back kick to the gut. Kerry turns with all the force he can muster, slamming his arm into Bobbyâs chest!
Nick Stuart: SQUALL LINE LARIAT! BOBBY NEPTUNE GOES FLYING!
Richard Parker: See you on the ground, Space Boy!
Kerry looks over the edge, waiting for the sickening THUD.
FWOOMP!
Thatâs not right.
The âWTFâ expression is clear on Kuroyamaâs face. Of all the stupid, lucky breaks. For Bobby Neptune to get sent to the ground, where thereâs nowhere safe to landâŚexcept one spot. The crash pad thatâs part of the splashdown demonstration.
Rezin (v/o): Yâknow, for years they said the sun was madeâa gas. BUT THATâS A FUGGINâ LIE TOO! ISSA PLASMA! THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS AINâT REAL SCIENTISTS OR REAL GIANTS!
Bobbyâs going to get back up. Heâs going to climb up to the sun, then up to the visor that still rests on the pole.
But thereâs no way heâll make it in time.
With a smile, Seattleâs Beast turns back toward his goal. Itâs only a matter of time now.
Down on the ground, Bobby looks up. Thereâs no way heâll make it in time. For a moment, he stares up into the stars that dot the canvas screen above him.
So beautiful.
So calming.
SoâLOOK OUT!
He barely avoids falling debris from above, in the form of Saturnâs smallest ring.
And suddenly, Bobbyâs got hope again. Hope, and a planâŚenough to take him as far as he needs to go.
Itâs a short wait until Jupiter comes swinging around again. Bobby stands, steadies himself as best he can, and throws the ring like a big Frisbee.
CLONK!
Itâs not enough to cut through the cable.
But it is enough to knock the planet loose.
The mighty gas giant falls, landing on the same crashpad where Bobby stands.
Have you ever seen those videos where one person sits on the end of a big inflatable thing, then someone else does a cannonball on the other end? Itâs like that.
The Starboy is airborne once more, shooting above the ring like a comic and right to the edge of the sun.
Then, right past the edge of the sun.
Uh-oh.
He might actually run into the ceiling at this rate. The only things that block his path are poles that held the planets up. Only one is within grabbing distance, and grab Bobby does.
âRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!â
Nick Stuart: That might be the most impressive feat of agility Iâve ever seen in a wrestling match!
Richard Parker: Shame it was part of this ridiculous bullshit.
Now hanging from the beam by both hands, he looks down and sees Kerry Kuroyama, staring at him in disbelief. Heâs so shocked that he forgets to reach for the visor, even though heâs close enough.
But as Bobby starts making his way over like a kid on the monkey bars, the Emerald Apex quickly remembers. He scrambles up the pole, making up the last few inches that he needs and stretching out his arm before Bobby can beat him to the visor.
Suddenly finding himself directly above his opponent, the Flying Object launches his last desperation move.
He drops.
He lands in a seated position on Kerryâs shoulders, and in an instant wraps his legs around Kuroyamaâs neck.
He flips.
âRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!â
The Rendezvous with Hurricanrama comes off clean, sending both men flying away from the pole and again sliding toward the edge. Kerry Kuroyama slides off clean, landing not on a convenient crash pad, but onto the hard canvas of the ring.
WHAM!
Bobby Neptune claws at the domeâs surface, but finds no purchase and follows Kerry over the edge.
WHAM!
The fans are going apeshit.
âRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!â
The announcers are also going apeshit.
Richard Parker: Holy goddamning fuck!
Nick Stuart: Fans, I cannot believe what we just saw! You can show me the video again, and I still wonât believe it!
Rezin is going apeshit.
Rezin (v/o): FLLLAARRRRRRKJGLALBHEGHKELAALAKKKKWOMMMAHKAKEETT!
The wrestlersâŚarenât going anywhere.
Richard Parker: You know what the bitch of it is, Nick? Those two poor bastards will have to climb back up and do it all over again!
Indeed they will, as the camera cuts to the top of the pole, to show the visorâŚ
Huh.
Itâs not there.
Nick Stuart: Wait wait wait! One of them got it! They got it, or they knocked it down!
The camera cuts back to the ring, where Ashley Barlow has climbed back downâsafely, because sheâs not a maniac like these other two. She looks at Kerry and Bobby, both lying flat on the mat.
She sees the fluttering eyelids.
She sees the twitching legs.
She sees the visor.
Clutched in the black-taped hand of Kerry Kuroyama.
DING DING DING!
Vince Howard: Here is your winnerâŚKERRY! KUUURRROOOOOOYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!
âRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!â
The camera cuts back to Lincoln Financial Field, where Nick and Richard are still in awe of what they just witnessed. So is everyone behind them, from little kids to old ladies to that guy with the TAL mask and Hawaiian shirt.
Nick Stuart: Fans, that was an incredible display by both men, but Kerry Kuroyama pulled off the win at the very last moment! This is one theyâll be talking about for ages.
Richard Parker: I guess.
Nick Stuart: You guess?! What more do you want out of them?
Richard Parker: âŚLet me say it.
Nick Stuart: Seriously?!
Richard Parker: Just one time!
Nick Stuart: Okay, but youâd better hurryâIâm being told that thereâs something developing back at Fels Planetarium, and weâre going to cut back there any second!
Richard Parker: Really?! OK, let me get ready!
Richard straightens his tie. He takes a sip of water. He clears his throat.
Richard Parker: Uraâ
Cut.
Kerry and Bobby are near collapse after giving each other space-themed hell for ownership of the visor.Â
An exhausted Bobby turns to Kerry.
Bobby Neptune: YouâŚyou fought well and fair, Mr. Kuroyama. Do you see now how much stronger you are without the beast? The Kerry I just fought was steady and true. The real Kerry. Do you see now why I couldnât trust you with the visor?
On his knees, Kuroyama is sucking wind and favoring his ribs. Still, Neptuneâs words move him to crack a smile.
Kerry Kuroyama: Tell you what, Bob⌠youâve got a hell of a way of getting a point across. But what you just fought? I couldnât tell you what that was. You say the ârealâ Kerry is stronger without the beast. Or maybe the beast is the real me, and just happens to be a bit more honorable than either of us thought. But you know what?
He nods to the visor on the ground between them.
Kerry Kuroyama: If thereâs anything I learned from that thing, itâs that Iâm stronger simply through NOT knowing who or what the ârealâ Kerry is.
Bobby Neptune: âŚYouâre much wiser than I gave you credit for.
He looks at the entire solar system they just destroyed.
Bobby Neptune: Maybe I umâŚI did go a bit far. But it sounds like the visor did its job in its own way.
He moves to shake Kerryâs hand, but the pain in his side stops him.
Bobby Neptune: Ugh. Next time, Iâll trust you to know whatâs best for you. In factâŚ
He walks over to the visor, picks it up, and extends it to Kerry.
Bobby Neptune: If you think you still need itâŚitâs yours.
Kerry stares at the visor for a beat, then extends his handâŚ
âŚthen draws it back.
Kerry Kuroyama: I appreciate the gesture, Bobby. But honestly? I think Iâm better off without it.
He extends his hand again, only this time he raises it to meet Neptuneâs offered handshake.
Kerry Kuroyama: Turns out, all I was really looking for was one motherfucker of a fight⌠and I found it in you, Neptune.
Bobby clasps Kerryâs hand they share a firm gentlemanâs handshake. Bobby places the visor on a shelf to retrieve later and turns to Kerry.
Bobby Neptune: Same to you, Mr. Kuroyama.
The start to leave together.
Bobby Neptune: Wanna hit up the gift shop?
Kerry Kuroyama: Iâm game. Have you ever heard of a glass harmonica?
The two leave to explore the wonders of the Franklin Institute, and the camera pans to focus on the visor, now alone in the planetarium. A gloved hand reaches out from the darkness, grabs the visor, and pulls it into shadow.
We fade elsewhereâŚ
Backstage. The camera catches the hallway outside a dressing room door. A printed sign has been taped to it.
SPECIAL GUEST REFEREE
CHANDLER TSONDA
For a moment, thatâs all we see.
Then the frame trembles.
THOOM!
A fist the size of a cinder block hammers against the door. The sign flutters.
THOOM!
The camera pulls back. Ivan Stanislav stands in the hallway, already dressed for war. Black shirt. Red suspenders. Dark pants. Combat boots. His expression has all the warmth of a Moscow winter. His voice echoes down the hallway.
Ivan Stanislav: Tsonda!!
He strikes the door again. Not hard enough to break it. Not yet. But hard enough to make the point that he can.
Ivan Stanislav: Open this door!
âI think this is the part where I say: not by the hairs on my chinny chin chin, you fucking jag.â
Ivan pulls his head back for a moment and mouths âjagâ while confusion crosses his face.
After a beat, perhaps knowing in his heart of hearts that this nuisance, unlike the average solicitor, will not simply go away by ignoring it, the door swings open.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
The people, they simply LOVE referees. Well, at least this one.
Chandler Tsonda: Your manners? Theyâre quite poor. You ever considered finishing school? Banginâ on the door like a goddamn ogre. I donât even want to think about your relationship to salad forks and dinner forks.
