TROPICAL TURMOIL 2023 NIGHT ONE

We Goin’ Out Tonight.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Uh, uh, uh, uh

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

A slow groove fills the air and two well known groups of people in board shorts and swimwear stand on opposite sides on La Jolla beach. The sun hangs in the air between both parties in a blue sky and waves roll in as tension cuts the air while “Weekend” by Mac Miller plays.

As the trumpets play smoothly, two members of the parties step forward. On one side, Brandon Youngblood, on the other Tyler Adrian Best. Two sides of very different coins. TAB flashes a “hang loose” hand sign followed by a middle finger and Youngblood scowls in the way only he can.

Yo, now

I got a little bit of money fillin’ my pockets

Roll around like I run this shit

The scene shifts to C. Montgomery Byrnes with the Alias title over his shoulder sitting in a dark room with a single light. He looks up with a “the fuck you want?” glare and grips his belt a little closer. As the camera pans back, something scurries across the ground and he stomps down, leaving the carcass and guts of a cockroach behind.

I got a system filled up with toxins

I’ve been broken-hearted, now it’s fuck that bitch

Abe Lipschitz turns to the camera with a fresh cup of Sanka and a sparkle in his eye in front of a giant aquarium. As he tugs on the bottom of his too-tight Rainbow Brite colored top, he pulls a phone out and begins texting a string of nonsense to Jabber while Shamu jumps in the air behind him.

Getting high to deal with my problems

Fuckin’ bitches, gettin’ drunk as shit

Digital soldiers run through a hellscape laying down cover fire and moving forward tactically. The shot pans out to Eddie Cross feverishly running through a level with his keyboard and mouse. He finds his enemy and strafes around a corner to get the kill.

But these bitches getting obnoxious

They nothin’ to me though, I love this shit

Tony walks flanked by GAS, and as he does they push people out of the way to allow him to stroll through a mass of tourists. Finally he turns to the mob and bows low, he then holds out his hand and says “Adore me.”

Go long days, longer nights

Talk too much, the wrong advice

All the lights and call my life

Incense smoke fills the air and Sage Pontiff sits on the grass at the head of the botanical gardens of Balboa Park. Before him a slight ripple runs across the surface of a beautiful pond and the camera pans in on him as he opens his eyes with mysterious menace.

Doctor, doctor, will you help me?

Get me healthy

Keep it low, this where hell be

The Ol’ Dopesmoker, Rezin, opens the trunk of a 66 Plymouth Fury from the inside and crawls out. He shakes his head and looks around, wondering where, when, and why he is. Finally he turns and sees the lights of PetCo Park and starts to amble toward his goal.

Ain’t shit you can tell me now

Fuck this rap shit, bitch, I’m sellin’ out

Ooh shit, with my new bitch you jealous now

Smokin’ weed at the crib watching Belly now

The sun sets on Adam Ellis and Ginny Van Lear sitting on an outcrop at Mission Beach together. As the waves roll past them, a seagull flies too close and Ginny instinctively reaches for her sidearm as Adam holds up a hand and shakes a finger.

All the pain that they causin’

Like, fuck it, we ballin’

Now everythin’ straight

DJ Tristy Crispy Spins a turntable and lights flash behind him. Suddenly, the scene turns black and a light focuses on his face as the deep misguided eyes of Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy darken.

You feelin’ the feelin’

I’m chillin’, just livin’

I’m burnin’ away

PRIME’s history flashes with scenes of epic confrontations that explode into a million starlights and a ring of fire. Out of the middle steps Nova. He takes a drag off a cigarette, drops it to the ground and stomps it out before walking forward with purpose.

Conversations we having

I’m getting too static

Too much on my plate

Lord, I need me a break

A blinding white light envelops the screen and from the center steps a glorious glittering figure. The Son of God himself holds his arms out in a crucifix and basks in the angelic glow while a halo of gold expands from behind his body.

But I’ll be good by the weekend

I’ll be good by the weekend

Everything good by the weekend

Everything will be good by the weekend

(By the weekend)

Vince Howard: Aaaaaaaand now, it’s time for the maaaaaaain event of night one!

We goin’ out tonight

Yeah, we goin’ out tonight, fuck it

A hand turns over a bottle of glue and starts pouring it on the ground. As it builds up from the ground, it slowly takes the shape of Cecilworth Farthington. When the figure is fully formed, he looks at the camera and says one word: no.

We goin’ out tonight

Yeah, we goin’ out tonight (It’s a weekend)

Coral Avalon walks around a circular table filled with ghosts of his past, Sid Phillips, Joe Fontaine, etc. Each chair appears the same except one, which is adorned with a golden cup and the words “Siege Perilous.” Coral slides it out and sits down, then motions as if he is putting a crown on.

We goin’ out tonight

Yeah, we goin’ out tonight (It’s the weekend)

Hayes Hanlon steps into the frame and pushes open a double door to a strip club. As he does the lights from inside bathe the screen and he disappears inside a bath of radiance and smoke.

I been having trouble sleepin’

Battlin’ these demons

A forklift rounds a corner in a warehouse and as it screeches to a stop, Jared Sykes jumps off the controls and onto the pallet held by the forks. Justine pushes a lever and as she does, the pallet raises toward the heavens.

Wonderin’ what’s the thing that keeps me breathin’

Is it money, fame or neither?

A large work boot stomps into mud in the ground and the camera pans upward, revealing Paxton Ray with several people standing between himself and Nora. He reveals a sinister smile and then cracks his knuckles before lashing out at the first person in his way.

I been thinkin’ about the places that I frequent

All the people that I see

Shadows of a father, brothers and sister, and mother flicker around Nate Colton as he sits on the edge of a bed. He stands up and looks at the images before symbolically brushing off his shoulders as the shadows fade.

I’m just out here livin’ decent

What do it mean to be a G?

Red light explodes and a T-34 Tank rolls down Mission Beach boardwalk. Ivan and Alexei ride on the tank and glare at the gobstruck Americans as they stare jaws agape at the Communists.

Yeah

And all the time, we fall behind

Bitches in the concubine

I call her mine, crazy

The camera focuses on the memorial of the USS Midway Aircraft Carrier. As the colossal ship fills the screen, Cancer Jiles walks into frame and sneers as he pops his t-shades down to look at the ship.

She ain’t’ god as I

I make water wine

Pause in time

It’s common, they often hate me

A drone buzzes into the picture and flies through Old Town State Historic Park. It whizzes past several shops until it comes to a stop on the ground near a pair of very large feet. The camera pans up and finds Arthur Pleasant scowling.

Never will I walk in line

I cross the T’s and dot the I’s

Wonderin’, well

The Anglo Luchador turns away from Old Point Loma Lighthouse and closes his eyes preparing for the fight to come. He reaches to his waist and brandishes a rapier before storming toward the camera.

Wonderin’ how I got this high

Fell asleep and forgot to die, goddamn

The camera turns to a runway and pans back to “The Model Citizen” Chandler Tsonda looking ageless in a well appointed suit and tie. He turns toward his good side and a million flashbulbs pop.

I’m poppin’ them downers

And drinkin’ them powders, faded

Down the line of a buffet, Bobby Dean stands impatiently. His white robe billows and he grabs a plate in each hand as he instructs the line server to load him up twice. With extra mashed potatoes. Because life is always better with mashed potatoes.

Get it over the counter

I’m stuck on the browsers

Like, how did I make it?

A mighty SKREEEEE pierces the air as The FDP soars into view. He leaps on a dune and spreads his wings wide. Suddenly a motorized scooter enters the frame and rolls up to him. Rocky leaps off the dune and kneels down to kiss the grandmother’s hand.

These bitches don’t know me

This shit is so lonely until she get naked

A tiger strolls confidently through its enclosure at the San Diego Zoo. The camera pans back and Jonathan-Cristopher Hall and Vickie hold hands watching the majestic feline rule the land below.

Don’t even know what today is

But I’ll be good by the weekend

I’ll be good by the weekend

Everything good by the weekend

Everything will be good by the weekend

(By the weekend)

Are you ready? 

Mondays, I think of you

But I ain’t trippin’ on it

The PRIMEporium enters the view and Anna Daniels opens a box. The Muse reaches in and pulls out the Intense title before placing it around her waist and motioning for anyone who wants to risk their head to come.

Tuesdays, I’m hittin’

Gotta get my hands up on ya’

Flamberge sits on a stool tapping his feet in anticipation while his hands are being taped up to fight. His face is stone but beneath there is a tumultuous mix of emotions as he prepares to do battle.

Wednesdays, I’m lit wit’ you

You know you’re staying over

Tyler. Adrian. Mother. Fucking. Best. He’s risen faster than anyone thought he could, even with his pedigree… Can he do it one more time? A grim monolith stands between him and immortality as a PRIME Universal Champion. On one shoulder Lindsay Troy, on the other Lee Best. His head rises and his eyes flash devilishly.

Thursdays, I’m sick of you

I got to get rid of you

Brandon Youngblood. The Diamond. The Alpha and Omega of the current iteration of PRIME. He has risen time and again to challenges. Broken noses, broken dreams, broken alliances. He’s seen it. He’s walked and been it. He has to literally hold off the progress of time and turn away the youth movement in PRIME for one more day.

‘Cause Fridays are always the start of the time of my life

Alright

Back to La Jolla, from each side of the beach behind TAB and Youngblood, TAL and Arthur Pleasant charge at one another with a thunderous clash. Jared Sykes and Ivan rush into the fray followed by Eddie Cross and Tony Gamble. Adam Ellis, Nova, and Coral Avalon meet Sage Pontiff, C. Montgomery Byrnes, and Tristin-Crispin Gladhappy.

Rocky De Leon leaps through the air and planchas Nova while he grapples Hoyt Williams. Jonathan-Christopher Hall pulls the FDP from the pile as Cecilworth Farthington finds Coral Avalon in the fray. Rezin kicks sand in the face of Sage and they brawl while Abe Lipschitz shows up and tosses his Sanka at Byrnes.

Nate Colton, Hayes Hanlon, and Chandler Tsonda crash into a group of Paxton Ray, Cancer Jiles, and Bobby Dean. As they battle back and forth on the beach, Anna Daniels and Flamberge trade blows with each more furious than the last.

Finally, after all the combatants have entered the fray, Youngblood roars and charges to meet TAB in the middle of the fray as the camera pans up to a beautiful sunset.

When I get faded you hate it

But, baby, it’s gon’ be alright

Haha, alright

PRIME PRESENTS: TROPICAL TURMOIL

From the hype video, we pan around PetCo Stadium for everyone’s favorite part of the evening…

SIGN TIME

SEND MY BEAUREGARDS TO SAN DIEGO
LOOK IT’S SHAMU… WAIT THAT’S JUST BOBBY DEAN
FATHER MY CHILD OUT OF WEDLOCK TAB
I THINK BY NOW IF YOU STILL CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S NOT BUTTER YOU’RE JUST BEING WILLFULLY IGNORANT
I AM CHANDLER TSONDA
I AM TSONDACUS
I’M CHANDLER TSONDA AND SO IS MY WIFE
IM HERE TO GET STUFFED BY BOBBY DEAN
BRIAN INSERT SHOULD HAVE SUED
AH TONY GAMBLE, GERMAN FOR A WHALE’S VAGINA

Nick Stuart: We’re opening things off with the Alias Championship, where Abe Lipschitz earned a title shot for eliminating Mortgomery at the Rumble match.

Richard Parker: God I hate this kid.

Nick Stuart: Fans, I’m being told that our next entrance is being sponsored by Ferguson Schmerguson’s… ummm…

Richard Parker: Just say it, Nick.

Nick sighs.

Nick Stuart: Ferguson Schmerguson’s Glory Hole and Carpentry Service. For all your low-budget needs, call Schmerguson’s. Schmerguson’s: let us drill ’em so you can fill… Alright, I’m not reading the rest of this.

Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo

Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo

Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo

That would be the beginning of “I Love Your Smile” by Shanice Wilson.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring and hailing from Virginia Beach and weighing in at two-hundred and ten pounds…

The fans turn their attention to the entrance, but none of them are prepared for what they’re about to witness. The first thing they see is the oversized face of Lindsay Troy, though some people might debate this because it looks as though whoever sculpted it wasn’t entirely sure of what her skin tone should be. The giant head is attached to a giant body, the whole thing posed as it she’s laying down on her stomach with her head raised and her feet crossed at the ankles.

It’s important to note that she’s very tastefully dressed. We’re not weirdos here, you know.

Richard Parker: I think someone’s going to die for this, Nick.

Also Abe Lipschitz is riding to the ring in her butt crack.

Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo

Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo

Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo

His Troy-themed vehicle is flanked on either side by an honor guard of attractive 50-somethings, all dressed like sexy owls.

Richard Parker: Oh yeah. There is definitely a murder in someone’s future.

Abe’s got a special shirt for the occasion. It’s a custom job that reads, “Yeah I’m into BBW! Bringing Bobby Waffles.”

Vince Howard: He is ABE… THE BABE… LIPSCHIIIIIIIIIITZ!!