Ivan grips one of his suspenders while he glowers down at Tsonda.
Ivan Stanislav: Salad is fancy food eaten by bourgeois elitists!
Ivan grips the front of his pants and hefts them up, putting slack in his suspenders. He winces, as if speaking to Chandler Tsonda, the mere act of it, is painful.
Ivan Stanislav: Enough cuteness, Chandler. You hate me. I hate you. Together, we have carved pieces out of one another and left them in rings all across PRIME. All across this world. But if there is one thing you know? I have always been honest with you.
He taps one thick finger against his own chest.
Ivan Stanislav: Can you say same about Bryan Dawkins? A year ago? When he turned back on you? After what⌠all those years of âfriendship?â
Chandler Tsonda: Letâs play pretend and say youâve got a point somewhere in there. Howâs this lead to any conclusion other than what you already said? You, me, hate, war, et cetera et cetera.
Ivan snorts.
Ivan Stanislav: Dawkins took from you. He took from me too. He wore red when it suited him and then left when he decided to grow conscience. He stabbed both of us in back, and each time ran to those who would forgive him for it.
Ivan rolls one of his thick shoulders.
Ivan Stanislav: Lindsay Troy thinks she is clever. She places you in stripes and calls it justice. Rest of PRIME claps like trained seals. But I know truth, Chandler. You are not here to keep me honest. You are here to keep Bryan Dawkinsâ career alive. You are his friend.
Chandler Tsonda: (smirks) Maybe I just cherish and respect the noble craft of refereeing. As a boy, I saw Elvis Nixon on TV and said, âmama, someday there go I.â
Ivan huffs loudly, dismissing Chandlerâs nonsense, which is clearly getting under his skin.
Ivan Stanislav: Enough with that. I know what you cannot do.
Ivan lifts one finger.
Ivan Stanislav: One.
A second finger.
Ivan Stanislav: Two.
A third.
Ivan Stanislav: Three.
He holds the three thick fingers between them.
Ivan Stanislav: You will never do it. You tell yourself otherwise, but we both know counting to three does not just mean ending the match. It means ending him.
Chandler Tsonda: Dawkins is a big boy, he knows what he signed up for. Turns out, the only one who can be trusted around here to keep the Siberian circus that follows you around in check? (double thumbs to himself) This guy.
Ivan snarls.
Ivan Stanislav: I tried to bury hatchet with you. I put you on MY Squad Goals team! Out of goodness of my heart!!
Chandler Tsonda: Dug up the hatchet. Thought it seemed sad and lonely down there. I thought to myself: wouldnât life be sweeter if I put it through your forehead? (gives the fakest smile in pro wrestling history) And yet. Even despite how much better youâd look with an ornamental hatchet between the eyes, Iâm gonna call this thing down the middle.
The Model Citizen throws an arm out to the side, mirroring the Russian Bearâs earlier gesture.
Chandler Tsonda: And if Iâm blessed and highly favored, if Dawkins earns it, I like my chances of looking you dead in your eyes with your shoulders pinned to the mat and counting.
One finger. The one in the middle. And this guy was lecturing about manners?
Chandler Tsonda: Uno.
The index unfurls, two fingers.
Chandler Tsonda: Dos.
Ring finger joins, three fingers.
Chandler Tsonda: Tres.
Ivan frowns at that. He reaches into his back pocket and produces a small pocketbook, resplendent with hammers, sickles, and an image of a wrestling ring.
Ivan Stanislav: In final act of Red Army goodwill, I bring signed referee handbook by Speedy Riggs. You give it a read before the match?
Chandler Tsonda: I wish I could, chud. Iâm sure it would be a real treat dealing with whatever rare tropical diseases I might get by handling that. But unfortunately, and Troy was very clear on this, PRIME refs are absolutely forbidden to accept gifts from participants in a match that theyâre calling.
Ivanâs expression flattens at that. He turns halfway to leave, before looking back at Tsonda.
Ivan Stanislav: So there is, truly, nothing I can do to sway you?
Chandler Tsonda: You could say the Russian words for âI forfeit the match and acknowledge Bryan Dawkins is a better man and wrestler, and I was a silly goose for thinking otherwise.â (reaches for his phone) Here, Iâll pull up Google Translate so I can follow along.
Ivan blows air through his nostrils. Yet he seems uncomfortably content with this knowledge.
Ivan Stanislav: If there is nothing I can say to change this neutral stance⌠then so be it.
A pause. Ivanâs expression turns as cold as Russian snow.
Ivan Stanislav: Then let me tell you one more thing: I should have hit Jasmine harder, when you failed to save her. The way she cried⌠it was beautiful.
Also as cold as Russian snow? The chill in the room as the tension spikes. Two of the most loquacious PRIMEates of all time are locked in a frosty silence.
Only Tsonda knows all the violent fantasies that pass through his head in the long pause before he speaks.
Chandler Tsonda: Tsk, tsk. No manners at all. Donât you worry, Dawkinsâll teach you some out there. You hold onto that memory, I hope thinking about Jasmine is cold comfort when youâre staring up at the lights. And about how much youâll be letting down Alexei, of course.
The Viet Viper is cold and calm.
Chandler Tsonda: Itâs a shame he canât be here, but probably for the best. Wonât have to see another disgrace from you. Not sure his measly little heart could handle it.
A reminder that both men are quite explicitly forbidden to have any physical contact, on threat of forfeit for Stanislav, and extended suspension for Tsonda. Just seems relevant, you know, what with the malevolent air of war and blood and gnashing of teeth between the assembled parties!
For a moment, Ivan looks like he might consider the forfeit worth it. He clenches his fists, and then loosens them. Instead, he leans forward so his shadow swallows Tsonda whole.
Ivan Stanislav: I came here wondering if you could be neutral. Now, I know better. You hate me too much to cheat for him.
Chandler Tsonda: I donât hate you too much, ghoul. Iâm like Goldilocks, I hate you just right.
Ivan smiles. That seems to make him happy.
Ivan Stanislav: So when Dawkins is beneath me? When his career is dying under Russian weight? You will count. Not because you respect me. Not because you love him. But because you cannot bear to prove me right.
Ivan holds Tsondaâs gaze a moment longer, then he slowly backs away, each bootstep a small rumble down the corridor. He calls over his shoulder.
Ivan Stanislav: Stretch that wrist, Chandler. You will need it! DYAAHAAHAA!!
And with that, Ivan Stanislav marches toward the Argyle position.
The match graphic airs and then we are at ringside.
Vince Howard: This is a DOG COLLAR MATCH for ONE FALL!
Richard Parker: Imagine if this dog collar match was for SEVEN FALLS!
Nick Stuart: Stop. Please. I thought you hate when he panders.
Richard Parker: I do?
Nick Stuart: Ugh.
Vince Howard: Introducing firstâŚ
The PRIME*View cuts out, accentuated by the explosion of pyrotechnics. Once our ears stop ringing, weâre treated to a different, but familiar, sound.
Eagles. âTryinâ.â
RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!
The PRIME*View lights up with a field of white. Three words appear in blue:
THE
NEW
DIAMOND
These fade away, replaced by a logo. Itâs the letter C in the shape of a diamond, with a smaller N inside. The logo is framed by the name.
NATE
COLTON
And here he is.
Wait.
Where is he?
Oh dang, heâs halfway to the ring already.
RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!
The fans give out a raucous cheer as the camera catches up with Nate Colton. Heâs all business tonight, not bothering to psych himself up or play to the crowd. Heâs not even wearing his ring jacket.
Vince Howard is a pro; he can see where this is going and adjusts accordingly.
Vince Howard: Hailing from Evansville, Indiana⌠weighing two-hundred-forty pounds⌠he is the New Diamond! He is⌠NATE! COOOOOOOOLLLLLLTOOOOOOOOOON!
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Nate slides under the ropes and pushes himself up to his feet, then heads to the corner and calls for Ashley Barlow to make her checks. Once sheâs satisfied, Nate steps forward and waitsâhowever impatientlyâfor MaxâŚ
Vince Howard: And his opponent⌠he is THE MINISTER, Max Kael!
Maxâs theme song plays, âShadow of Myselfâ from Resident Evil 7, as he makes his way down, dressed in white pants and has an eyepatch over his right eye. His left eye looks crimson red.
Richard Parker: The Minister? Vince was told to say that? What iteration of Max do we have here?
Nick Stuart:Â I guess we are going to find out!
With The Minister in the ring, Ashley Barlow tentatively walks over and is going to apply his dog collar when she realizes⌠well⌠seeing a guy basically salivating and fixated on his target with one eye⌠it makes her uncomfortable. Instead, she hands Max the collar and he is MOAR than happy to do it himself, aimlessly applying it without looking. Max keeps staring at Nate. We assume the eye in the eyepatch is doing the same but you never know.
In the meantime, Barlow is over at Coltonâs side of the ring and ensures his dog collar is on securely. He applied it when Max was making his entrance.
Barlow deems the match is ready to go.