The Troy butt chariot arrives at ringside, where two of the owl maidens help Abe dismount before he slides into the ring.

Nick Stuart: There are no words.

Richard Parker: I disagree, partner. I have several in my mind right now.

The opening riffs of “You’re Nobody Til Somebody Loves You” by Dean Martin begins and the masked man emerges from the curtain as the lights dim and the spotlights shine on the ramp. C. Montgomery Byrnes begins making his way down the ramp, looking at his opponent oddly.

Nick Stuart: The champion looks very confused by what he just saw.

Richard Parker: Join the club!

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring from Horace, North Dakota, weighing in at 248 pounds…he is the Alias Champion…C! MOOOORTGOOOMERRYYYYY BYYYYRNES!

As he walks by, he pays no attention to the fans, he’s there to a job and his gait shows it. He slides into the ring under the bottom rope, step up to the middle turnbuckle and raise his hands in the air as the spotlight shines upon him. He hops off the turnbuckle and readies himself for the match as the music fades. He and Abe look at each other, and once again Mort gives him a very confused look.

DING DING

C. Mortgomery Byrnes runs in for a clothesline, but Abe immediately flops down on his back, then kip-ups, causing the fans to cheer. Byrnes turns around and goes for another clothesline with the same result. The fans cheer and clap as Byrnes gets frustrated.

Nick Stuart: Abe Lipschitz is showing off impressive athleticism to start this match!

Byrnes runs in for one more clothesline, and Abe flops down once more, but Byrnes hasn’t won this title by being stupid. He waits for Abe to flop, then stops and delivers an elbow drop across the neck. He then pops up and mocks the cheering of the crowd, shouting and clapping. This causes the crowd to boo and heckle the Dickweed Bastard Gremlin.

Richard Parker: You know, this is satisfying.

Nick Stuart: What is, Abe getting an elbow across the throat?

Richard Parker: That, and also having two wrestlers that I can gleefully and enthusiastically root for and against. No conflicted feelings, no hating the same people the fans hate – I can just look at Abe’s dumb face and feel safe and sound wanting C. Mortgomery to pound the crap out of him!

Well, just about a minute into this match, Richard is getting his wish. After the elbow drop and taunt, Mort lifts Abe up and then drops him in a backbreaker, then slaps on a sleeper hold. Abe swings his arms wildly, looking for escape, but Mort continues to tighten the hold. After a few moments, Abe gets his feet under him and slowly stands.

Nick Stuart: Quick start for Byrnes here, Abe is struggling under the weight and strength of the Alias Champion.

Richard Parker: The dumb kid is going to realize that title matches are more intense than your usual match. This celeb wannabe thinks he can just sleepwalk into stardom, but now he’s just being put to sleep!

Abe is back to his feet and sees the turnbuckle. He slowly inches towards it, then when he gets close enough puts his legs on the turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: What’s he doing here?

It’s a smart idea actually. Abe is using his last bit of strength to kick off of the turnbuckle, then flip over and break free of the hold, perhaps also using his momentum to slam Mortgomery down as well.

There is one small problem, though. Mort doesn’t let go of Abe’s head.

WHAMMM!!!

Nick Stuart: My God! That was brutal! Abe essentially just launched himself into a headlock suplex! Mort covers!

ONE!

TWO!

Abe kicks out and rolls over, muttering “Well that was dumb” to himself. Mortgomery stands up slowly and grabs Abe’s head, sending him into the ropes. Abe ducks under a clothesline and runs to the other side, then leaps at Mort but is caught.

Nick Stuart: Well the early story here is that Abe is quick and springy, but Mortgomery’s size is proving to be too much for him.

Mort holds Abe for a minute, jeering at the fans ringside. This momentary lapse gives Abe the Babe a bit of room to do something. And what he starts to do is…wiggle.

Now, this is a common thing in wrestling: the smaller man is in the bigger man’s arms, and so he struggles and is able to escape the hold and put on some type of fun, flippy maneuver to make the crowd cheer. But this isn’t any type of wiggling we’ve seen before.

Richard Parker: Is that weirdo grinding on Mortgomery’s shoulder?

Yes, Richard, he is. The action causes Mort to double take, then start to move his arms around wildly. This is all part of Abe’s plan, as he now uses Mort’s movements to flip up and grab Mort’s arm, landing in a bulldog.

Richard Parker: Mort needs to file a police report!

Nick Stuart: Well it’s unconventional, but it got Abe his first offense of the match!

Richard Parker: That was sexual assault! Does no one care?

The crowd doesn’t. They’re cheering like mad as Abe stands up, his arms up in the air, celebrating like he already won the title. After soaking in the reaction for a few moments, he turns around to find a fully recovered C. Mortgomery Byrnes seething in anger behind him.

Abe Lipschitz: Uh oh.

Mort has been trying to level Abe with clothesline all match long. He ducked under several to start, then one on the Irish whip. And if you know anything about the Stan Hansen Clothesline Principle, you know that every time you miss a clothesline, you build up power for when you finally connect with a clothesline. So when Mort finally connects with this clothesline, it’s enough to cause Abe to flip once in the air before landing on his back.

Nick Stuart: Wow! What power from Byrnes!

Mort jumps on Abe for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: Another kickout from Abe, but he’s really feeling the effects from that clothesline. You have to wonder how much longer he can hold up from this power assault by Byrnes.

Richard Parker: And if he can’t, he will be just like the others who have tried and failed against Mort. The Alias Title stipulation is one and done! If you can’t beat him, you’re never getting a crack at this title again!

Nick Stuart: He’s been a successful champion so far, taking down all of his opponents, which is admirable for a man who started off without a win in his first few matches. But now he’s a champion, and he’s fully in control of this match.

Mort is clearly still angry about the shoulder hump thing. He lifts Abe up and guides him to the corner, then traps him there and slaps him in the chest. Abe coils against the turnbuckle, and Mort unleashes another slap. Then, Mort lifts him up to a seated position on the turnbuckle.

Richard Parker: He’s trying to end it all!

Mort climbs to the top, then grabs Abe by his tights. He tries to lift him over, but Abe uses his feet to hook the turnbuckle, preventing him from being lifted. Mort tries a second, then a third time, but Abe sends two punches to his side, then pushes Mort so that he falls onto his back.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Nick Stuart: The risk didn’t pay off! And now Abe is about to try a risk of his own!

WHAMMM!!!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

Richard Parker: That one did!

Nick Stuart: Diving knee drop on Mort! And Abe goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

TH…

Nick Stuart: So close, but Mortgomery kicked out right before the three count!

Abe leaps to his feet, feeling the momentum that he just wrested control from Mort. He watches Mort try to get to his feet, then takes Mort’s arm and sticks in between Mort’s legs. He poses for just a moment, smiling, before lifting Mort up and slamming him onto the canvas.

Nick Stuart: Vanderpumphandle slam!

Richard Parker: So just a pump handle slam, then?

Nick Stuart: Abe with the cover again!

ONE!

TWO!

Mort kicks out again. Abe, despite his happiness for most of this match, looks at Jimmy Turnbull as if he ran over his dog.

Abe Lipschitz: TWO?

Jimmy confirms, holding two fingers up. Abe persist.

Abe Lipschitz: Have you even WATCHED the show?

Jimmy barks back, saying of course he has seen the show, but that doesn’t change the fact that Mort got his shoulder up before three. Abe finally relents, getting to his feet. The distraction gives C. Mortgomery Byrnes an opportunity to sweep Abe’s legs out from under him. Abe gets up, but Mort gets him over in a quick suplex, then immediately slaps on a headlock.

Nick Stuart: Here we are again, with Abe Lipschitz trapped in a C. Mortgomery Byrnes headlock. Abe has shown some life, but Byrnes is showing why he’s the champion here.

Richard Parker: Yeah, the kid is springy, I’ll give him that. But the best way to get someone like that to stop is to choke them out.

Abe is still struggling. Jimmy Turnbull gets down on his knees, asking if Abe quits. He says no, but his arms are starting to droop and his eyes are starting to close. The fans start cheering, and after a few moments it seems to energize The Scenery Boy. He opens his eyes, then starts shaking his arms and moving. He generates enough momentum to stand up, then leans against the corner. He uses his momentum to toss Mort to the other corner. As he rushes behind him, Mortgomery hits him with an elbow, then Irish whips him back to the original corner. Mort charges him…

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Nick Stuart: Abe moves!

Without wasting any time, Abe runs to the corner and then runs back at Mort, crushing him in the corner with an avalanche splash.

Nick Stuart: I think it’s time for an Abe-alanche!

Richard Parker: God I hate this kid.

Abe charges and hits a splash, and then goes back for another. The fans start to buzz as he runs to the corner for one more splash, but before he gets there Mort stands up, ducks under Abe, grabbing his arm and trapping him in a neckbreaker in one fluid motion.

Nick Stuart: Bust Out!

Richard Parker: That was gorgeous!

Nick Stuart: It certainly was, Richard, and now Mortgomery is trying to end this!

Mortgomery grabs the prone Abe and lifts him to his feet, then tucks in his arms.

Nick Stuart: He’s going for the Double Arm DDT!

Richard Parker: Hahahaha – no!

Richard’s laughter is interrupted because he sees Abe suddenly gain new life, lifting his arms up and twisting his body to escape. As Mortgomery turns to see what happened, Abe grabs him and turns him over, then jumps to a seated position, leaving the Alias Champion to slam his head against the mat.

Nick Stuart: Abe escaped! Hot Cross Stuns! Hot Cross Stuns!

Richard Parker: No! No!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: He did it! We have a new Alias Champion!

Richard Parker: Where is Tony Gamble! Where are the brass knuckles? WHERE IS THE JUSTICE?!

Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER, AND NEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW ALIAS CHAMPION…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAABE LIIIIIIIPSCHIIIIIIIIIITZ!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

We then cut backstage to someone almost as ridiculous as Abe Lipschitz.

Almost.

Wherever PRIME’s camera has taken us, the only thing that can be seen apart from some fog (Dusk, is that you?) is the darkness of a corridor. Beyond what little light there is, one can only see a vague silhouette.

Voice: Cecilworth Farthington.

Fans in PetCo Park recognize the voice, and recognize him more as he steps forward. While the shadows of the lightning still cast him in darkness, the face of the 5-Star Champion is unmistakable. It’s the forehead. I know. Shocking.

The Crownless King, wearing his entrance cloak, stands there stoically.

Coral Avalon: I remember what you said to me after I got by Sage Pontiff. You were glad it was me. Couldn’t have been more excited as you gave me all of the reasons why you preferred to face me over Pontiff tonight. I remember that jaunty tone in your voice as you lured me into your trap, keeping my attention on you so I could be stabbed in the back by the man I wanted to be my successor. For you, it was a plan that came together flawlessly.

He takes a step closer. Half of his face is shrouded in shadow from the lightning.

Coral Avalon: And yet, I can’t help but think of a story. You might know this one, too, since it comes from a fellow countryman. The parable of the monkey’s paw. A father, believing he has nearly everything he wants in his life, wishes for two hundred pounds of silver upon the paw. His son dies the next day in an industrial accident, and as a way to make good to the family, the company gifts them… two hundred pounds. There’s a meaning to the story. It’s very obvious.

He smiles darkly. The other side of his face can’t be seen, but there’s something off about it. Something different.

Coral Avalon: “You should be careful of what you wish for.”

He pauses for effect, before he continues.

Coral Avalon: You wanted me here on the biggest stage possible. Why? To see me wilt under the pressure? To cast such a big light on a small-time nobody like me that I wouldn’t know how to handle it? To take a prize from me?

He laughs, a brief chortle that seems as dismissive as Cecilworth’s own attitude towards Avalon.

Coral Avalon: Do you think I’m new to this, Cecilworth? Do you think that twenty years away from a pay-per-view main event has dulled me? Did you forget that the last time I had a one-on-one match on a PRIME pay-per-view, I sent my opponent running in fear from ever competing in a PRIME ring again? Do I seem that soft to you?

Avalon shows teeth when he smiles, turning to his left and looking up at the ceiling.

Coral Avalon: Because I’m not. Because I’m here for war.

The right side of his face is finally shown clearly. There’s war paint. Red, covering half of Coral Avalon’s face in intricate design, as though blood is dripping from that side of his face.

Coral Avalon: Tonight, you’ve chosen a ruin of your own making. You’ve chosen to make this personal with me. You’ve chosen war with the Crownless King. You’ve chosen a future where, no matter what happens in that ring tonight, you will pay your debt to the Kingdom. You’ve chosen hell. These are all choices you and your Glueminati have all made.

Coral takes a step backwards, back into the darkness.

Coral Avalon: So, congratulations. You got your wish. And the monkey’s paw curls.

Then he turns, and disappears into darkness and smoke machines.

Coral Avalon: Thy kingdom come.

And Tropical Turmoil moves on.

We cut to another area of the backstage area and see hands clasped together.

Knuckles white.

The forehead of the Permascar Sortastar rests against his hands, his eyes closed in what seems to be deep concentration.

Perhaps – dare we say – in deep prayer.

“Hey boss, you almost done in there?”

Oh, it’s that type of focus.

Tights pulled down to his knees, the cartoon grinning G in the perfect spot to keep things for the imagination.

Tony Gamble: Yeah, be right out.

Frank Pastore walks away from the stall door, and out into the locker room where Domingo Cruz is sitting on one of the benches.

We obviously weren’t going to stay in the stall while Tony wiped.

Domingo Cruz: He knows he has to be in the ring in like five minutes, right?

Frank Pastore: He knows.

Domingo Cruz: Still pissed Cross snitched us out to Troy.

Frank shrugs his shoulders.

Frank Pastore: If he thinks that gives him some sort of advantage, he ain’t been paying attention.

Domingo Cruz: It’s a bitch move, if you ask me.

A flush is heard.

Frank Pastore: Would you expect anything less? Eddie’s been acting like a little bitch for a while now. Making friends with Anna and Kohime, trying to be all buddy buddy with everybody on Jabber.

Domingo Cruz: Glad he didn’t take the boss up on his offer, last thing we need is some two faced punk watching our back…we’d never be able to trust the guy.

The sound of water running can now be heard as Tony calls out from the bathroom.

Tony Gamble: I would’ve put a stop to that shit real quick, trust me.

Frank Pastore: Like you did with C, when he started getting all cozy with Kohime.

Tony Gamble: Exactly.

Tony walks into the room, wiping his hands with a paper towel.

Tony Gamble: Speaking of, where the hell is he? Figured he’d be hitting the showers already.

Domingo Cruz: He came in while you were in the can, said he needed to get some fresh air while you finished up in there.

Tony Gamble: Guess I’ll see him when I get back.

Frank Pastore: You ready for this?

Tony nods, his grin curled into a smile they could make a horror movie out of.

Tony Gamble: Come on, Frankie…I was born for this.

We then cut back to ringside.

Nick Stuart: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to Tropical Turmoil. Up next, we have a heated grudge match up next between PRIME Hall of Famer Tony Gamble and the newcomer Eddie Cross. Recent events have seen to it that GAS is banned from ringside.

Richard Parker: This is why I don’t trust the zoomer generation. You never know when they are going to post a clip that goes viral.

Nick Stuart: That may be true, but one can hardly argue it wasn’t effective.

The arena fades to black before the screen starts to flicker and crackle with static. Sounds of mortars landing and gunshots fill the arena.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same. Boundaries shift, new players step in, but power always finds a place to rest its head.

History is written by the victor, and here I am thinking we won. But you bring down one enemy and they find someone even worse to replace him. 

Locations change, the rationale, the objective. Yesterday’s enemies are today’s recruits. 

Train them to fight alongside you, and pray they don’t eventually decide to *hate* you for it, too. 

Same shit, different day.”

Green Screen.

Match Start in 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…

3…

2…

1…

– Eliminate Other Players –

The opening guitar to Cross Off by Mark Morton (feat Chester Bennington) echoes, and the words repeat –

“Cross Off the days gone…”

“Cross Off the days gone…”

GONE BYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!

As Mark Morton’s guitars sear through the arena, Eddie “n1ghtcraw1er” Cross steps out of the back and stops to survey the crowd before pumping a fist into the air.

Nick Stuart: Whoa, this is new! Eddie Cross is standing at the top of the ramp looking like a man who means business.

Richard Parker: I guess that autograph is off the table now?

He adjusts his custom gaming glasses before walking down the ramp focused on the ring. EC pauses at the ring steps, taking off his backpack, unzipping the main compartment, and placing it in the corner of the ring. He waits for the transition between verses before psyching himself up. Vince Howard is waiting.

Vince Howard: From Charlotte, NC, standing six feet four inches and weighing in at 225 lbs, EDDIE “N1GHTCRAW1ER” CROSS!!!

He then runs up the ring steps, wipes his feet on the apron, and enters the ring as Chester Bennington screams into the microphone.

Making my way back from the madness
Shifting my thoughts from the blackness
And the sadness, but the fact is
I’m swinging through life like a clenched fist
Fuck sanity, I wanna bleed
Can’t kill the pain, it’s everything
It’s all I feel
It’s what I breathe
Turn the hate I breed into what I need
Heavy is the hand that points the finger (Finger)
Heavy is the heart that’s filled with anger (Anger)

Did you survey everything you laid to waste
And cross off the days?

Eddie looks nervous but he stands alone ready to do battle with Tony Gamble. Dave Gibson is not here tonight to support him, but somewhere back in Charlotte, he is probably looking on encouragingly.

“Born for this” by Divide Music starts to play through the speakers of Petco Park.

##Where my heart is, rests my very soul

And the colors bleed from blue to gold

When the choice is mine and mine alone

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

Nick Stuart: What is this?

Richard Parker: It’s rude, that’s what it is.

Nick Stuart: Looks like someone has something to say before Gamble comes out for his match.

Richard Parker: Very rude, and whoever it is is going to pay for…

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

All I see is the flickering lights below me

All I need is the power to change what I see

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

Tony Gamble steps out from behind the curtain, soaking in the chorus of boos that rain down from the crowd.

Nick Stuart: Sounds like Tony has decided to change things up a little bit.

Richard Parker: Shame, the last song was so fitting.

Nick Stuart: Better than you is a fitting song for someone that has lost almost three times as many matches as he’s won?

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

All I wanna be, yeah##

Vince Howard: And the opponent, hailing from Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighing in at one-hundredy and eight-nine pounds… TONY “THE GRIN” GAMBLE!!!

Tony stretches his arms out wide, welcoming the crowd’s form of adoration.

##Yeah, I was born for this

I will keep my secrets high above

In the hopes to protect the ones I love

But I wonder where in darkness lies the truth##

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

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

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

I will climb through to wherever you may roam

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

Tony climbs the steps, looking out at the fans that have not quieted down at all since he stepped out from behind the curtain. They love to hate him.

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

All I see is the flickering lights below me

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

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

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

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

He drops down to one knee.

##All I wanna be, yeah##

He stretches his arms out once again, then throws back his head to stare straight up in the air.

##Yeah, I was born for this##

From his corner, Cross lightly bounces in anticipation. He is staring daggers at Tony Gamble, who, true to his namesake, is grinning right back, daring the younger wrestler to fuck around and find out.

Richard Parker: This isn’t right, Tony having to come out here alone! He’s completely NAKED without his GAS!

Nick Stuart: How do you think Eddie feels being there without Dave Gibson?

Richard Parker: This is different! Tony’s a man with a reputation! It’s not just uptight, wet-behind-the-ear rookies that have him in their crosshairs, you know.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think anyone can be any more threatening to him than his opponent right now. After GAS put Gibson into a hospital, and their savage attack two weeks ago at ReVival 30, Eddie Cross looks like a man who will stop at nothing to even the odds here tonight!

Official Ashley Barlow cues for the bell.

DING DING

Without delay, Eddie comes out of his corner swinging, catching Gamble off guard. Tony defends himself from a flurry of strikes while backing up, finally sticking his top half through the ropes to prompt official Ashley Barlow to make the break. She intervenes, and Cross backs off.

Gamble takes his time coming off the ropes, waiting until he’s fully comfortable before going into a more formal collar-and-elbow. But the younger athlete quickly begins to overpower, and instinctively, Tony breaks loose and dips out again to the apron, ordering the official to keep Bolamba progeny away from him.

Nick Stuart: Eddie Cross is understandably hot and ready to give Gamble some much needed payback, but “the Grin” seems a bit reluctant to get into the action!

Richard Parker: Or, he’s simply stalling to get under the kid’s skin and throw him off his game. Smart strategy, if you ask me!

The crowd jeers, and Cross is likewise becoming increasingly annoyed by the intentional delays. Seemingly enjoying all the hate he’s getting, Gamble’s face shows the slightest hint of a smirk (though it could be the scar). Tired of waiting and ready to kick ass, Eddie brazenly dares him to sack up and face the music.

Again, Tony takes his time stepping back through the ropes, completely calm and collected. They meet again in the center of the ring, ready for another lock-up. Only this time, Gamble stamps Eddie’s foot before they make contact. Cross winces, then reels back for a clothesline, which Tony smoothly ducks and follows up with an insulting tug to the new ponytail hanging off of the n1ghtcraw1er’s revamped head.

By the time Eddie twirls around, fists balled up and ready to sock his opponent in the mouth, the Grin has already powdered out to ringside. There’s no mistaking the smile now. Left alone in the ring, Cross is fuming.

BOOOOOOOOO!!

Richard Parker: HAHAHAHA… absolutely brilliant, Tony! Little Bolamba Jr. looks sooooo pissed off right now!

Nick Stuart: The PRIME veteran Tony Gamble yet again slips through Eddie’s fingers. But while it might be antithetical to his hobby, I don’t think Cross has any interest in playing this game of his!

Gamble soaks up the heat while Barlow methodically begins the count. True to Nick’s point, Cross refuses to idly stand back and let him have his moment, stomping his way up to the ropes. Tony begins to scamper to the other side of the ring when he sees him coming, but instead of following him to the outside, Cross lays his side along the middle rope and beckons him back in the ring. Gamble’s smile disappears as soon as the jeers switch to laughter.

Nick Stuart: Cross telling Gamble he can wait all night if he has to! I feel that’s a smart decision on Eddie’s part, not giving way to his impatience and allowing a snake like “the Grin” to bait him into a trap.

Richard Parker: I guess that means the kids these days still know about Tom and Jerry cartoons.

Irate and cursing, and not about to be outshined by some pesky greenhorn with a semi-famous dad, Tony scales the steps to the apron before Barlow can reach the count of six. Eddie comes out of the ropes and returns to the center of the ring. They jaw jack at each other for a few moments with the ropes between them, before the surly veteran finally steps through them to put this upstart in line the hard way.

Unfortunately for him, Eddie is ready for him with his waiting fists. Cross immediately lights up the Grin with a few jabs to leave him stunned and speechless, much to the delight of the crowd, then follows up a side Russian legsweep to take him to the mat, snagging an arm on his way back up to wrench into a standing wristlock. Tony begs him off, but the n1ghtcraw1er only gives him an elbow across the sternum as reprieve.

Nick Stuart: At long last, Cross finally has Tony right where he wants him, and these fans are loving it! Eddie, still in control of the arm, pulls Gamble back to his feet… and OH MY!! Yanks him right into the TRIGGER WARNING!

Richard Parker: Get outta there, Tony! He… no, wait. No cover?

Nick Stuart: It would seem like an ideal opportunity to attempt a pinfall, but I don’t think Eddie is ready for this one to be over until he’s satisfied Gamble has paid for all the pain he’s caused!

Richard Parker: Well that’s just stupid and unnecessary!

The flying knee strike sends the Grin crashing hard back to the mat and leaves him thoroughly dazed. Starting at the top of David Gibson’s list of 1,005 wrestling holds, Cross goes right for the ARMBAR! Gamble groans loudly as EC fervently works his arm and wrist, but only has to crawl his way a matter of inches to reach the rope. Eddie keeps twisting the wrist all the way until the count of four until he makes the break.

Tony again dips out to ringside to get away, but anticipating his escape, n1ghtcraw1er stealthily slips out the other side of the ring and keeps his head down as he hurries around and behind the Grin. Too busy shaking the feeling in his arm, Gamble practically yelps in surprise when he turns around and sees Cross bounding upon him.

Nick Stuart: CROSS OFF THE STEPS INTO A THESZ PRESS, and wails away at Tony Gamble’s face!

RRRAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!

Nick Stuart: This crowd is getting behind the young Eddie Cross, doing what many of us have been wanting to do for some time!

Richard Parker: What a coward! If he wanted to assault the man, he could have done it any time backstage over these past few months! Instead he waits until he’s alone in the ring under the guise of a “wrestling contest”, while his protection is barred from ringside!

Leaving Gamble bruised up on the floor, Eddie pops to his feet and gets a charge from the ringside fans. Then, at the behest of Barlow, he takes the action back to the ring by rolling Tony back inside. The Grin desperately tries to crawl away, but EC swiftly slips in after him and tangles his arms into a modified cobra clutch!

Nick Stuart: Cross with THE SILENCER!!

Richard Parker: I take it this one goes out to the big Davey Gib lying up in that hospital?

Nick Stuart: Gamble is reaching out to the ropes for dear life! Can he get there, or will Cross choke him out first?!

Cross locks in a body scissor and attempts to roll onto his back to trap Gamble for good, but like a cat landing on his feet, the savvy vet’s instincts kick in…

Richard Parker: (invoking the spirit of Peppy Hare) DO A BARREL ROLL!

The momentum is just enough to carry the two of them within reachable distance to the ropes, and Tony frantically kicks the bottom rope. EC is stunned when Barlow calls for the break. At first, he refuses, unwilling to be denied the satisfaction of punishing this bastard. But he inevitably releases when Barlow gives him the four count toward a DQ.

Richard Parker: That was a close one, but Teflon Tony slips away scot-free yet again!