DING DING
With the right amount of DINGS sounding off, the match is officially underway as this ruckus crowd starts chanting for Colton at the top of their lungs. The participants, however, are tentative in their start-up plan. Itâs not because neither of them are nervous or unsure they wanted this feud to go this far to begin with. Rather, both The Minister and Nate are looking down at the collars around their neck and then back up at each other, trying to figure out when is the right time to strike-
Max just goes for it. Both hands on the chain, pulling like a tug of war towards him. The first serious tug catches Nate off guard because he was looking down at the large metal chain but soon after, Colton digs his heels into the ground and is now only being slowly dragged towards Kael.
The Minister opens his mouth. Itâs watery. Is he planning to bite into Nateâs face this early? You can never get enough protein.
Most of the crowd remains standing as Nate realizes there is no way to escape meeting Kaelâs clutches, so he tries to wrap whatâs left of the chain around his arm-
WHAP!
Too late. Max already had him beat. The Minister stopped pulling at the very last second and then took whatâs left of the chain and slammed it across Coltonâs right shoulder.
WHAP!
Once again, another chain whip to the shoulder, this time breaking Nate down to his knees.
WHAP!
Colton lowers his body, heâs almost on the mat entirely.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
The Minister howls into the rafters seeing Nate face-first on the canvas, blood already starting to sparkle through his right shoulder. Max takes a couple of steps back and charges with a dropkick square into Nateâs gorgeous face as he was trying to get back up.
And then, to the chain.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
Gonna be a lot of those noises in a match like this.
Richard Parker: And there we go. Nateâs bit off more than he can chew.
Nick Stuart: Iâll admit this is nowhere near the start Nate Colton wanted but if the man has shown you anything, Rich, itâs that he is resilient.
Resilient Colton is trying. Another three strong whips of the chain and it looks like not only has The Minister come to play but he might make quick work of the golden boy. Kael drags Nate up by his neck, via the chain and then starts pulling him in closer and closer. That Ministerâs mouth still waters. Yearns. Those eyes going wide. Heâs got that nod-along smile, something straight out of Jack Nicholsonâs The Shining GIF. He wants this. He NEEDS this.
The crowd is chanting for Colton but itâs no use. The more Nate puts on the breaksâŚ
The more he is vulnerable to an attack.
Because once again, Max suddenly stops pulling. He runs directly at Colton and delivers an Arkham Hellbow straight into Nateâs left temple. This is followed by picking up the chain and wrapping it around The Ministerâs right arm.
WHAP!
Clothesline from hell.
Colton spins inside out before hitting the mat, the dog collar chain tying him up as he does, wrapping around his body.
Music to The Ministerâs ears.
Or eyes.
Or eye.
Whatever.
Hellbow drop.
Hellbow drop.
HELL. BOW. DROP.
Kael stands. His completely white outfit now in full red dabs of blood here and there. Nate Colton isnât just busted open.
He is fucking gushing.
The crowd is in awe and significantly worried already as Colton barely moves. When he does, heâs trying to untangle himself from the chain which has already proven to be impossible.
Definitely impossible with The Minister lurking.
Kael snatches Colton while the chain is still heavily wrapped around him before wrapping The Diamond up in a bearhug and then chucking him to the ground.
Richard Parker: Thicker chain than youâd normally see in one of these matches.
Nick Stuart: THATâs the colour commentary you want to provide right now?
Richard Parker: âŚum, yeah.
Nick Stuart: We are early in this match, folks. And yet, itâs already a blood bath for one of these men.
Richard Parker: Thatâs because of⌠âThe Ministerâ, right? I understand Max has a ton of personas. Iâm taking this as the baddest, most lethal!
Another bearhug by Kael. Another toss to the mat, ensuring Coltonâs body slices into the chain as he meets it.
Kael laughs at the thought of how easy this has been. More blood spills out of Colton as Nate slowly unwinds himself from the chain, rolling away from Max, towards a corner of the ring. Nateâs eyes are open, although blood has started pouring down his head, too. He grits his teeth. Yeah, heâs already feeling terrible but there really isnât going to be any quit in this man. He locks eyes with The Minister, telling Max just that through his own facial expression.
No quit.
But The Minister is now deadpan. Stoic. Seemingly in a trance. Something out of Pennywise the Clown knowing heâs just about to eat a child. Yum. Max takes his hands, one by one, putting them calmly and methodically back on the chain. Heâs pulling Nate Colton towards him.
And thereâs not a god damn thing The Next Diamond can do about it.
Closer and closer Kael pulls, as Colton tries to stop the momentum but heâs just not strong enough to halt momentum. Soon, Nate is nearly 3/4ths of the way there.
BAM!
RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Nick Stuart: Oh what a play by Nate! What a smart move! Instead of trying to stop going in Maxâs direction, he gives in. He charged forward!
Richard Parker: Well after a few failed attempts, he might as well have tried something different!
And he did. Nate smashed Max in the face as hard as possible, even catching a little collar in-between them upon impact. The Minister is down but as Max Kael slithers to the side of the ringâŚ
He reveals that yes, he too has been busted open across the forehead.
Blood is gushing. Replays show that Nate did catch him with a forearm and a hell of a lot more chain than initially thought. Chain that came with whiplash, too. Chain that sliced a part of Maxâs forehead off in real time.
The Minister, howeverâŚ
Grins.
Those pure white teeth, soon being filled to the brim with deep red blood. For a moment, it startles Colton.
But heâs not going to hesitate further.
This time itâs Colton who comes in with a dropkick to Maxâs face, as blood flies off Kaelâs mug in all directions. Colton is hurting but he has enough in him to drag Max to a vertical base and then hurl him, dog collar and all in the opposite direction.
SNAP.
CRASH!
That collar only has so much length to it, Max canât get into the far corner of the ring. Instead, the chain reaches its end, as Colton anchors down and stays firmly in place so Max has nowhere to go but eat the resistance and crash to the mat.
Lucky Max didnât break his neck.
But donât worry, thereâs still plenty of time.
Colton races in and delivers a forearm smash, followed by a hard-as-shit uppercut into a pendulum backbreaker. Colton discards Kael on top of the chain.
Nate stands; the crowd cheers. Heâs stopped bleeding for a good minute now and heâs feeling a little better. At least as best as he possibly can, given the circumstances. As Kael mildly stirs on the canvas, Colton leans down to pluck him up-
Poke to the eyes!
Nick Stuart: HEY!
Richard Parker: Totally legal, partner. Ultra Violent, itâs not, but brilliant, it is!
The eye poke gives Kael enough time to stand and DDT Colton to the mat. The crowd boos but those boos go right through The Minister as he reaches down and pulls Nate up by the literal dog collar. The Black Heart of PRIME⢠attempts a spinning tombstone piledriver but Colton smashes his legs together and wiggles out of the hold. Nate looks to hit the ropes, not even sure if thereâs enough chain to do so-
Nevertheless, Kael grabs the chain and whips Colton right back to him.
Powerslam on the chain!
Nick Stuart: COVER!
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
Kael anticipated the kickout because he goes RIGHT back to work. This time, however, heâs wrapping the chain around and around Nate Coltonâs neck. At least four times, that seems to be the extended use of how much free chain there is.
The crowd is extremely concerned. It looks like Nateâs dead to rights when Max is about to lean backâŚ
But in a brilliant display, Nate leans back WITH Max and then uses the momentum to flip onto his feet, snatch Max along with him and deliver a hammerlock back suplex in one fellow swoop!
The crowd is mesmerized at the pure athleticism and smarts it took Nate to get out of that mess even before it started. But as Nate stumbles backwards, he is tripped up by the chain and almost chokes himself on the collar.
Almost.
Colton surges towards Kael with his right knee hyperextended.
NO!
Kael drops to the canvas at the very last second and then yanks on the chain as he does. Colton is immediately choked up this time, as Max spins his opponent around and delivers another roaring hellbow into Nateâs jaw. Followed by a hellbow into Coltonâs chest. Followed by a hellbow into Coltonâs crotch.
Richard Parker: Working all angles here.
And then the Brow Beater, heatbutt after heatbutt, bringing the fanâs champion down on his knees. Yet the crowd continues to cheer for their guy, as Nate is trying to find the strength to stand up and absorb those headbutts as best he canâŚ
THUMP.
Instead, Colton pulls on the chain, sending Kael off balance and to the canvas. Nate hops onto Max and proceeds to wrap the chain around The Ministerâs neck! Four times, the chain goes around, showing once again that seems to be the going rate.
The crowd wants to see itâŚ
AndâŚ
AndâŚ
Nick Stuart: YES! Colton has applied a crossface chickenwing!
Richard Parker: At least thatâs what it looks like, Nick. Thereâs so much chain involved I donât know what the hell to call that!
Nick Stuart: Well, whatever it is, Max looks to be in a very tough spot!
The chained-face chicken wing works its magic because the crowd is on their feet and Nate Colton is relentless. He pulls on Maxâs right arm with his own and wraps his left arm around Maxâs head, driving the chain further into Maxâs face. This move is then transitioned into a full blown crossface submission.
Nick Stuart: One might think, why doesnât he just try for a Colton Clutch here, or even STF. These, of course, being Nateâs specialties.