Nick Stuart: But the damage has been done, and this match is in the palm of the N1GHTCRAW1ER’s hand!

Eddie backs up for distance and prepares his elbow, waiting for Tony to slowly work his way to his feet. Gamble is in agony and disoriented, but still manages to get up with the help of the ropes. Then he turns in time to see the kid coming, and instincts kick in once again…

Nick Stuart: Here comes Cross with the OHKOOOO–OH NOOO!!

Richard Parker: BARLOOOW!!

Ashley Barlow gets pulled into his path when Gamble “unintentionally” grabs her by the sleeve while falling back to the mat. Cross hits the brakes JUST in time, and stands briefly stunned. Naturally, Tony uses the opportunity to slip in behind him…

BOOOOOOOOOO!!

Nick Stuart: GAMBLE WITH STOP LAUGHING AT ME!! I DON’T BELIEVE IT!!

Richard Parker: Don’t worry, Tony! It’s the KID we’re laughing at now!

Nick Stuart: Eddie looked to be going for a killshot, but Tony Gamble has upended his entire gameplan! I just can’t believe he’d go as far as to put the official in harm’s way!

Richard Parker: That was purely by accident, Nick! He lost his footing, and tried to grab the ref for help! If she had been paying attention and doing her job, instead of standing around catching flies with her mouth, she wouldn’t have been put in that position!

Nick Stuart: And now she has no choice but to make this count, as Gamble rolls Cross onto his back and makes the lateral press in attempt to win this one!

ONE!

TWO!

CROSS KICKS OUT!

The kickout gets a light pop from the fans as Eddie keeps his chances alive, but Tony doesn’t phased. Gamble gets right to his feet and brings Eddie up with him.

Nick Stuart: Oh boy, what’s Tony got planned next?

PILEDRIVER.

Nick Stuart: OH MY, what a spike! Tony going for another cover now, and could that do it?

ONE!

TWO!

NO IT WILL NOT! Eddie pops the shoulder again!

Richard Parker: Kid can’t take a hint, huh?

Nick Stuart: Still plenty of fight left in Cross! He’s not about to give in after all the misery GAS has brought not only to him, but so many others here in PRIME!

Richard Parker: Tony’s just getting warmed up, Nick! The kid had his shot, but blew it, cause it’s clear that he can’t hang at the level of a REAL PRIME legend like “the Grin”!

Cross is laid out, still stunned from the effects of the piledriver. Tony decides it’s time to take a gamble (pun semi-intended), and scales a turnbuckle. The jeering in the audience intensifies, but it only causes his grin to widen. He defiantly flicks his chin to them before diving backward…

Nick Stuart: MOONSAULT BY GAMBLE!!

…and he NAILS IT!!

Richard Parker: (audibly clapping his hands) BEAUTIFUL! ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL, Tony! ENCORE! ENCORE!

Nick Stuart: Gamble hooks the leg!

ONE!

TWO!!

THR–EDDIE KICKS OUT!! HE’S STILL IN THIS ONE!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!

Tony scrutinously arches an eyebrow toward Barlow, who insistently shows him two fingers, even though her face says she’d rather show him just the one in the middle. Chuckling, Tony rolls Cross over onto his belly and begins to set him up…

Richard Parker: Time to put this kid to sleep, Ton’! Take us home!

Nick Stuart: Gamble looking to put this away with SMILE FOR ME…!

…but Cross FIGHTS IT!!

The crowd cheers excitedly as Eddie interlocks his arms together to keep Tony from extending him into the scissored armbar. Cross fights his way to his feet, and the crowd gets louder as they watch Gamble desperately shake his head in denial.

With his other arm freed, EC puts the elbows into Gamble’s gut. The third breaks the submission attempt and doubles Tony over. Cross quickly hooks his arms as he parkours off the near turnbuckle into a Tornado Butterfly DDT!

Nick Stuart: EDDIE CROSS REVERSES IT INTO THE OVERKILL!!

Richard Parker: Impossible!

Both men lie exhausted in the ring. Cross stirs away first and works his way back to his feet with the help of the ropes. Gamble is in a daze when he eventually gets onto his own rubber legs, but Eddie is waiting for him right as he turns around.

Nick Stuart: OHKOOOO!! He absolutely nailed it this time! Gamble hits the mat like a ton of bricks, and Cross immediately sets him up… YES!!

Richard Parker: NO!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!

Nick Stuart: HE’S GOT THE GG LOCKED IN!! GG LOCKED IN!!

The crowd is roaring as Eddie rears back and bridges perfectly into the surfboard dragon sleeper. Tony’s body convulses in pain and desperation. But there will be no getting to the ropes this time.

Nick Stuart: Tony’s going to tap! He HAS to tap! He has nowhere to go, and all that blood is rushing straight to his head!

Richard Parker: DON’T TAP, Tony! PLEASE! Don’t give this crummy Bolamba spawn the satisfaction!

TAP-TONY-TAP!! TAP-TONY-TAP!! TAP-TONY-TAP!!

Gamble’s arm extends out.

Nick Stuart: THIS IS IT!!

Barlow intently watches the hand, waiting for the sign that he’s tapping out…

…but in doing so, misses Tony’s other hand jamming a thumb into Cross’s eye!

Nick Stuart: NO!! GAMBLE WITH THE EYE GOUGE! Barlow couldn’t see it because she was looking for the tap motion!

Richard Parker: What are you talking about, Nick? She couldn’t see it for the same reason I couldn’t see it… because nothing happened!

Nick Stuart: Oh, give me a break, Rich!

Eddie breaks the hold and bolts to his feet, clutching his eye. As soon as Gamble’s face returns to its normal color, he throws an arm through n1ghtcraw1er’s legs in what is either a low blow, or a very forceful way to set up a school boy.

Nick Stuart: Oh c’mon, Gamble with a ROLL-UP!

And a HANDFUL OF TIGHTS to go with it!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Gamble flops away from Eddie, who sits up in stunned silence. Then when he hears “Born for This” hit the PA, Tony cackles in triumph.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match, by pinfall… TOOONYYYY GAAAAABLLLLLE!!!

Nick Stuart: It appears as though Tony Gamble steals away another one!

Richard Parker: Never doubted my boy for a single second! Never underestimate the savvy of a tried and true VET like Tony!

Nick Stuart: Anyone could see that Eddie Cross was only seconds away from winning this match! Regardless, I think this young man has proven himself tonight that he can hang even with a tenured PRIME Hall of Famer like… oh, hang on a moment, I don’t think Eddie is FINISHED!

The crowd begins cheering again when Cross throws himself upon Gamble and ravages him with a storm of lefts and rights.

Richard Parker: What is this?! DO SOMETHING, ref! The match is OVER, and this spoiled maniac is out of control!

Nick Stuart: Eddie Cross isn’t letting Gamble off that easy! Not after everything he’s done!

All Tony can do is cover up and weather the storm… until he’s suddenly dragged from the ring courtesy of Johnny Newsman and Domingo Cruz!

Richard Parker: Finally, here’s the cavalry!

Nick Stuart: GAS comes to the rescue of their leader… but none of them look ready to scrap with the n1ghtcraw1er!

Richard Parker: Might as well let the sore loser have his ring then…

Nick Stuart: “The Grin” may sulk away from this one with the last laugh, but EC is proving to the world here tonight that he is a competitor that should never be… CROSSED!

Richard Parker: …that was lame, Nick. Even for you.

Nick Stuart: Ugh, whatever. Let’s just move on to our network-mandated commercial for this Pay Per View event.

Gamble stumbles backwards up the rampway with the other members of GAS, trying his best to look triumphant, but still shook and plenty bruised. “Cross Off” plays through the PA while Eddie is standing tall in the ring with the crowd cheering around him.

We then cut to a commercial.

We return from commercial and see the ringside area again.

Nick Stuart: Folks, we’ve seen two great bouts already, and if you believe that styles make a fight, we’ve got a barnburner up next.

Richard Parker: (chanting) We don’t need no water, let the motherf—

Nick Stuart: The FCC still monitors supershows, Richard.

Richard Parker: I am once again being censored by the lamestream media.

The lights go poof. And not because of Richard’s potty mouth.

“I AM BECOME DEATH, THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS”

BANNG!!

Off the sound bite, an exploding pyro rocks the arena, leaving behind a rising mushroom cloud of smoke over the stage.

Nick Stuart: The pyrotechnics team certainly taking advantage of the spacious skies over Petco Park for Rezin’s entrance!

Ministry’s cover of “Search and Destroy” pumps in over the PA. The PRIMEview cycles through footage of nuclear explosions, weapons of war, burning cities, riots in the streets, and in-ring highlights of the Goat Bastard being his daring and dastardly self. Blinding white light fills the entry-way as the silhouette of a man steps through the curtain.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, from Indianapolis, Indiana, at 205 pounds, he IS the GOAT BASTARD…REZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!

BOOOOOOOOO!

The solo hits, and the stage lights come up, revealing “The Escape Artist” Rezin. He stands in place for a few moments, defiantly staring down the jeering crowd with his arms outstretched into a cross pose, and then begins the trip down the ramp. Reaching the ringside area, he does a loop around the ring and works the fans standing at the barricade with a heat-inducing exchange of trash talk.

Satisfied by their seething hatred, Rezin slides into the ring, wraps his arms between the ropes when he stands up, and rolls himself back into an inverted cross pose.

Richard Parker: I like the one where he absolutely smashes the guy’s entire life in with his foot.

Interrupting Rezin’s moment in the sun is the opening chords of “Satori Part II” by Flower Travelin’ Band, which prompts a unique and different set of jeers.

BOOOOOOOOO!

Vince Howard: And his opponent, from Joshua Tree, California, at 201 pounds, the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience…SAAAAAAAAAGE PONTIFFFFFFFF!

And then Vince Howard has to duck and roll, because Pontiff is in the ring at at Rezin’s throat, proverbially speaking. He’s actually at Rezin’s head. With his elbow.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Sage Pontiff looks shot out of a cannon! Leaping forearm strike takedown to start the match off hot!

As quick as Rezin goes down, Pontiff pulls him right back up. He goes to throw the former Uni Champ out of the ring, but Rezin reverses into an Irish whip and sends Sage to the ropes. Pontiff comes back at him full speed and take flight.

Nick Stuart: Cosmic Resonator!

Sage’s patented sling blade takes Rezin down once again. This time, Rezin is too stunned to ward off Sage’s second attempt to pull him up by the air and chuck him through the middle rope onto the floor outside.

Richard Parker: Sage looking like it’s an uppers day instead of a downers day.

Nick Stuart: He does seem a man possessed. Maybe it’s the Tropical Turmoil atmosphere, or maybe Sage isn’t as zen as he claims to be about this matchup, but he is hot to start.

With Rezin staggered on the floor outside, and Sage still in the ring, he bounces to the opposite rope, and then uses both hands on the top rope to elevate himself into one hell of a flip slash divebomb to the outside.

Nick Stuart: Tope con hilo! Did you SEE the air that Sage just got?

Richard Parker: I’m a simple man. And I like when a guy the size of an NFL player does a violence somersault to another guy.

Both men struggle to their feet, Sage slightly faster than his foe. With Rezin halfway up, Sage unleashes a vicious stomp on the back of the Escape Artist’s head.

BOOOOOOOOO!

Sage stomps into Rezin’s back relentlessly. He only stops when he has to catch his breath. The local bodhisattva’s chest heaves.

Richard Parker: Getting winded from stomping someone’s shit in? That’s a workout regimen I believe in.

Sage goes to grab at the risin’ Rezin, but Rezin’s now fully aware that Sage is selling out for vicious offense. He beats Pontiff to the punch, and as he gets up, Rezin drives forward with his shoulder into Sage’s midsection, sending both of them crashing into the ringside barricade.

Nick Stuart: Sage Pontiff took the worst of that, right on the small of his back.

Richard Parker: This thing looks like a car wreck. I mean that as a compliment to these psychos.

Rezin is first to his feet. He pulls Sage up by his gnarly hair that certainly looks like it smells of patchouli and mold.

Rezin: (shoving Sage into the ring steps shoulder-first) ONE GOOD TURN DESEVERVES A-MOTHERFUGGIN’-NOTHER!

Nick Stuart: And down goes Sage! Rezin’s on the offensive now.

The Goat Bastard urges Sage up with his right hand, daring his opponent back to his feet. And when Sage reaches full height, Rezin is right on him, taking two quick steps forward and punishing Sage.

Nick Stuart: Missile dropkick into the steps! Oh, this thing is all Rezin, and it looks like Sage is opened up!

Richard Parker: Blood? You’ve got my attention.

There is indeed a small cut just below Sage’s hairline on his left side that is producing some noticeable crimson. Sage shakes his head to clear the cobwebs, and uses the apron to get himself back on his feet. Rezin doesn’t give him an inch. The Escape Artist takes off and grabs Sage’s head in a front facelock just as he gets his feet onto the apron, then shifts his weight to push off the corner turnbuckle, and brings his competition to the mat head-first with a grotesque thud.

HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!

Nick Stuart: That tornado DDT by Rezin was a masterstroke! And both men are down!

Richard Parker: Head wound, meet head injury.

ONE!

Nick Stuart: Elvis Nixon starting the ten count, with both men down.

TWO!

THREE!

Rezin stirs. Sage not so much.

FOUR!

FIVE!

Rezin staggers up and rolls under the bottom rope to break the ref’s count. He rolls back to the outside, where he’s stunned to be greeted by the full force of a tackle from a now-aerial Sage Pontiff.

Nick Stuart: Flying crossbody from Sage! Using his body as a lethal weapon.

Both men once again hit the mat, Rezin this time taking the worst of it. Sage takes advantage of his prone opponent, with a stomp straight on Rezin’s right knee.

Richard Parker: Blood and wanton violence? You had my attention, now you have my focus.

Rezin grabs at the right knee, while Sage repositions the steel steps that Rezin previously loosened. Sage steels himself (get it?) at the base of the stairs. As he sees Rezin wobble to his feet, he runs up the short set of steps and takes flight towards his opponent.

WHOOOOOA!

Nick Stuart: Sage just spiked Rezin with a flying impact DDT! Rezin took that straight on the skull!

Sage stands to full height, blood now noticeably intermingling with his dreads to create a frightful violent mask. He rolls Rezin into the ring, and pounces on top of him, hooking the leg.

ONE

TWO

TH–NO, Kickout!

Richard Parker: I didn’t think these guys had a slugfest like this in ‘em. But we got plasma flowing, and my titillation level is spiking!

Sage doesn’t waste a second. He pulls Rezin up by the neck, basically raising the Escape Artist via a sloppy sleeper hold. Doesn’t have to be pretty, though, because it’s just setting up the dazed Rezin for Sage to capture both arms, then wrench back and…

Nick Stuart: Atharvaveda!

The release dragon suplex has sent Rezin across the ring, body ragdolling near the opposite corner. Sage stays on him. He pulls Rezin to his feet, and pounds on Rezin’s back, doubling him over. Sage has Rezin in a standing headscissors, and a look of righteous violence spreads across his face.

Nick Stuart: If he hits the Shamanic Dreamweaver…OH!

Nick doesn’t finish the sentence, because Rezin finds a reserve and upends Sage Pontiff with a back body drop that shakes the ring, and sends blood droplets in several visible directions. With Sage down, Rezin runs facing the ropes, jumps, and gets both feet to the middle rope, before powering himself backwards and up, up, up.

Nick Stuart: Rezinsault! He went lionsault-style, and here’s the pin!

ONE

TWONO!

Richard Parker: Not yet, crust punk. That was sick, though.

As Sage gets back to his feet, Rezin is already on the move, swooping in from behind and putting Sage back down with a slick one-handed bulldog. He takes a half-step to bounce off the nearest rope, and leg drops the fallen Sage.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think the man likes to hear it over and over but THIS is the Rezin who won the Universal Title.

With time on his side, Rezin ascends the corner turnbuckle. He crouches and waits. Sage gets to his feet, but he’s facing the wrong direction. He spins to try and find Rezin, but what he finds is the last step Rezin takes onto the top rope before launching himself at Sage.

Nick Stuart: An absolutely dazzling springboard  hurricanrana!

Both men land on opposite sides of the ring. Every breath is hard now. Rezin has the clear upper hand, but he’s grabbing at the right knee Sage stomped on. He pounds a fist on the knee, willing it to be pain-free. Sage, meanwhile, is struggling. He’s on all fours. Rezin sees an opening, and grabs Sage’s head with one hand, a leg with the other, and he flips them both in an Oklahoma roll, leading to a quick pin attempt.

ONE

TWO

THR

Nick Stuart: Shoulder up! Sage stays alive!

Rezin once again gets Sage to his feet, but this time the messianic hippie knows it’s coming. And he’s ready. Expecting a lock or the ability to get leverage, Rezin grabs at Sage, who swats his hands away, and follows up with an eye gouge that blinds the Goat Bastard. Blood more prominently drips from Sage’s hairline now.

BOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Eye for an eye! Or two eyes!

With a moment of separation, Sage gets back to the standing headscissors, and is lightning fast leaning his weight forward into a flipping mess of limbs and man.

Nick Stuart: SHAMANIC DREAMWEAVER!

ONE

TWO

THREE!

Richard Parker: Sneaky, sneaky Rezin.

Elvis Nixon points to Rezin’s leg lazily dangling on the bottom rope. A few PRIMEates, frankly impressed by the effort of both men, give a round of applause for both men’s vicious efforts, and encourage them to fight forever.

Nick Stuart: What can you be thinking if you’re Sage? What else can you do to put Rezin down?

Sage’s response: more violence. He begins to savagely kick at the right knee of Rezin. When he’s tired himself out with kicking, Sage drops down into a knee bar.

Richard Parker: Not the prettiest submission I’ve ever seen, but man alive, he’s beating that knee like it stole from him.

Rezin endures fifteen seconds before he can scoot himself to the ropes. He grabs the bottom rope, and Elvis Nixon starts the five count. Sage only breaks the hold at the last second.

Nick Stuart: I’m not sure whether Sage knows that Rezin needs that right knee for the Cloven Hoof Kick, or if he’s just seeing red. Either way, he is a man obsessed.

Sage is up again, and again it’s the standing headscissors. He goes to wipe blood from his eye, but that provides a break for Rezin. The Escape Artist lives up to his name and ducks under Sage’s legs, emerging behind him. Sage goes to turn, but Rezin’s too fast. He lifts Sage from behind, and then spins his opponent mid-air, before…

Nick Stuart: Black Thunder Bomb!

ONE

TWO

THRNO!

Richard Parker: Not sure there was a lot of IQ to spare in the first place, but these two dudes are losing a lot of whatever they had.

Rezin doesn’t waste time being frustrated by the near pinfall. He’s up, and he’s got the drop on Sage. Pontiff woozily finds his feet in the center of the ring. That’s a bad place to be. Because that’s where Rezin’s foot, specifically his heel, is headed at terminal velocity. Sage’s jaw is wide open for the killing blow.

Richard Parker: CLOVEN HOOF KICK!

Nick Stuart: Sage is dazed! He’s out on his feet!

Pontiff is knocked back into the turnbuckle. Every fan in San Diego can see the light nearly gone out in his eyes.

Nick Stuart: You know what he’s looking for now!

Rezin steps in front of Sage, with his back to the maybe-cult-leader. He grabs under Sage’s chin, takes a step forward, and lifts off.

Richard Parker: INTO THE VOID!

Nick Stuart: No! The knee gave out!

Indeed, Rezin pitched forward to create the space to elevate for his finisher, but taking the extra step and putting weight on the right knee causes Rezin to stumble. And you can’t stumble against a man as bloodthirsty as Sage Pontiff is tonight.

Kick. Wham. Standing headscissors.

Nick Stuart: SHAMANIC DREAMWEAVER!

The second Destroyer finds its mark, and looks bad.

Richard Parker: I know this isn’t a FLAMBERGE match, but that neck might be too effed up to be collected.

Sage covers, with a deep hook.

ONE

TWO

THREE!

DING DING DING

The rung bell causes Sage Pontiff to get to his feet. He’s only standing with the aid of the ropes, and blood now covers his forehead, matting his hair. His eyes blaze with the same intensity he’s had all match. He just barely smiles, though he’s clearly content. He hocks up bloody spit in the direction of Rezin, who has yet to move.

Nick Stuart: Unsurprising, but totally uncalled for from Sage. He said he was bigger than this, on a higher plane than Rezin. But what we found out tonight is that he was simply willing to go to more perverse depths than his opponent.

Richard Parker: Got the W, though.

Sage continues to celebrate, both hands raised aggressively. Rezin, meanwhile, is just barely able to roll under the bottom rope, and favors his right knee greatly as he begins the long slow walk back to Argyle.

Nick Stuart: A barnburner, as predicted. I’m not sure what the state of Rezin is, but Sage Pontiff is your winner. What a war.

Richard Parker: Revenue time! Smash that MF commercial button, showrunners!

We then cut to a commercial.

Back from commercial, the video screen comes on and we see Ginny Van Lear and Adam Ellis inside Adam’s Volkswagen Jetta driving into Dallas.

Ginny Van Lear: There it is.

The State of Texas sign came into view.

Ginny Van Lear: I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Adam placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Adam Ellis: You’ll be fine. I know you’ll pass the test with flying colors.

The test?

The State of Texas Shotgun Certification test

Ginny and Adam are met at the entrance by a deputy sheriff and he explains the test to Ginny.

Deputy Sheriff: The test is simple.  Shoot the bad guys.  Don’t shoot the good guys.

When he finishes, she nods nervously and steps up to the firing line.

Deputy Sheriff: Alright, let’s begin.

Ginny takes a deep breath and tries to calm her racing heart. She’s trained for this day and was determined to make it count. She gives Adam one final loving glance and then turns back and raises her shotgun up to take aim. Ginny moves cautiously down the hallway, her body tense and gun at the ready.

A cardboard cut-out of a bad guy suddenly pops out into the open. Ginny snaps to attention, heart pounding in her chest. She holds her breath and steadies the gun. Ginny centers the target in the sight of her weapon and pulled the trigger without hesitation blowing a jagged, round hole in the cardboard bad guy.

Ginny allows herself a satisfied smirk before she continues forward.

The next cardboard figure emerges from the shadows.  Ginny stares down the figure before her.  It’s a mother pushing a baby cart.  Ginny breathes and the tension drains from her body as she releases the breath she had been holding, and continues

Next, another bad guy pops out… *KA-BLAM*

Walking past the target, another target appears immediately. Ginny notices his familiar figure.

Ginny Van Lear: Adam?

Not quite. It’s a cardboard cut-out of Adam.  Finger twitching on the trigger, Ginny again does not shoot.

Another cardboard bad guy pops out… *KA-BLAM*.  Ginny fires her shotgun with precision as she hits another bullseye.

Ginny continues to move cautiously through the course.  The next target?  A cardboard floating balloon with the logo of a sponsor on it.  She smirks…

Ginny Van Lear:  Nope. Learned my lesson’ there.

…and moves on to the next target, eyes are cold and focused, her eyebrows knit together with concentration. She places a steady hand on her gun and keeps both eyes open through the whole ordeal.

Another target… *KA-BLAM*. The cardboard bad guy bites it with a big hole in the center of it.  Ginny keeps moving forward as another cardboard cut-out appeared in front of her… Vickie Hall.

Ginny’s finger twitches as she despises Vickie with every fiber of her being.  But Ginny knew she couldn’t give in to this anger and she holds her fire.

The next target is easy.  Cardboard bad guy… *KA-BLAM*.

Then… a cardboard cut-out of the rest of the Love Convoy.  Ginny blinks her eyes and holds her fire again.  “This has got to be over soon,” she thinks to herself, stepping forward past the cardboard Love Convoy.

Next target- cardboard Cancer Jiles… *KA-BLAM*

Somewhere, Richard Parker is going, “YES!”

But the one after that… well… it would prove to be the strongest test of Ginny’s resolve so far.  Ginny’s heart leapt into her throat.

Ginny Van Lear: Her.

Sunny O’Callahan.  The woman who flashed Adam in the ring last weekend and caused him to lose to ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson in Dallas.   She gripped the gun tightly in her hands, but remembers the deputy’s instructions.

“Shoot the bad guys. Don’t shoot the good guys.”

She swears up a storm in her head… apologizes to God…  swallows her pride… and walks right past the cardboard cut-out of Sunny.

The Deputy: You did it!

Ginny exhales, relieved that this is over.

The Deputy: Congratulations! Miss Van Lear, you’ve passed the test with flying colors.

The Deputy hands her the signed certification.

Ginny Van Lear: Thank you.  Does this mean we’are done testing now?

The Deputy: Yes.

Ginny Van Lear: Good.

She hands Adam the shotgun.

Adam Ellis: Ginny?

Ginny takes off towards the cardboard cut-out targets, wheels around, and hits a picture-perfect spinning heel kick that takes cardboard Vickie Hall’s head off.

Adam Ellis: Um Ginny.

Ginny then goes up the cardboard cutout of the Love Convoy and kicks the crap out of it leaving it in tattered pieces.

Adam Ellis: Ginny.

She then goes up to cardboard Cancer Jiles and delivers a front kick to his cardboard balls.  Adam even blanches at that one.

Again, somewhere Richard Parker is shouting “THANK YOU HOYT!”

Adam Ellis: Ginny!

Adam takes action before she reaches the cardboard Sunny O’Callahan.

Adam Ellis: Time to go.

He grabs Ginny from behind…

Ginny Van Lear: HEY!

…and lifts her in the air.

Ginny Van Lear: PUT ME DOWN!

Ginny kicks out trying to get loose as a red-faced Adam carries her towards the exit of the testing station.

Ginny Van Lear: PUT ME DOWN!

An apologetic Adam walks past the Deputy as he walks past holding Ginny, frantically kicking and scratching, with one arm and her shotgun in the other.