Richard Parker: There was no time to set it up, Nick. Even an idiot could see that. Nateâs just moving with the flow of the match and he was lucky enough to get a serious crossface on âThe Ministerâ.
Nick Stuart: I was getting to that point, partner.
Richard Parker: I was just helping you out, partner. I also wanted to sound smart.
Nick Stuart: For a change.
As the announcers banter, the crowd cheers along as Colton keeps the hold locked in and you can see, through the gaps in the chain and spaces around Nateâs arm just how much pain Max Kael is in. It looks like his left eye is bloodshot in horror. Obviously the eyepatch covers his right, but whenever this hold is released, thereâs going to be a serious crimson man on The Black Heart of PRIMEâ˘.
And yet, this is also a man who, they say, has died and come back to life more times than Kenny from South Park. While he is helplessly lying in the middle of the canvas, he suddenly tries to pull a page out of the Nate Colton playbook from earlier and âgo with the flowâ. Max starts trying to sit up, even arching his back so Nate can wrench even harder with his submission. By now, thereâs so much blood on Maxâs face itâs actually going to help him. Itâs creating separation between his flesh and the chain. Itâs making Nateâs grip tougher and tougher.
And then, you see it. For those with a weak stomach you might want to look away. For those with a weak stomach, weâd likely ask you WTF are you doing watching an event called ULTRA VIOLENCE but we digress, people go against their will all the time. So anyway, the chain. It starts popping off Max Kaelâs head. More like sliding off Maxâs head due to there being so much blood. However, as the chain slides off it clearly digs into The Ministerâs face even more. Each chain-link, digging away as it slides slides slides to the back of Kaelâs head. And there are four rounds of chain wrapped across his head⌠all sliding off⌠one by one by one by one.
Eyepatch is ripped off in the process.
Along with pieces of skin.
The last to go is Nate Coltonâs arm.
Richard Parker: Yep. Shouldâve used the Colton Clutch.
Stuart ignores Parkerâs comment as Nate falls back with the chain, now empty handed. In the meantime, Max Kael starts crawling forward, away from the clutches of The Next Diamond.
The Minister is gonna need a minute. Christ, heâs gonna need ten if anyone would allow it. No one knows how Ashley Barlow has been able to stomach this contest but she needs a second, too. She was right there, on the mat, asking Max if he was going to give. She watched the chain slice through his face as the blood helped him escape.
You know who wonât wait, though?
Nate Colton.
Heâs on his feet. He grabs the chain and starts pulling Kael up by his neck. With MWK on his feet, Colton races over-
POWERSLAM BY KAEL!
Cover by Kael!
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT BY COLTON!
The crowd cheers as a drenched in blood Max Kael rolls off Nate and onto the mat beside him.
Nick Stuart: These men started bleeding so early, so often. I canât even connect the dots as to what move drew what blood.
Richard Parker: A bath of red. Drink it in, partner. Drink it in because itâs a wonderful sight to behold!
Nick Stuart: Youâre a sick man.
Richard Parker: No, I just enjoy good wrestling.
Itâs clear both men need a breather but at this stage in the match, Nate Colton is the fresher of the two. Yes, he was caught off guard by the powerslam but he wonât be fooled again.
Colton with an atomic drop to Kael. With his back facing him, Nate bounces off the ropes and delivers a leaping bulldog, a part of the chain smacking Max in the head as the move is performed.
Nate definitely wasnât listening to Richard Parker but he knows his own gameplan. And he knows he should be going for that cobra clutch.
Colton is trying⌠trying to find a way to Max Kaelâs neck but The Minister is burying himself deeper into the canvas, if thatâs even possible. So Colton rises and starts kicking Max, then proceeds to use the chain as a whip, smacking Max across the back over and over so heâs forced to raise his body, or at least his hands and try covering up.
Nick Stuart: I have to say, itâs fun to see Max Kael squeal.
Richard Parker: Whoâs the sick man now?
Colton sees an opening as he leans down and⌠YES! Heâs got Max Kael by the neck!
Colton Clutch time!?
WHAP!
Nick Stuart: Max uses the chain!
At the very last second, Kael was able to get his hands on the chain, spin around and whip Nate Colton with it. The Minister knees Colton in the crotch as Nate doubles over, giving Max enough time to take a stand and grab the chain again.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
Max runs to the ropes rather recklessly, mouth wide open, tongue hanging out. Like a dog chasing a car. This time, however, he plans to catch that car.
And kill the man driving it.
SMACK!
The Minister hits Nate with a running knee while also throwing the chain in-between his knee and Nateâs face before connecting. It was a neat little idea. No oneâs sure if the chain actually connected well but it looked cool.
Colton falls down and yet Kael picks him right back up.
Spinning tombstone piledriver.
Nick Stuart: Cover!!
ONE!TWO!KICKOUT!
Salivating, Max looks like he wants to attempt his own cobra clutch. After all, it is part of his arsenal. However, as The Minister wraps his right arm around Nate Coltonâs neck, heâs not going for the submission. RatherâŚ
The Suplex That Broke Time.
Cobra clutch suplex. When Nate Colton lands, he looks to be DOA.
The crowd is concerned. Ashley Barlow slides into position and checks on Nate.
Nick Stuart: I think Colton is out, Rich.
Richard Parker: I think so, too.
Nick Stuart: Ashley Barlow should call this.
BBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
But before Ashley can really assess Coltonâs status, The Minister is there and pushes her away! Max peels Nate off the mat and delivers an overhead suplex, sending Nate to almost land on his crown!
If there wasnât concern yet, thereâs definitely concern now⌠The Minister slithers over and plucks Colton off the canvas in a bearhug. A bearhug meant to suck the ever living life out of Colton. A bearhug that, for a millisecond there, wakes Colton up. But as Nateâs eyes open, they are closed once again because Max tosses his opponent in another overhead suplex, nearly putting Nate on the top of his skull.
To Ashley Barlowâs surprise, and the crowd for that matter, Nate Colton stirs. He is alive. Granted, the stirring is limited. Itâs like Nate just woke up from a car crash and is only now trying to figure out if he still has a body.
Max Kael cracks his spine; his arms crack in the process, too. In fact, itâs kinda like his entire body is cracking back together at once. This looks⌠unhuman. Not inhumane, however. The whole match is inhumane.
Kael runs recklessly towards Colton, jaw dropped, tongue hanging, looking like heâs having the time of his life.
CRACK!
A running knee strike so flush it shoots Nate Colton off all fours and upright. Max hits the ropes and connects with The Reality Bending Elbow.
Thereâs just one problem.
The Minister has fallen down, too.
The announcers need a second. They also need a replay to really see what happened. As Kael hit the ropes, Colton grabbed the chain and whipped it across Maxâs face JUST as the elbow smacked him in the side of the head. The chain connected with Maxâs face⌠and both men are down on all fours, just like that.
Kael still has that toothy smile, though. Like something out of a horror movie, he looks over at his opponent. The apron camera catches a view straight out of a George A. Romero zombie movie. If you asked people in the front few rows they would swear they saw Kaelâs head go 360. Maybe even Colton saw it. At first, whatever the hell Nate did see⌠it seems to shock him. His eyes go wide but then he grits his teeth and bites his bottom lip.
Colton charges at Kael.
SLAM!
Bossman slam!
Nick Stuart: Max got all of it!
Kael hooks the leg.
ONE.TWO.SHOULDER UP!
The Minister drags Colton to his feet-
Jawbreaker by Nate!
Nick Stuart: Two very quick match changing moves made by both men!
The crowd is alive once more as Colton lands an exploder suplex on Kael. Kael is right back up with that dog-chasing-car expressionâŚ
Into another exploder suplex.
But Max is up again.
Three exploder suplexes!
Colton stumbles as he looks at Max and shouts something along the lines of âSTAY DOWN!â
If it was only that easy.
The Minister still slithers around the canvas, trying to find a vertical base. He even pulls at the chain a bit, hoping to catch Nate off balance. (He doesnât.) Instead, Colton takes the chain and marches over to his opponent. After a couple of kicks into Maxâs chest, The Minister lies face-down on the canvas, back exposed.
Colton smirks.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
Seriously?
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
Yes.
The crowd is going fucking ballistic as Nate can literally do no more because heâs absolutely spent himself in doing so. Ashley Barlow canât do a damn thing other than watch Max Kaelâs back become literal swiss cheese. Colton drops the chain and stumbles into a corner of the ring, trying to catch his breath as he looks down at his own hands.
Bleeding.
Richard Parker: Pretty sure that was forty-eight whips. Shame we didnât get to fifty.
Nick Stuart: You counted? Nate has a big opening here.
Richard Parker: He does, but he got carried away. Straight-up got carried away. Clearly. You can see it. His hands are shaking and bleeding!
And yet⌠throughout all of thisâŚ
Max.
Kael.
Stirs.
Nick Stuart: Unbelievable.
Richard Parker: I would say itâs pretty believable. Heâs risen from the dead so many times!
Nate Colton emerges from the corner, screaming into the rafters as he races forward and Max Kael gets back up.