Ginny Van Lear: LET ME GO, ADAM- OW!

Adam accidently bumps Ginny’s head on the door frame as he makes hastes from the building to their car.

Adam Ellis: Sorry.

Ginny Van Lear: LET ME GO DAMMIT!… sorry Lord… LET ME GO!

We then cut to… things are going to happen that we apologize for now about.

If there’s every one man you might never expect to see when one cuts backstage on a PRIME show, it’s the ugly-looking man in a trilby and ash gray suit walking up to a door. Eagle-eyed viewers of both PRIME and Bang! might recognize him as Lord Gavin Yum, Esq., who previously appeared at the Culture Shock pay-per-view in a run-of-the-mill pre-taped chaos segment involving Joe Fontaine and Sid Phillips. The type that’s usually mayhem.

Eagle-eyed viewers of PRIME, specifically, would recognize the name posted on the door he’s decided to knock on, too. But we’ll get to that.

The door opens, and Lord Yum immediately starts talking.

Lord Gavin Yum, Esq.: Ah, yes. Hello! You must be Wade Elliott!

Rather confused and slightly agitated, as per usual for the Bad Dog, Wade looks down at Lord Yum. He follows by leaning through the door, turning his head left and right to look down each hall.

Wade Elliott: Who the hell’re you an’ who told ya where I was?

Lord Gavin Yum, Esq.: I am Lord Gavin Yum, Esq. Lunch Lawyer by day, professional wrestler at most other times! I know you must be wondering why I am here, so let me explain that I had politely asked Miss Troy if I might be allowed to attend Tropical Turmoil tonight. I have, shall we say, a vested interest in tonight’s proceedings. Of course, as you may well know, I have had these strange disagreements – not sure why, to be perfectly honest with you, sir – with her lovely children.

Wade Elliott: Son, I don’t have a damn clue what those kids get into or what the hell they’re talkin’ about half the time. I hate t’be an asshole, but you got a point? I’m playin’ cribbage with Dam and I’m about t’ruin his night with a double run.

Lord Yum holds up his hands in surrender of the “please don’t beat my face in, I’m already ugly enough as it is” variety.

Lord Gavin Yum, Esq.: N-now, I know you are a busy man, sir! But Miss Troy did direct me to your office to discuss security. I assure you that I am not a security risk, and that I have a man in the building that will vouch for my immaculate character!

He’s either talking about Avalon or Farthington, it’s hard to say with this guy. Meanwhile, the mention of “Miss Troy” forced a knowing grin to Wade’s grayed beard.

Wade Elliott: ‘Course she did.

The ‘Bama Bruiser steps into the hall, closing the door behind him. He crosses his arms over his chest, and sets his feet.

Wade Elliott: Well, kid. I’m gonna have t’know just who this man is. We’re runnin’ a tight ship ‘round here!

Lord Gavin Yum, Esq.: Well, I mean, if you must know, I am here by the invitation of one Coral Avalon. Why, I remember a time when I was but a lad, and he helped me figure out a thing or two about this lovely sport of ours! But I am well acquainted with Lord Farthington, as well. Fellow Lord, you know how it is, old chum, am I right?

Wade Elliott: I’m from Alabama, son. Closest thing we’ve got is Nick Saban, and I don’t watch football.

Nervously, Lord Yum adjusts his necktie, which is in fact not quite a necktie. It looks more like a napkin or a bib that he uses as a necktie. Because “Lunch Lawyer”.

Lord Gavin Yum, Esq.: Um, a-anyway. You know, ahaha, I just have this vested interest in the main event. As an observer! Yes, an observer. A very neutral party who definitely has no ulterior motives whatsoever over having been given a concussion via copyright law book, because that would be proper silly! Would you not agree, friend?

Wade Elliott: Yer right! That would be pretty god-damn silly, wouldn’t it?

The Bad Dog leans down, getting closer to Lord Yum. The sweat on his brow grows.

Wade Elliott: An’ speakin’ of concussions, we’ve been seein’ a lot’ve em’ lately. An my old buddy Dam, you know Dam, right?

Wade shifts, allowing Gavin to see inside the room, where the massive figure of Dam sits, giving him a wave with a giant hand.

Wade Elliott: (shifting back) An’ he’s gettin’ kinda tired’ve dealin’ with it. You can understand that, right?

Gavin nods with the understanding of a man who doesn’t quite understand, but feels compelled to nod in understanding because, well… this Wade lad sure is a little intense!

Wade Elliott: That’s good! That’s real good. And y’know, I ain’t Head of Security anymore, but Dam and Lindsay like fer me t’be around.

The Southern Sparkplug claps a big paw on Gavin’s shoulder, and gives it a good squeeze.

Wade Elliott: Y’know, to do the dirty work once in a while. Did I answer all’ve yer questions, “Lord?”

Lord Gavin Yum, Esq.: Oh, yes. Absolutely. I truly appreciate the time you have taken out for me! I shall strive to avoid, uh… any future misunderstandings.

Wade Elliott: ‘Atta boy. Go on and have fun out there, and don’t do nothin’ “silly.”

With that, Wade smirks behind his beard, stepping back into the room and slamming the door shut. Through the door, you can hear him hollering at Dam.

“HEY! That ain’t where my peg was! And don’t look at my god-damn cards!”

We are back at ringside as Jimmy Turnbull enters the ring to officiate our next match!

Nick Stuart: Well folks, it’s already been a crazy night and we have plenty ahead of us! Up next, Adam Ellis takes on Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy after quite a heated exchange of words!

Richard Parker: Is that what you’d call it, Nick? What is this, a Panic on the Discord song? All I can chime in with is haven’t you ever heard of mind games!?

Nick just stares at his partner in the booth, confused as all get out as we head back to the ring where Vince Howard is standing by.

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

“Because of You” plays throughout Petco Park, immediately sending the fans into “BOO THIS MAN” mode as Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy makes his way toward the ring. TCG pays no mind to the hate these fans are giving him, because he knows what LOVE is all about…and he seems eager to share some of that as he gets into the ring, grabbing the microphone from Vince, waiting for some of the booing to die down before he speaks.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: Stay classy, San Diego! It’s time to introduce my opponent for tonight, the man who just can’t seem to understand REAL LOVE despite his own wife standing right beside him…that’s right everyone, give it up for the man that’s about to learn a hard lesson in TOUGH LOVE courtesy of the Nuzzle Lord, Adam Ellis!

Garrett Biggs’ “Mama Didn’t Raise No…” plays over the sound system and on the video screen, a video plays showing a series of wrestling trophies on a dresser next to an old high school football uniform that has ‘Ellis’ on the back.

An acoustic guitar plays and the vocals begin.

“Mama didn’t raise no… quitter- guaranteed to get the job done.”

Adam Ellis and Ginny Van Lear walk out from the back hand in hand and stand on the stage.

“She didn’t raise no SOB who can’t back himself up – been known to throw a good punch.”

The video screen shows a series of action shots of Ellis from his various matches

“And this ol’ boy gets going when the going gets tough- sundown to sun up.”

Dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and her feet wrapped in tape the former MMA prodigy nods her head causing her bright red hair to flip, and raises her left hand…

“Need a man with a helping hand – he’s always got one to lend.”

…and then brings it down as the chorus and full instrumentation hits- complete with pyro.

“Oh, I might be a little rough around the edges”

Adam’s wearing a pair of plain blue wrestling shorts. He starts forward down the ramp towards the ring followed by Van Lear.

“From the outside lookin’ in it might seem helpless.”

The couple reaches the ring. Adam holds the rope open so Ginny can slide through.

“I’ve been blessed with a strong backbone – I never coulda made it on my own”

Adam joins her in the ring.

“But if there’s one thing that I know – Momma didn’t raise no…”

Adam climbs up the top turnbuckle and holds up his arms…but he gets blindsided by Gladhappy, who knocks him off the turnbuckle to the canvas! Turnbull immediately pulls TCG back, checking on Ellis who says he’s good to go…and Turnbull reluctantly calls for the bell to get this match underway!

DING DING

Gladhappy rushes at Ellis again, hitting some hard stomps on Ellis before bringing him back to his feet. TCG sends Ellis to the ropes, looking for a clothesline on the rebound…but Ellis ducks it, using the momentum to hit the ropes once more! NO! Gladhappy intercepts, sending Ellis to the outside!

The Nuzzle Lord follows close behind, looking for more damage as he stands Ellis up before pulling him toward the ring post…but Ellis manages to turn things around, and it’s TCG colliding with the post instead! Ellis stares down the Nuzzle Lord as we hear Turnbull reach a four count.

Nick Stuart: Tristan’s antics at the start backfired on him here, as Ellis is now in control of the match!

Richard Parker: Yeah, but look at that fighting spirit from Gladhappy!

Tristan does NOT look so glad-happy as he gets to his feet, shouting at Ellis as he loosens up his shoulder…and charges at Ellis! NO! Ellis sidesteps TCG, who narrowly avoids a collision with the steel steps…but not with the hands of Ellis, who brings him back into the ring!

Ellis slides in after him, but the Nuzzle Lord is already back on his feet…and kicking Ellis right in the head! The crowd shows their disdain for the action, but Gladhappy pays them no mind as the Nuzzle Lord brings Ellis to an upright position…and slaps Ellis across the face!

Nick Stuart: Oh…oh no. That was a baaaad idea, Tristan!

Richard Parker: Oh man, look at Adam’s face!

Adam’s eyes widen in anger, clearly NOT pleased to take what Tristan would call a “love tap” as he unloads on Gladhappy with some hard lefts and rights! Turnbull admonishes him for the use of closed fists…but Ellis isn’t too bothered by it, laying out Tristan with a hard lariat!

But he’s not done yet, as Ellis flips TCG onto his stomach…and he’s locking in the modified STF! WAIT, NO! Tristan manages to slide out before Ellis could get the hold cinched in, making a hasty retreat back to the outside…but Ellis catches him with a dive to the floor!

Nick Stuart: Tristan paid a big price for that slap, but now both men are laid out on the outside!

Richard Parker: Gotta wonder which of these guys are gonna have it in them to get back in the ring and keep things going, Nick!

Both men are down as Turnbull starts the count!

ONE…

TWO…

Tristan is slowly stirring, as is Ellis.

THREE…

Ellis is back to his feet now, but so is Gladhappy.

FOUR…

Both men are trading punches now, really laying it in thick with no presence of mind for the count continuing!

FIVE…

SIX…

Only now it’s Gladhappy in control, slamming Ellis against the apron! Ellis is knocked back but remains on one knee as Tristan slides back into the ring, looking for the count out victory!

SEVEN…

But Ellis is back on his feet, sliding back into the ring!

Nick Stuart: What a close call here, but Adam Ellis is still in the fight!

Richard Parker: Maybe, but look at ol’ Nuzzle Lord getting back up too!

Tristan is standing again as he gets into the ring, but as soon as he sees the still-angry Ellis he starts begging his opponent to take things easy. Ellis doesn’t look willing to oblige to the demand…but Tristan doesn’t give him much of a choice, catching Ellis with a thumb to the eye when Adam leans in!

The crowd are NOT fans of what Gladhappy just did, but he seems to be enjoying himself as he hits a couple elbow strikes followed by a DDT! TCG looks pleased as he goes for the cover! Turnbull makes the count!

ONE!

TW–NO!

Nick Stuart: And AGAIN Ellis manages to stay in this!

Richard Parker: Hell of a show of tenacity, I’ll give him credit!

Ellis kicks out, much to the chagrin of the Nuzzle Lord as he brings his opponent back up…only to take a forearm to the face by Ellis! The crowd is firmly behind him as Ellis hits some more forearm strikes, wearing Tristan down before connecting with a snap suplex that sends him down hard to the canvas!

Ellis is back to his feet as he looks to the nearest turnbuckle, the crowd cheering him on as he walks over and climbs up to the top. Ellis checks his footing before leaping off for the elbow drop…BUT THERE IS NOBODY HOME!

Nick Stuart: Oh no, down goes Ellis!

Richard Parker: Looks like Ellis got too overzealous going for that elbow drop!

Gladhappy manages to roll out of the way in the nick of time, forcing Ellis to collide with the canvas before he gets back to his feet…but Tristan is right on top of him, hammering away at the back with some hard right hands before hitting a DDT on Ellis.

Tristan taunts Ellis as he stands him up once again, but is sent reeling back with a forearm strike as Ellis goes to the ropes…only to be met with a hip toss by Gladhappy on the rebound! Tristan reaches for Ellis…but gets caught up in a small package!

ONE!

NO!

Nick Stuart: Oh no, down goes Ellis!

Richard Parker: Looks like Ellis got too overzealous going for that elbow drop!

Both men are quick to their feet now, fighting off the wear and tear of the bout as Gladhappy rushes toward Ellis…who catches him with a drop toe hold, sending TCG face-first into the canvas! Ellis grabs a leg and locks in the modified STF on Gladhappy, cinching it in!

Tristan is in a bind here, just about clawing his way toward the ropes as Ellis continues to pull back on the neck of the Nuzzle Lord…but Gladhappy just manages to grab the bottom rope, forcing Ellis to break the hold! Ellis is back on his feet as Gladhappy stands.