This time, Nate is ready. He escapes the bossman slam and rolls across Maxâs back to the other side of his body, hitting Kael with an implant DDT as he does. Colton pops to his feet, shouts into the crowd and then lifts The Minister up for the Colton Clutch-
POCKET SAND!
Maxâs last play, of course.
Nick Stuart: POCKET SAND!?
Richard Parker: POCKET SAND!
Nick Stuart: POCKET SAND has no place in this!
Richard Parker: POCKET SAND is what Max Kael does!
The word POCKET SAND will probably be said a few more times but Nate Colton canât see fucking shit as he stumbles around on his own two feet. Meanwhile, while Niagara Falls streams blood from Max Kaelâs back, The Minister still finds the time to snicker in delight as he lies there watching Nate Colton who canât. do. shit.
Max removes himself from the canvas, leaving a body stain of blood in his wake. He snatches Nateâs head and delivers one of the most brutal looking evenflow DDTs of recent memory.
Kael starts wrapping the chain around Nateâs neck, over and over, four times. As proven before, this is the limit for wrapping. And then, like a man riding his horse, Kael is all toothy grinned while trying to ride Nate Colton on all fours to every side of the ring.
Max pulls and pulls at the chain, probably trying to break Nateâs neck at this point. But yes, heâs trying to ride The New Diamond around the ring while smiling at Ashley Barlow like heâs proud of taming his opponent.
Richard Parker: Why is Nate going ALONG with this!?
Nick Stuart: Going ALONG with it? Rich, heâs trying to ensure his neck isnât broken.
Richard Parker: Then lay on the ground.
Nick Stuart: He CANâT!
Colton is trying to get the chain off his neck but itâs really no use. Every time he pulls one arm up he has to try keeping this all-four base because otherwise who knows what will happen. Once The Ministerâs had his fun does Kael surprisingly whip Nate to his feet, tucking both of Nateâs arms behind his back and then tossing Colton overhead and this time dropping him square on the top of his head.
THUMP.
The air is rushed out of the building once more. Nate has looked in bad shape before but this time⌠this timeâŚ
Well The Minister isnât going to let it GET to this time. He snatches Nate Colton and hurls him over the top rope, placing both hands on the chain.
Nick Stuart: Max is going to HANG him!
Indeed.
Coltonâs body dangles off the apron. Heâs clearly awake now, trying everything he can to grab at that dog collar in the hopes he can break it off, slip out⌠do SOMETHING. Heâs also trying to find the apron. If he can end up sitting on it⌠or placing a foot there⌠hell, a hand. Anything to break the pressure. His eyes are bloodshot. His face is full of concern. Max has both hands on the chain and keeps pulling, pulling, PULLING.
Ashley Barlow races over. She leans over the ropes and waits for Nate Colton to tap or pass out. Neither of which have happened yet.
By now, Max Kaelâs happy-intense face starts to become sullen. Why hasnât the bell been called for yet? Why do Nate Coltonâs extremities keep flailing around?
Why isnât Nate Colton dead?
The Preppy Guy refuses to die out there, even though his face has gone beet red and now itâs finally beginning to reflect that purple colour of the jacket he wears. His arms are moving less and less. It looks like, yes, FINALLY, Nate Colton is dying.
Joy.
RRRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
Nick Stuart: I DONâT KNOW HOW HE DID IT!
Nate Colton SPRINGS to life and ends up swinging his body onto the apron. As blood IMMEDIATELY rushes back to his head he takes hold of the chain and throws Max Kael overboard. Max flies over the top rope, onto the apron and to the ground below.
Colton gathers the chain and leaps off the apron.
WHAP!
If we are keeping up with Richard Parkerâs earlier count, that would be whip number fourty-nine.
Well, here comes that fifty.
WHAP!!!!!!!!!!!
A whip so strong, blood literally splatters out and smacks into the apron camera lens as the chain lands across Maxâs back. Colton is so god damn blood thirsty by now, nobody can recognize the person they are seeing.
Colton snatches The Minister by the back of his head.
SLAM!
And THROWS Max into the steel steps.
Colton grabs the chain and starts slowly pulling Max back towards him. But Max doesnât want to go back. Max has the most cowardly look on his face. Fuck this shit, he didnât mean it. This was all fun and games. Nate was supposed to die. THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN. This is a nightmare. A nightmare with Cecilworth in it. A jizzpod. All that shit. LET THE MINISTER ESCAPE.
WHAM!
Colton takes hold on Max Kael and throws him into the ring post on the other side!
Nate AGAIN grabs the chain, slowly pulling Max towards him. Frothing at the mouth as he does. And, again, we see the cowardly look on Kaelâs face. Upon getting close to Nate, Max reaches into the back of his completely blood-stained white pants and looks for POCKET SAND.
POOF.
Nothing.
Because The Minister used all of it earlier.
The Minister Max Kael: Fuck.
That toothy oops I did it again look but Nate Colton is having none of it. He grabs Max by the back of his head and throws him into the steel steps again.
CRASH!
This time, Kael eats those steps knees-first and flips over top of the stairs, landing on the other side.
Colton slides into the ring. He takes hold of the chain and slowly but surely starts pulling Max Kael back into the ring. First, itâs getting Max to the apron and if Max doesnât want to hang like his brethren did five minutes ago, he better follow into the ring over the top ropes ASAP.
He definitely does.
Colton yanks the chain again, sending Max Kael right to him.
FOP!
They meet heads in the center of the squared circle, knocking each other back a couple of steps.
So both of them race forward again.
WHAM!
Each of them nail each other with a forearm smash at the same time. Wobbly, Colton and Kael try to gather themselves and race forward once moreâŚ
Kael ducks a clothesline as Colton hits off the far ropes. This time itâs Nate who ducks a running knee strike and hits the ropes on the far end. Kael avoids what looks to be a spear and sends Nate running into his 3rd set of rope bounces when-
DOUBLE CLOTHESLINES KNOCK BOTH OF THEM DOWN!
The crowd gives a serious round of applause as both men are DOA on the mat. Colton lies on his back, eyes open but with a blank stare into the sky, while Max Kael lies on his side, holding a crinkled looking face flooded with pain.
Colton arrives on a knee; The Minister does the same.
Colton is on a foot; The Minister basically mirrors him.
Colton finds a vertical base; The Minister is there, too.
However, Max Kael falls back down to a knee.
A sinister look crosses Nateâs face as he wraps both hands around the chain and slowly starts pulling a resistant Max towards him.
Breathing heavily, trying to see through the blood thatâs dripping down his forehead, Nate Colton methodically works Max Kael closer. One hand over the other, deliberate pace. Kael has a rather blank expression but his eyes do most of the talking as they dart around. Heâs trying to find something to intervene. An Ashley Barlow leg grab? Damn, sheâs too far. Digging his fingernails into the canvas? Shit, he bit them off two and a half days ago.
Thereâs nothing Max Kael can do but surrender to the notion he will soon be in Nate Coltonâs clutches.
And Nate Colton currently looks possessed. Gone is the âIâm against my will but Iâll try super hardâ guy he was when the bell rang. Naaa, this dude is straight fucking bloodthirsty. He was ridden around like a puppy on display and hung by his neck, nearly losing consciousness. Probably only a second or two away from losing the match, too.
Hand over hand, Nate is dragging Max Kael towards him.
And thenâŚ
Face-to-face. Nose-to-nose. They stand.
Nate throws his arms around Max.
Bearhug.
Wait. No.
Real hug.
Real hug?
Richard Parker: What the hell!?
Yes, real hug.
Nate Colton is hugging Max Kael in the center of the ring.
Richard Parker: ILLEGAL!
At first, Maxâs facial expression is like âWTF is happening?â which morphs into âokay, this doesnât hurtâ, which THEN morphs into âyou can stop anytime now.â
Maxâs eyes frantically look around. His mind can barely compute any of this pissdribble. But the bearrealhug hasnât been dropped.
Those facial expressions continue.
âThis is starting to become uncomfortable.â
âSerious, I have a scary demeanor to keep.â
âIâm the fucking Minister!â
âOkay, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. Please let me go!â
âPLEASE!â
âŚ
âŚ
âŚ
âPLEASE???â
Of course, Max isnât saying any of this. By now, he even tries for a low blow.
Blocked.
Rake to the eye?
Canât get his hands up.
Pocket sand?
Again, canât get his hands up.
Also already used it.
Fresh out of ideas The Minister continues standing there, Nate Coltonâs arms around him and the crowd ROARING with approval.
And thenâŚ
Nate just lets go.
He moves away from Max, the crowd only getting louder and louder with cheers as they witness The Minister isolated. Itâs like the dog lost its car. An identity completely stripped away. He looks to his left. He looks to his right. Thereâs this emptiness, followed by a frowny face. Honestly, how does a hug fuck a guy up more than, well, you know, everything aforementioned in this battle?
The power of friendship.
Nate Colton bursts forward.
WHAM!
COLTON WITH HIS OWN ROARING HELLBOW.
MAX KAEL IS DOA.
Nick Stuart: COLTON WITH THE COVER!
âŚAs the entire arena remains on their feet.
ONE!
TWO!