Nick Stuart: Wait, Tristan’s charging at Ellis again!

Richard Parker: He saw an opening and to–wait, no!

Gladhappy gets caught by Ellis, who drops the Nuzzle Lord down with an arm trap neckbreaker to the delight of the crowd! Ellis looks to the nearest turnbuckle again, seriously contemplating another elbow drop attempt…but Tristan is already getting back to a standing position, which stops the plan right away.

Ellis goes for a lariat, but the Nuzzle Lord ducks under it…and catches Ellis in a backslide! Gladhappy has the shoulder of Ellis pinned to the canvas looking for the win, but before Turnbull can drop down for the count Ellis is able to roll out of the pinning combination!

Nick Stuart: Gladhappy just keeps trying to sneak a win over Ellis, but Adam is not budging!

Richard Parker: Ellis might still be feeling emotional after the slap earlier, if he’s not careful he IS gonna slip up, and Tristan IS gonna take that win!

Both men are once again on their feet, but as Ellis approaches he is met with a dragon screw by Gladhappy that drops him right back to the canvas, much to the dismay of the crowd! Tristan just laughs it off, clearly planning to pull out all the stops here.

Ellis gets to one knee before he’s cut off by a flurry of offense by the Nuzzle Lord, leading to an abdominal stretch applied onto Ellis! Turnbull is check on Ellis, asking if he submits…but Ellis refuses to give up, using his free hand to clock Gladhappy in the face!

Nick Stuart: POW! Right in the kisser!

Richard Parker: Really, Nick? What’d you think this is, a 50s sitcom?

TCG is forced to break the hold as a result, giving Ellis the opening he needs to get back into the swing of things…and swing he does, sending Tristan to the corner to create even more space. Tristan comes hobbling back…and right into another snap suplex by Ellis, dropping Gladhappy!

Except that Ellis is not done yet, as he brings the Nuzzle Lord back to his feet…who gets Ellis with another thumb to the eye! The crowd is almost livd here as Turnbull admonishes Gladhappy once again…and here comes Ellis!

Nick Stuart: Ellis is going OFF on Tristan here!

Richard Parker: Things were gonna reach a boiling point eventually, Nick!

Tristan drops to the canvas as Ellis mounts up on him with rights and lefts, the crowd cheering him on every step of the way until Turnbull intervenes. Ellis finally steps away from the scene, doing his best to compose himself when suddenly, Vickie Hall comes running down to the ring…until Ginny Van Lear steps out in front of her!

Ginny points to the back, yelling at Vickie to get out of Dodge before she shows her that a shotgun ain’t the only thing she’s a crack shot with…and Vickie just laughs in her face! Ginny’s heard enough, throwing punches at Hall which get paid back in kind by Vickie!

Nick Stuart: Vickie tried to get involved here and now Ginny is making her pay!

Richard Parker: Honestly, I’m just glad Ginny didn’t have that damn shotgun out here!

The two continue trading blows until officials come rushing out to break things up…and with Turnbull caught in the middle of the chaos, he doesn’t see Gladhappy hit Ellis with a low blow…and then, hoisting him up onto his shoulders for an Electric Chair Drop that drops Ellis down hard!

BUILDING SOMETHING GREAT TOGETHER! That’s the name and the goal as Gladhappy yells at Turnbull to focus his attention on the match before going for the ankle lock from that seated position! HEAD OVER HEELS! He’s got it cinched in tight…or so he thinks, until Ellis manages to break free!

Nick Stuart: Ellis finding what he needs to avoid having to tap out!

Richard Parker: I feel like we’re really getting into the nitty-gritty of the situation, Nick!

Ellis is slow to his feet now, favoring the ankle as he asks Tristan if that’s the best he’s got…and Tristan responds with a sly smirk before going to town on Ellis with some right hands followed by a snapmare…but Ellis catches him with a jawbreaker on the way down!

Ellis, finding a way to finally get Gladhappy to shut up, gets back to his feet before stepping toward the corner. His eyes are focused squarely on TCG who gets back to a vertical base…and turns around just in time to take a Superman Punch to the face by Ellis!

Nick Stuart: Holy cow, Ellis finds his mark with that punch and Gladhappy looks like he’s out cold, Richard!!

Richard Parker: Never count the power of LOVE out Nick, I think I see his foot wriggling around!

Gladhappy is indeed still stirring, but Ellis is determined to end things once and for all here as he steps over to the fallen Nuzzle Lord, flipping him onto his stomach again…but this time, taking hold of the legs of TCG! ELEVATED BOSTON CRAB…and he’s got that hold locked tight!

Tristan tries to break free, but Ellis places even more pressure on his neck and shoulders! Gladhappy is reaching, begging to make it to the ropes…but what little distance he makes is negated as Ellis pulls him back to the center! TCG is all out of options! HE TAPS OUT!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner via submission…ADAM ELLIS!

Ellis lets go of the hold, doing his best to stay standing as Turnbull raises his arm in victory!

Nick Stuart: He did it! Adam Ellis manages to fight off a very game Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy, not even letting the mess of Vickie Hall’s appearance stop him from picking up the win here at Tropical Turmoil!

Richard Parker: Was a hell of a match for sure Nick, kudos to Ellis on pulling it off here. Gotta wonder where Gladhappy’s focus is gonna go next, after he’s seemingly been unable to make good on his promise tonight!

We then cut to a commercial.

Coming back from commercial, you can still hear the crowd buzzing from the Ellis/TCG showdown. We are no longer at ringside, but continuing in the proud and noble tradition of Stuff Happening Backstage.

This specific stuff has a soundtrack.

WHOOOOOOO!

Well, that cue is usually the audio equivalent of “our guy is in the building, baybay!” but there’s a bit of a wrinkle. Hard to put in words, but imagine the entire audience that just cheered doing a big audible shrug. Kind of like….zuhhhh?

Wearing the clothes, having the look, walking the walk, and inhabiting the persona of Chandler Tsonda is….not Chandler Tsonda. ReV 30 watchers know the deal. Noticeably absent is the Airpod through which the real voice of the real Chandler Tsonda once piped.

Doppeltsonda, in a pair of knockoff Chanel shades that with obvious typo of “Channel” on the side, walks towards camera. He stops in front of a door, and the door has a name on it, as doors in PRIME areas are wont to do. That name plate inspires another soundtrack.

BOBBY DEAN

BOOOOOOOO!

The impostor raps at the door. He’s certainly got more swagger than last week, when he fled like a gutless coward from Paxton Ray. He keeps knocking.

Not Chandler Tsonda: Bobby Dean? Open up.

The door suddenly bursts open and there before the imposter stands the largest man in PRIME history. Wearing a silk kimono robe that appears three sizes too small and with a face absolutely covered in what appears to be whipped cream, Bobby Dean greets his guest in a very Mrs. Doubtfire-esque voice.

The Real Bobby Dean: Heeeeeellllloooooooooo!

Not Chandler Tsonda: Um, I believe you have something right here…

The imposter cautiously reaches up to his own face and then motions to its entirety.

The Real Bobby Dean: I’m well aware.

Not Chandler Tsonda: But why?

Bobby looks at his guest with clear confusion on his face.

The Real Bobby Dean: How else does one eat pie?

Not Chandler Tsonda: (looking like he’s been asked a trick question) Fork? With a fork?

The large man shakes his head in bewilderment, as if he’s never heard the word before, but in doing so some of the whipped cream flies off his face, much like a dog coming in from the rain. As the imposter Tsonda flicks a stray clump of cream off his chest Bobby simply turns around and walks into his dressing room, leaving the door open for his soon to be new best friend.

Walking into the locker room with trepidation, as if at any moment something might jump out at him, the imposter Tsonda enters. Meanwhile Bobby Dean, with towel in hand, is busy wiping away his pre-match snack from his cherubic face.

Not Chandler Tsonda: So I’m going to let you in on a little secret.

The Real Bobby Dean: You can’t have the recipe.

Not Chandler Tsonda: I…think I’ll live. But I have to admit: I’m not the real Chandler Tsonda.

Bobby Dean lets out a massive Hollywood-style gasp. A dollop of cream that escaped Bobby’s very haphazard clear job falls from the tip of his three chins.

The Real Bobby Dean: Am I still the real Bobby Dean? Or can I finally be Cancer Jiles?

Not Chandler Tsonda: That’s a real guy? I thought it was an ad for sunglasses. Wait, no, we’re getting distracted. I’ve come clean. I’m actually a hired gun. So the ball’s in your court.

The Real Bobby Dean: Wait, the gun’s in my court? IS THIS A STICKUP?

Not Chandler Tsonda: I’m a pacifist.

The Real Bobby Dean: I’ve seen those videos on the internet, it doesn’t look comfortable. But hey, I don’t judge.

The plot is being lost. Doppeltsonda puts his hands up, as if to keep us, all of us, back on track. But Bobby cannot stop looking at his hands as if he suddenly feels very uncomfortable.

Not Chandler Tsonda: What I came here to say, Mr. Dean, is I’ve got proposal for you. The real Chandler Tsonda, that guy ain’t showing up. He’s at home wimping out, and from what I’ve been told, he’s afraid to show his face. So this presents a golden opportunity for you and me. A classic tit for tat.

Bobby Dean nods along. And then he looks down his nose…at his own chest. And then Doppeltsonda follows his eyes. They both stare at Bobby Dean’s ample bosom.

Not Chandler Tsonda: No, not like that. I mean, it’s a win-win. I want to keep playing the role of Chandler Tsonda, and you want to get a big supershow win. And the best thing for getting MY face out there, is for Chandler Tsonda to keep up this freakin’ embarrassing win streak. Get on First Take for being a total dumpster fire. Be a sad Tiktok meme that someone puts “My Immortal” over. So, I’m here to ask you if you’re interested, ya know, in an arrangement.

Bobby takes a step away.

Not Chandler Tsonda: I’m willing to lay down for you. For a price. And I’ll even…what are you doing?

The Real Bobby Dean: (holding a pair of pants upside down and shaking out the pockets) Looking for loose change.

Not Chandler Tsonda: Are those even your pants?

The Real Bobby Dean: Uhm, if I say yes, will you believe me?

Doppeltsonda is nearly speechless as Bobby Dean continues rifling through other clothing. It is, in fact, alarming how much extra clothing there is in Bobby Dean’s dressing room. There is an impressive small fortune of change, and several Chuck E. Cheese tokens, covering the floor when the ritual is done.

The Real Bobby Dean: (holding up two fistfuls of assorted change) You like what you see?

Not Chandler Tsonda: Now we’re talking.

The imposter reaches out to take the money, but seeing the incoming hand causes Bobby a moment of panic as he suddenly remembers what Doppletsonda likes to do in his spare time.

And that, for now, is that.

We then cut to ringside.

Nick Stuart: Up next, a crucifix match between two beloved and respected PRIME Hall of Famers. Yup, you heard that right.

Richard Parker: I can’t believe it is 2023, and this match is happening. Crazy. Just crazy.

The shot jumps to the wooden crucifix which is down at ringside near the end of entrance ramp. It has its own designated spot down there.

You’ll see why.

Nick Stuart: The rules for the match are simple. There is an Acme powered cross laying on the floor. Then, there are straps for the hands and feet so that a person can be “nailed” to it. No one is actually getting “nailed” to anything.

Richard Parker: This is PRIME, damn it, and not some Chicago deep dish shanty.

Nick Stuart: Well, not entirely. The cross is wired to a nearby button which unfortunately screams fire hazard.

A zoom in on the button. It’s positioned a few feet away from the cross. Think of it like it is the button from the end of a Ninja Warrior course. Similar deals. Just blue. And sparking.

Nick Stuart: The electric blue button will only be activated once a person has been completely “nailed” to the cross. Then, and only then, and after the button has been pressed, will the cross spring upright and a winner be declared.

That’s that.

Richard Parker: So strap Nova in, use your boot to hit the button, profit. Seems easy enough.

Nick Stuart: You think so?

Richard Parker: No. In fact I don’t even know how I’m going to be able to watch any of this. Is it possible for me to take Hoyt’s spot so that he may live in case the worst happens?

“Personal Jesus” by Depeche Mode plays as out walks Joe Burro holding the Imperium Bible above his head. He walks to the ring unphased by the jeering crowd as a single white spotlight follows him. Joe enters the ring and holds the bible towards the entranceway.

Richard Parker: Who do I have to kill to be like Joe?

About two minutes into the song when it gets to the weird breathing part blue smoke starts filling the ramp as Hoyt appears wearing a long white robe flapping behind him as he zips to the ring on a golden segway. On his way down he scoffs as he passes by the cross. Sort of unnoticed you can spot Hoyt’s two main brethren the massive Brother Privilege and Brother Hypocrisy walking casually to the ring behind him. Once in the ring Hoyt does a few Jumping Jacks for Jesus and stretches by pulling on the ropes. He also can’t help himself but to smite the crowd.