STRONG LAST SECOND KICKOUT!
Richard Parker: No way! The match isnât going down like that! Save that bullshit power of friendship for another promotion! A WEAK promotion!
Nick Stuart: DEFIANCE?
Richard Parker: Yes.
Colton swings back to his feet, dried blood all over his face as he screams into the sky and he looks to apply the Colton Clutch-
LOW BLOW.
Richard Parker: There we are, back to reality!
A very serious tone crosses Maxâs face. Itâs one mixed with confusion, sadness and hostility all at once. He kicks Colton down to the mat and proceeds to wrapping the chain around his arm in perfect links, exposing no skin whatsoever, just chain after chain, four times, across that right arm.
Cruelest Stroke incoming?
Certainly looks like it.
With Colton on the mat, Max readies himself as far back as possible.
Nateâs on one knee.
Nateâs on two knees.
Nateâs ripe for the taking.
Max races forward-
NO!
COLTON CLUTCH â24!
Nick Stuart: I THINK NATE BAITED HIM! The Cruelest Stroke misses and Nate Colton has the STF with cobra clutch grip on Max!
Richard Parker: Thereâs no chain being used here, since itâs still around Maxâs arm.
Nick Stuart: I donât think it matters!
Nate sinks the hold in as deep as possible, blood once again streaming down his head and also Maxâs. There is blood everywhere, even all over Ashley Barlowâs referee outfit.
The hold is textbook and Max has nowhere to go. Heâs trying to fight out of it at first.
But giving inâŚ
Giving inâŚ
And fading away.
Max Kael has passed out.
Ashley Barlow calls for the bell.
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: Here is your winner⌠NATE COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLTON!
A spent Nate Colton drops the hold and rolls onto his back as the crowd goes ballistic and his theme song begins.
Nick Stuart: Unreal. Nate survives being hung, walked around like a dog and then some.
Richard Parker: Max survives four-trillion chain lashings and a friendship hug that rattled him to his absolute core. Honestly, that might have been the most hardcore spot in this thing.
Nick Stuart: Enough.
Richard Parker: Did YOU see that coming?
Nick Stuart: Enough.
Honestly, Nateâs too spent to celebrate. EMTs have entered the ring and are checking on both men as Ashley Barlow unlocks Nateâs neck from the collar. She wonât go near Max, though. The EMTs can do that.
PRIME goes to a very timeful commercial break.
A bathroom.
A Sketti Bucket sat in a sink.
Itâs been a long time.
Too long.
That being said, you know what time it is when you hear this, right?
Fred Dick: WE DONâT HAAAAAAVE A JINGLE YET! BUT THIS IS MY FUGGINâ SHOOOOOOOW!!! ITâS A SPECIAL ULTRA VIOLENCE EDITION, AND THIS IS MY FUGGINâ SHOOOOOOW!!! ITâS BAFFROOM FIGHTS AND YA BETTER BE READY, ITâS MOTHAFUGGINâ FREDDY AND A BUCKET OF SKETTIIIIIIII⌠WHICH YOUâLL WIN IF YOU KICK MY ASS!!!
You might ask why Fred screamo-shouted the lyrics that time.
Itâs the Ultra Violence edition, baby.
Fred Dick: Itâs been a long-ace time since I stood in one of deez here Baffrooms, offerinâ an ace whompinâ contest to anybody who got the NARDS to fight me. But here I am, and Iâm a offerinâ â HA HA HA. Anyway, fuck me, where was I? Oh yeah! First muhfugga to walk through dat dere baffroom door got a chance to win a Sketti Bucket. Letâs see. Who my VICK-TEEIM⌠is gonna be.
The door creaks open slowly like some real horror movie shit.
Tight shot of the belly up snakeskin of the cowboy boots entering.
Slow pan up: black jeans, black shirt, long gray hair.
Oh shit.
Fred Dick: Well smack my ass and call my mama a dumb ace dead bench, dat thereâs Robby Willyum! You⌠you wanna fight on me? For some sketti? In a BAFFROOM?
A sly shrug from Rob.
Rob Williams: Calm down, man. Itâs all good. When else am I going to get the chance, yâknow? Câmon. Youâve thought about it, right?
Fred Dick: Every night since I metcha.
Rob Williams: I sure hope you got some panties on under that jersey cause Iâm about to lay you the fuck out.
Fred Dick: Newflash, acehoe. I always got my panties on. HIYAHHHHH!!!!
Fred throws himself into Rob with a maelstrom of karate chops.
Two fucking hits.
Rob hits Fred and Fred hits the dirt.
Rob Williams: Oh, shit.
The bathroom is silent. You can hear one of the toilets running and the cheers of the fans outside.
The King of Wrong Style lays completely motionless on the floor. Williams cannot tell if his compadre is breathing. He leans down and holds two fingers in front of Fredâs nose.
Nothing.
Did he just commit whoricide?
Rob Williams: Fred? Freeeeed? Come on little buddy.
The Legend stands up, putting one hand on his forehead and one on his hip for dramatic effect. If there happen to be cameras in here, he wants them to know he felt bad.
Rob Williams: I was just fucking around, man. I didnât mean to hurt you.
The body can make awful noises: bones snapping, cries of desperation⌠the death rattle.
Add the noxious fart that causes Fredâs enthonged ass to jiggle as it seeps out to that list.
Rob Williams: Oh, thank God. Oh Christ.
The relief that his buddy isnât dead cannot subdue the odor. Rob vomits into one of the unoccupied bathroom sinks.
Fred Dick: Heehee
Rob Williams: Goddamnit, Fred, you fucking ass clown. I thought you were dead. And what the fuck are you eating, man?
Fred Dick: Applesauce spamwiches. Look, god damn deekhead. You almost fugginâ knocked my ass out dead right thur. Felt my soul leave the daggum⌠squirshy parda my cranoleum. Anyway⌠I fugginâ quit. Put over that sketti bucket right there beside ya. Say somethinâ nice about it. Câmon, neow. Dats muh sponsor, neow.
The things we do for friends.
Rob eyes up the sketti bucket in the sink next to his own vomit. He ponders thoughtfully which heâd rather eat.
Probably the puke.
But he did just almost blow Fredâs head smoove off.
Rob Williams: Fuck it.
Eyes closed, Williams takes a deep breath and grabs a handful of the sketti. He jams it in his mouth and swallows (like your mom) without giving himself an out.
Rob Williams: MMMM-MMMM-Bitch!
Fred stands up and immediately begins two steppinâ all over that sweet baffroom tile as the scene fades.
BRYAN DAWKINS!!!
CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP
BRYAN DAWKINS!!!
CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP
BRYAN DAWKINS!!!
CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP
BRYAN DAWKINS!!!
CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP
Nick Stuart: LISTEN TO THIS CROWD, RICHARD!
BRYAN DAWKINS!!!
CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP
Richard Parker: IT IS DEAFENING IN HERE!!!
BRYAN DAWKINS!!!
CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP
Nick Stuart: FOLKS, HAWAII IS 4,900 MILES AWAY! BUT THE FANS HERE KNOW WHAT IS AT STAKE! THEY KNOW THAT THIS MIGHT BE DAWKINSâ LAST MATCH!
Richard Parker: AND THEY KNOW WHO ITâS AGAINST, NICK! THE RUSSIAN BEAR! IVAN STANISLAV!
Nick Stuart: CHANDLER TSONDA IS IN THE RING, WEARING THE STRIPES!!! AND IT IS TIME FOR OUR MAIN EVENT!!!
BRYAN DAWKINS!!!
CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP
BRYAN DAWKINS!!!
CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP
Finally,
The arenaâs lights fade to black.
The crowd fucking loses it.
Then?
The whole venue explodes in a pyrotechnic display of orange and teal fireworks. Some good old fashioned white ones are thrown in for good measure.
âWOO HOOâ
âSong 2â by Blur blasts through the PA, the homage to the glory days of the early 2000s serenading the crowd to sing along. Out steps Bryan Dawkins, clad in his signature white sunglasses with orange and teal lenses and flashing a little smirk to the PRIME faithful.
Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Making his way to the ring, from Hilo, Hawaii! He stands six feet tall! Weighing in at 232 pounds! THE FLYINâ HAWAIIANNNNNNMN!!! BRYYYYYYAN!!! DAWWWWWWWKINNNNNS!!!
He slowly makes his way down the ramp, offering a fist bump or high five to the occasional young fan along the way, before picking a young fan at ringside who gets to be the lucky recipient of an official pair of Bruhâs sunglasses. After blessing the kid with new shades and offering a fist bump, he slides into the ring and hops to the near turnbuckle to raise both fists to the air and follow it up with a flash of the Shaka.
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.
Richard Parker: Itâs just a matter of time now, Nick. As soon as the Russian Bear steps onto that ramp? Itâs a timer on Dawkinsâ career.
Nick Stuart: And just like Ivan, youâre counting him out before the bell even rings.
The noise inside Lincoln Financial Field has only begun to settle. Bryan is in the ring, the last echoes of his entrance hanging over the stadium. The crowd has given him everything. Cheers. Applause. Pineapples. One long, roaring reminder that tonight, for perhaps the final time, Philadelphia believes in him.
Chandler Tsonda stands nearby in his stripes. His eyes move from Dawkins to the entrance and back again. Heâs spent weeks trying to prevent this from happening. To warn his friend of the dangers of his decision. But regardless of the warnings and his status, be he friend, enemy, official? Chandler Tsonda knows what comes next.
The building breathes for just a moment. And then, the first notes of the Soviet National Anthem crash through the stadium, murdering the warmth where it stands.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Itâs not just a reaction. It is a unified rejection. The cheers for Dawkins are swallowed beneath a wave of hatred as red light floods the arena. The anthem booms over Lincoln Financial Field, huge and severe, drowning the last traces of celebration beneath brass, drum, and inevitability.
Ivan Stanislav steps into the light. Alone. Alexei has been missing for months. No Red Army behind him. No functionaries.
Just black shirt, red suspenders, dark pants, combat boots, and the PRIME Intense Championship over one massive shoulder.
Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, from Arkhangelsk, RussiaâŚ
The boos swell until Vince has to raise his voice over them.
Vince Howard: Standing seven feet, one inch tall and weighing in at four hundred poundsâŚ
Ivan marches down the ramp with the certainty of heavy machinery.
Vince Howard: He is the leader of The Red Army, a PRIME Hall of Famer, and the reigning PRIME Intense ChampionâŚ
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
Vince Howard: IVAAAAANâŚ
Ivanâs eyes donât leave the ring.
Vince Howard: STAAAANISLAAAAVVVVVV!!!!
Nick Stuart: Ivan has walked into hostile buildings almost his entire career, but this is different. This crowd is not simply booing him, Richard. They know what is at stake. Bryan Dawkinsâ career is on the line tonight!
Richard Parker: And that is because Bryan put it there. Everyone keeps talking about Ivan ending his career like Ivan snuck in and made it happen.
Nick Stuart: You canât ignore the absence either. Alexei Ruslan has been absent for months. At Culture Shock, anyone would have said it was misdirection. Even Bryan, in that match, was looking for Ruslan. What do you think? Is he here somewhere?
Richard Parker: I wouldnât put it beyond Ruslan to literally play a multi-month mind game.
Ivan reaches the lower stretch of the ramp, where the noise builds. Dawkins moves away from the near side of the ring, giving the entrance its space, but his eyes never leave Ivan. Chandler remains inside, hands loose at his sides.
At ringside, the Dawkins superfan leans far over the barricade, shouting toward Ivan with the confidence of a man unaware of what danger is. He shakes the Dawkinâs pineapple plushie towards The Russian Bear. Ivan notices him and slows for just a moment.
He just stares at the fan, who still wears the TAL replica mask.
Richard Parker: That poor guy is just about everything Ivan Stanislav hates combined into one poor soul. Just give him something about Tsonda and heâd be doomed.
Nick Stuart: Hey, you canât blame someone for loving some of the most stalwart champions of PRIME?
Richard Parker: I think Iâm going to be sick.
Ivan wipes his forehead and flicks the sweat at the fan, who recoils but thankfully is protected by the mask.
Richard Parker: That stupid mask. That guy would be lucky to taste Ivan Stanislavâs sweat!
Nick Stuart: Okay this is getting a little weird.
Stanislav smirks. Itâs the first expression heâs shown since entering.
Ivan steps around the ringside area with the Intense Championship. Before he moves around to encounter Dawkins, he steps up onto the apron and then steps over the top rope. Stanislav thuds to the center of the ring and lifts the Intense Championship from his shoulder. He raises it high with one hand, as if providing further evidence to the crowd that regardless of their opinions, heâs the champion.
The crowd gives him a strong response.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
Stanislav then turns his attention to Chandler Tsonda. He pantomimes â1, 2, 3â with his fingers and barks at Tsonda. Chandler is unfazed by Stanislav, keeping his expression cool, calm and collected.
Stanislav then points at Chandler, roaring. Then he points down at Dawkins and roars again. He turns toward the crowd and sweeps one massive finger across the stadium, challenging every soul in Lincoln Financial Field to do something about what is coming.
No translation needed.
Stanislav then walks to his corner and places the Intense Championship in the corner with surprising care.
Nick Stuart: We should note, folks, that this is a non-title match. But letâs be real, the stakes for this match cannot be higher. At least for Bryan Dawkins.
Richard Parker: Ivan beat Dawkins nearly to death at Culture Shock and took that title. Heâs just gonna do it again. I donât know why thereâs all this talk like itâs going to be any kind of real match.
Nick Stuart: Dawkins fought Ivan for the first time at Culture Shock, but I wouldnât be surprised if he has a few more tricks up his sleeve this time.
Regardless, the time for talking is over. One manâs storied career is on the line and as Dawkins slides into his corner, both men stare at one another as the bell rings. Chandler Tsonda stands between them.
DING!!! DING!!!
Chandler Tsondaâs eyes flash back and forth between Dawkins and Stanislav. His fingers twitch at his hips. Everything in his body says to attack.
But he canât.
Instead, heâs forced to withstand the mounting tension between the two men who stand in the ring as competitors. The entirety of the arena has swollen with loathe and itâs all because these two men stand in the center of it.
The fans are clamoring for something to happen. A raucous energy that feels close to a tipping point of some kind or other.
Ivan Stanislav, finally, steps forward.
Extends his hand.
A test of might offered to Bryan Dawkins.
There is no reason for Dawkins to agree to this. In every manner of speaking, he is at a disadvantage.
But for whatever reason, he steps forward. He laces his fingers with the massive paw of the Russian Bear.
And immediately, Dawkinsâ wrist is bent in a direction so unnatural that he immediately drops to a knee.
And then the Russian Bear plants his massive knee right into Dawkinsâ jaw.
Ivan Stanislav: DYAAH HA HA HA!!!
He turns to Tsonda.
Winks at him.
And then places his boot on Dawkinsâ face and smears it across it, as though wiping goop from the bottom of his shoe with the assistance of cement.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Tsonda sternly warns Ivan. Stanislav swivels, turns towards him, and marches forward. Tsonda stands his ground, unflinching. He casually points to the stripes on his shirt.
Ivan sneers, slowly turns around to find Dawkins, back up to one knee, getting his bearings. He lunges forward, and Dawkins sends an elbow into his gut! Another! Dawkins springs to his feet, bounces off the ropes!
A flying clothesline sends the bear teetering on his heels, waving his arms, barely maintaining his balance.
A younger Dawkins would hit the ropes again, go for another fast impact move, putting himself at unnecessary risk.
This Dawkins, more measured, more aware of his own bodyâs limitations, simply dropkicks the back of the Russian Bearâs knee!
The Russian Bear drops to a kneeâŚ
And an enziguiri drops Ivan like a bad habit to the mat.
The crowd erupts.
Nick Stuart: Oh my god this might be it. Cover him Dawkins!
Richard Parker: Youâve been biased all along! All along! And now you render it explicit, you fool!
Dawkins rolls Ivan onto his back!
He makes the cover!
Chandler Tsonda drops to the mat!
ONE!!!
Dawkins hooks the leg!
TWO!!!
TH â KICKOUT!!!
Dawkins looks a little side-eyed at Tsonda. Not an outright accusation necessarily, but, you know, âthatâs the speed youâll be counting all night?â Tsonda doesnât acknowledge it.
Dawkins stands to his feet. Ivan, slower, is only just reaching a knee, and Dawkins attempts another enziguiri.
But Ivan swats the leg away with an elbow, propels himself upward with every bit of force he has in one leg, and meets Dawkins up to his own feet.
Snatches Dawkins by his neck.
Lifts him high into the air.
Chokeslam.
Immediate tone shifter.
Ivan looks at Tsonda with a shit-eating grin on his face. Instead of going for the pin, he grabs a woozy Dawkins by the arm and yanks him up to his feet. Once again, he snatches Dawkins by his neck.
Once again, he lifts him high into the air.
And once again, he drives him down to the mat like a phone he is deliberately trying to smash.
Nick Stuart: Things are getting very, very dire for Dawkins now, Richard.
Richard Parker: Itâs nothing against the once flyinâ Hawaiian, Nick. Itâs just a matter of one simple fact. Ivan Stanislav is inevitable. He always has been. He always will be.
Ivan revels in the manic jeers from Philadelphiaâs finest as he once again yanks Dawkins up to his wobbly feet.
He smiles like a man in love with destroying things he hates as he snatches Dawkins by the throat.
It stays on his face while he lifts Dawkins in the air, but suddenly Bryanâs legs begin kicking furiously. Bryan flails hard enough to escape even Ivan Stanislavâs clutches. The Russian Bear immediately attempts to take the wobbly-legged Hawaiianâs head clean off with a lariat so forceful that many in the crowd whistle as Dawkins ducks and avoids that bad boy by⌠maybe an inch?
âŚmaybe?
But thatâs all he needs as he somersaults forward, creating enough distance from the lumbering Russian to use the ropes to pull himself up to his feet.
Ivan charges forward like a freight train. At this point, he feels as though it is simply a matter of him needing to finish squishing a bug. Maybe he even forgets, momentarily, that this is a man, a wily and cagey one. So when he tumbles over the top rope that Dawkins yanks down and spills to the floor outside the ring, he can really only blame himself as his knee collides weirdly and painfully with the floor.
He roars with pain and Tsonda actually leaves the ring to check if Ivan is actually injured, but the Russian Bear shoves the special guest referee away and begins to get back to his feet, using the apronâs assistance, but as his head raises above it, a baseball slide from Dawkins lands absolutely flush.
Blood squirts from Ivanâs nose as he flails backwards and the crowd loves it. Ivan, however, you know, not the biggest fan. He expresses his disapproval by pounding the floor several times with his fists. This is where Alexei, for all the use he is, would be most useful. But he is not here. And Tsonda is back in the ring, counting the Russian Bear out.
Ivan, back up to his feet, pounds the apron, before he smears the blood trickling from his nose with the back of his forearm, and makes his way up the steel steps.
Bryan tries to cut Ivan off at the pass, so to speak, meeting him at the ropes, but a hammerfist drops Dawkins and allows Ivan to get back into the ring.
A hatred flashing across his eyes as he stomps on Dawkinsâ chest. The Big Russian Bastard pulls Ivan up by the arms, wraps the Hawaiian around the small of his back, and squeezes as hard as he fucking can.
Bearhug.
Dawkins cries out in pain, and HEADBUTTS Ivan, but this only infuriates the Russian and causes him to roar, before throwing Dawkinsâ body around like a ragdoll while keeping him in that bearhug, until finally â
And frankly, surprisingly â
He throws Dawkins over his head with a release belly to belly suplex.
Dawkins soars and crashes into the turnbuckles, his back on the mat, his legs hung over the middle ropes on either side of the turnbuckle.
Ivan looks at Tsonda and wiggles his eyebrows.
He steps out of the ring.
He walks down the steps.
Tsonda begins counting him out.
Ivan laughs that patented laugh of his as he grabs Dawkins leg.
And SLAMS it into the ringpost.
Dawkins cries out in pain and clutches at his leg.
Tsonda stares Ivan down while Ivan cooly walks back up the steel steps, over the top rope and into the ring.
He warns Ivan not to do it again. Ivan wisely doesnât respond. He just places his foot on Dawkins back and places him in a standing surfboard.
Nick Stuart: Jesus. Heâs just decimating him.
Richard Parker: Like I said, inevitable.
Dawkinsâ flailing legs find the nearby ropes. Tsonda tells Ivan to break the hold and of course the Russian Bear completely ignores it, pulling Dawkinsâ arms even harder, actually. Tsonda counts all the way to 4.89 before Ivan lets him go.
And Tsonda immediately gets in Ivanâs face, telling him to cut the shit.
Spit flies back and forth from the teeth of both Tsonda and Ivan, and the crowd really begins to come alive, especially when Ivan POKES Tsonda in the chest, and Tsondaâs expression flashes in this very violent way, but then they damn near explode as Dawkins gets back up to his feet.
HE WRAPS IVAN AROUND THE WAIST!!!
Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD!!! A BELLY TO BACK SUPLEX FROM DAWKINS!! ALL FOUR HUNDRED POUNDS OF THE RUSSIAN BEAR JUST CRASHED INTO THE FUCKING TURNBUCKLES, AND HE DAMN NEAR JUST DESTROYED THE ENTIRE RING!!!
Richard Parker: Yep, that was scary, actually. The integrity of the entire structure was just tested and, luckily, it held up.
Nick Stuart: Indeed.
He immediately drags Ivan by the arm towards the center of the ring, where not only was he easier to pin, but frankly, his dead weight was safer.
An armbar from Dawkins and the crowd explodes just as Ivan roars out in pain! Tsonda watches Ivan for a tap, while Ivan writhes and fights and tries to do anything to reach the ropes. Unable to stretch or pull away from the middle, he leans TOWARDS Dawkins and CLOBBERS him in the midsection, over and over and over until Dawkins is forced to let go of the hold!
Ivan clutches at his shoulder as Dawkins gets back to his feet.
Out of breath, gasping at the air, hands on his hips. He looks over at the turnbuckles, and then at the floor. The crowd roars as they sense what he is thinking in there. Bryan Dawkins is in deep, deep water at this point in time. Itâs sink or swim, and heâs from Hawaii, so he was never going to not pull out all the stops here, in this match, against this guy, with this much on the line.
He stands on the top turnbuckle. He looks down at Ivan, still clutching at his arm.
Dawkins just shakes his head and jumps.
Frog splash.
Nick Stuart: HE NAILED IT!!! HE NAILED IT!!!
Bryan hooks the leg!
ONE!!!
TWO!!!
THREEEEEEEEE!!!
âŚIvan got the shoulder up.
A collective groan fills the arena and Dawkins frustratedly rises to his knees. What is he going to have to do? What is he going to have to sacrifice to get this win tonight?
His career?
He shakes his head angrily and rises to his feet. He moves to the corner, damn near vibrating, just waiting for Ivan to rise up and make himself prone to something â anything. Something violent enough to make him lay flat on his fat back for three seconds.
Ivan makes it to one knee.
This is it. Now or never.
Dawkins launches himself forward. Charging like a bat out of hell.
BROGUE KICK!!!
PROOF!
AND HE TAKES CHANDLER TSONDAâS HEAD OFF WITH IT!!!
âŚWHAT!?!?!
Nick Stuart: THAT BASTARD IVAN STANISLAV JUST PULLED TSONDA IN THE WAY!!!
BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Ivanâs laughter booms through the ringside area almost as much as the collective jeers of the crowd. Ivan rises to his feet while Dawkins checks on Tsonda.
Dawkins turns just in time for his face to meet the Russian Bearâs massive paw.
Stalinâs Sickle.
Facepalm chokeslam.
Tsonda is down. Dawkins is down.
And Ivan is on his feet.
Heâs walking out of the ring.
Heâs throwing a timekeeper out of their seat.
Heâs folding their chair and taking it back with him to the ring.
As he walks up the steps, and into the ring, the crowd begins to react with a kind of wild gasp, which surprises Ivan, but not enough to make him turn around.
Which is a real shame, because if he had, heâd see that fan in the TAL replica mask has jumped the barricade and slid into the ring.
He wouldnât have the chair bent so far back over his head, that the masked fan could pull the chair away from him with leverage alone.
He wouldnât turn around with a confused look on his face, and eat a chairshot that makes everybody in Philadelphia lose their minds.
The masked fan throws the chair over the top rope and out of the ring.
He takes the mask, and throws it into the crowd.
Nick Stuart: YES!!!
Richard Parker: DAWKINS SHOULD BE DISQUALIFIED!!!
TY-LER RAYNE!Â
TY-LER RAINE!
TY-LER RAINE!
Tyler Rayne stays in the ring just long enough for Dawkins, coming to, to see him. He acknowledges him with a nod, and a grin, and jumps out of the ring.
Ivan, a face that was once trickling blood, now covered in a fair amount of it, starts to reach his feet just as Dawkins starts to reach his.
Tsonda is coming to as well!
Everyone in Philadelphia can see it coming to a head.
A swift right from Dawkins to Stanislav!
A lumbering right from Stanislav to Dawkins!
Dawkins! Stanislav! Dawkins! Stanislav! Stanislav! Stanislav! Dawkins tumbles backwards, bounces off the ropes, avoids a lariat, bounces off the other side andâ
No.
No, no, no.
âŚfuck.
The Iron Curtain.
Fuck.
The bloody mess that is the Russian Bear makes the cover.
Tsonda regrettably slides into position.
ONE!!!
He hooks the leg.
TWO!!!
No. Just⌠no.
THREE!!!
Damnit.
Damnit.
Itâs over.
His career is over.
DING!!! DING!!!
It was one hell of a career.
Ivan Stanislav gives a celebratory laugh as he launches to his feet. He wipes blood away from his face with his palm and smears it on his chest.
Then he lariats Chandler Tsonda and laughs even harder.
Nick Stuart: NO!!! NO, LET THEM HAVE THEIR MOMENT!!!
But of course he wouldnât.
Tyler Rayne jumps back into the ring.
And he runs right into a chokeslam.
People are starting to throw trash at the ring, but then Ivan turns around and, maybe itâs the blood on his face blinding his eyes or maybe heâs blind for other reasons, but he gets his head taken off as he staggers forward, by the Brogue kick from Dawkins.
YEEEEEEEAAAAAHHHH!!!!
Dawkins stomps Ivan Stanislav until the Russian, like a squirrel rather than a bear, scrambles out of the ring on his belly, his head getting caught for a moment by the bottom rope, and Dawkins hits a basement dropkick that may or may not have broke his face clean off. But it certainly sent him hurdling backwards, clean out of the ring.
Dawkins helps Tsonda to his feet.
Then Tyler Rayne.
The three amigos.
One last time.
For real.
Not even kidding.
One last time.
Philly cheers as the three of them hold each otherâs arms in the air. Just because. One last time dude. You get it or you dont.
Fade.
To.
Black.
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