Timo corrals the faithful and regrettably informs them that they won’t be at ringside for the match. As such, after putting up a good argument they head to the back.

Richard Parker: Talk about bias! Completely unfair! How dare he rob them of witnessing God’s Champion up close and personal?

The lights cut out in the arena, and a stormy sky appears on the video screen.

As thunder booms over the speakers and lightning lights up the darkened clouds on-screen, George Clinton’s voice can be heard speaking in soft, reverberating tones.

“Mother Earth is pregnant for the third time…for y’all have knocked her up. I have tasted the maggots in the mind of the universe; but I was not offended, for I knew I had to rise above it all…or drown in my own shit.”

The stormy sky fades, replaced by a field of stars. One of the stars shoots across the screen, and as the field of stars comes together to form the word “NOVA,” Funkadelic’s “Maggot Brain” lilts over the PA system.

Nick Stuart: There he is! Take a picture of him, because rumor is you might not be seeing him for a while!

YEAH~!

At this moment, a spotlight hits the entrance ramp where Nova is kneeling, one fist raised in the air. The smoke wafting up from the cigarette hanging out of his mouth swirls iridescently under the hot glare of the spotlight.

Richard Parker: Those things will kill you.

Nick Stuart: The cigarette or the cross?

Richard Parker: Both.

After a moment, the Risen Star climbs to his feet and makes his way down to the ring. He stops to inspect the cross situation before rolling under the bottom rope. Then, he springs to his feet and flicks his cigarette away.

The lights come up.

Nick Stuart: Two legends. They’ve done it all. Well, except crucifying someone. I think. That changes tonight. I got goosebumps, Rich.

Richard Parker: Please Hoyt let yourself win.

Timo looks at both competitors. He then calls for the bell.

DING~!

Nick Stuart: Here we go!

Richard Parker: I can’t watch!

Neither Nova nor Hoyt move from their respective corners. Instead, they remain still, and stare at each other from across the squared circle. The PRIMEates in attendance quickly rise to their feet and hit a fever pitch, which eventually causes the two to charge towards one another. They collide in the center of the ring with the weight and magnitude of PRIME’s cherished history following closely behind them, and explode into a violent flurry of right and left hands.

Nick Stuart: Neither man will back down! It’s almost like they are going to stand there and punch each other in the face until it’s time for one of them to get strapped to the cross.

Richard Parker: Do you think Hoyt’s face is okay?

Finally, the rabid opening flurry begins to slow, and Hoyt manages to push the smaller Nova back. Nova charges in with a clothesline, and Hoyt ducks underneath it. Hoyt then winds up to land a stiff Williamsliner of his own, but Nova ducks underneath that.

Nick Stuart: Ew.

Richard Parker: What? What is it?

The difference between the two clothesline attempts is that Nova happens to slip in a quick German suplex after his dodge that buckles the son of Duke Williams in half.

Nick Stuart: Hoyt is 6’6, weighs over three hundred pounds, and Nova just suplexed him as if he were an altar boy!

Hoyt smartly rolls out of the ring to buy some time to recover. Nova quickly joins him on the outside not wanting to lose the advantage. The two once again start to exchange rights and lefts. During the exchange Hoyt sneaks a knee into Nova’s gut, which robs The Risen Star of his air and drops him to the ground. Continuing on with the offense Hoyt fiercely whips Nova into the barricade, and then quickly follows that up by again fiercely whipping Nova but this time into the steel steps!

CLANG~!

Richard Parker: Doesn’t matter what year it is. You don’t mess with Hoyt Williams in a crucifixion match. I don’t care who you are.

Hoyt stalks his way over and helps his fellow Hall of Famer back up. He reaches out and slaps Nova’s ears with his patented Church Bells a-ring-‘n’ maneuver to further disorient his foe before rolling him back into the ring. Then, Your Personal Jesus takes a moment to bask in the crowd’s adoration. Or lack thereof. Still, it doesn’t stop him from basking. When Hoyt turns around, and more importantly when he refocuses his attention back on the match, much to his chagrin he is met with a body splash!

Nick Stuart: Nova from the TOP rope all the way to OUTSIDE! If this is the last time we’ll be seeing him for a while then he’s pulling out all the stops.

Senior Referee Timo Bolamba hastily slides out of the ring to check on the PRIME legendaries who lay writhing in pain. Meanwhile, PetCo Park is going absolutely bonkers.

Richard Parker: I bet that goon was immune! He doesn’t have any brains to begin with!

Eventually, and with the aid of the guardrail, Nova is able to get back upright. He shakes the pain away from the stiff landing, and then lands a few kicks to Hoyt’s lower back. He reaches down, grabs a handful of Hoyt’s hair, and assists his foe back up. Instead of rolling him into the ring though, Nova ushers Hoyt towards the crucifix and delivers a precise bodyslam to better line up his foe on the cross.

Nick Stuart: It’s like Nova has been practicing that move! He slammed Hoyt perfectly. This could be it!

Richard Parker: This isn’t right! Hoyt! Shoot him with the lasers in your eyes! Smite him! HURRY!

Nova goes to strap his opponent’s arm to the one side of the crucifix, but while he’s doing so Hoyt uses his free hand to desperately rake his eyes.

Richard Parker: Phew. Close one. Hail HOYT!

The Starchild reels backwards in agony.

The 8th member inducted into PRIME’s Hall of Fame rises up, charges in, and lands a Williamsliner that knocks the rest of Nova’s hair out. It also sends Nova soaring over the guardrail and into the front row of the audience! Instead of following him into the crowd, Hoyt reaches over the guardrail and suplexes Nova back to the outside.

Smitten, Williams then brushes his hands together signaling a job well done.

Richard Parker: Hoyt back in total control!

Nick Stuart: Although he better be careful! Last time he took his eye off the ball it cost him.

Richard Parker: Enough of the blasphemy!

Williams gets Nova up and rolls him back inside the ring. He follows closely behind by sliding under the bottom rope. Then, wasting no time in furthering the assault, Hoyt quickly pounces on Nova and delivers a series of short right hands that have one purpose and one purpose only.

Richard Parker: We got a bleeder!

Hoyt stops his attack at the sight of the blood, because at the end of the day he does like Nova but he just wants to be God’s Champion more. Once again, he takes a moment to charm his parishioners. Timo checks in on Nova as if there is something that he could do.

Nick Stuart: Nova is getting pummeled. He’s lucky they are inside the ring and not near the cross right now.

Hoyt goes back to work, but once again he takes too much time preaching. As such, Nova is waiting for him. Well, Nova is waiting to destroy Hoyt’s ability to have children and make him preach in a high pitch.

Richard Parker: LOW BLOW! DISQUALIFY HIM TIMO! DO YOUR JOB!

Nick Stuart: It’s a crucifixion match.

Richard Parker: Oh. Yeah. LIKE I CARE!

Hoyt drops to his knees clutching at his holy marbles. Nova struggles to get back up but he does; blood on his face but not really gushing from it. He circles Hoyt, like a shark around a sinking boat. Hoyt lazily waves to stop Nova from advancing, but he still sounds like a choir boy so no help there. Nova reaches out, cinches in, and then plants Hoyt into the canvas with his signature move, No Value!

Nick Stuart: HOYT is DOWN!

Richard Parker: He should be thanking himself that he’s the one not near the cross this time around.

Nova looks down at Hoyt, and then over at the cross. Then, he looks back at Hoyt, and then back at the cross. He shrugs. Then, he reaches into his tights, lights a cig, and uses the cherry to help Hoty out of the ring.

Richard Parker: This is the second time Nova should have been disqualified. If there’s a third I might just have to boycott the outcome of this match.

Nova and Hoyt are now on the outside of the ring after the brief butt break. Nova is jostling with Hoyt, and trying to get him back down on top of the cross. However, Hoyt manages to slip away and find his feet. The two stand across from each other, with the cross being between them.

Nick Stuart: This is it!

Richard Parker: I can’t watch!

Just like at the start of the match the crowd rises to their feet and hits a fever pitch. Then, Nova and Hoyt charge at each other with everything they got. Rights and lefts fly. Blood trickles. Nova swings, and connects. Hoyt reels back, and Nova charges in.

Nick Stuart: WHAT!?!?!

Richard Parker: Oh my Hoyt.

Hoyt spins on a holy heel, avoids Nova’s attack, and back body drops him. Instead of Nova landing on the floor though, Hoyt catches him on his back as he’s falling toward the ground. In one swift motion Hoyt raises his arms, elevates Nova, and…

Richard Parker: CRUCIFIED AND SAVED ON TOP OF THE CRUCIFIX!!!!

Nick Stuart: WOW! HE PLANTED HIM!

Hoyt falls down to his knees. Nova isn’t moving. He’s bleeding, but he’s not moving. Hoyt reaches out and straps Nova’s arms to the crucifix. He then straps down Nova’s feet.

Richard Parker: Just hit the fucking button and it’s over!

Exhausted, Hoyt slowly crawls his way over to the button, reaches out with whatever energy he has left, blesses himself, and then crucifies Nova.

DING. DING.

Richard Parker: THANK HOYT THIS IS FINALLY OVER. I can breathe again.

Nick Stuart: What a match between two legends. Both men left it all out there tonight. Whatever the future may hold, neither of them will be the same when the travel through it..

The final shot of the match is of Hoyt, still on his knees, looking up at bloody Nova who remains strapped to the cross.

We then return to the backstage area.

The show finds itself in the parking bay, where a rather fancy steel black Rolls Royce has pulled up to the entrance of Petco Park.

Considering it is so late in the night, it is a bit surprising that someone is only just showing up moments before the main event.

Of course, it makes a lot more sense if we know the Roll Royce inhabitant.

Which we do.

It’s former PRIME Universal Champion Philip Martin Atken, former leader of the Glue Factory. We see glimpses of Atken stepping out of the car, as The Glueminati’s Dirk Dickwood rushes over to the car door, wheelchair in hand. Atken slowly lowers himself out of the car and into the chair, as Dickwood looks on. There is a respectful cheer from the crowd as they get a glimpse of the man with the short Universal Reign due to shenanigans.

Phil Atken: Dirk, I hope Cecilworth knows me better than this.

He gestures to the car.

Phil Atken: The Glue brand will not be bought off with bright cars and shiny trinkets. The only way he gets his head above water is winning tonight. That’s how he fixes what he fucked.

Dirk grabs hold of Atken and produces a reassuring smile.

Dirk Dickwood: I’m certain that Cecilworth was showing you he cares. With your current health, I think you’d agree that it’s a nice gesture to have a comfortable ride in.

Phil looks back to the Rolls Royce and sneers a little.

Phil Atken: I suppose so.

Atken shrugs his shoulders as he is slowly rolled into Petco Park by Dickwood.

Phil Atken: I guess we’re moments away from finding out.

Dickwood starts to lunge as he rolls the chair uphill.

Dirk Dickwood: Cecilworth organised a box for you…

Phil Atken: …Did he now.

Dirk scratches his eyebrow, a little frustrated by the former Universal Champion’s tone.

Dirk Dickwood: Phil, be less of a dick. He’s trying here.

Phil Atken: I hope he gave the same level of dedication when preparing for Coral Avalon as he did to my travel arrangements, otherwise this is all for nothing.

A small smile creeps on Atken’s face.

Phil Atken: It was a nice ride in…

The camera slowly fades out as it zooms upon the Petco Park sign lit up in the dark of the evening.

“Hey man…why does everyone wanna kill you? Like, literally kill you?”

Fading in we find possibly the hottest trio in PRIME’s storied history. Like, the hottest. The gleaming smile that’s worth the while of Nate Colton. The hair to make ya stare and the buns built to stun of Jared Sykes. And the ‘stache that makes ya wanna smash from Hayes Hanlon.

andalsohisassisbigger

The Golden Boys.

The Bold and the Booty-ful.

The Troppy Toppy Turmy Bois.

But tonight is not the night for shedding tears and grabbing ass, because tomorrow? These Grade-A cuts of BEEF are going to be staring at each other inside the ol’ squared circle. And assuming that Ivan and Paxton don’t commit actual murder, or Cancer stumbles across the ability to teleport opponents out of the arena, these boys may have to big all that beef to each other.

Usually you gotta pay extra for that kinda thing.

Hayes, somewhat aloof and pacing, arms crossed, takes a moment to turn and address the question posed by Nate Colton.

Hayes Hanlon: Yeah, that’s a pretty good question.

The target of that question runs a hand over his chin. It’s one of the few spots on his face where there isn’t a visible scar.

Jared Sykes: The short answer? Because there are elements to this business that are straight-up fucked, and that means some very broken people get to live out their worst impulses without fear of things getting all legal.

He shrugs, trying to hide the wince that the motion triggers.

Jared Sykes: But if I think about it that way then there are other questions that come up – existential stuff like, “if that’s the case then what does it say about me that I stick around.” So instead I try to rationalize it and say that it’s because they figure I’m someone they know they’ll have to deal with eventually, and it’s easier to do that if I’m dead. Maybe it’s misguided, but it’s how I cope.

Colton nods quietly. It’s more response than the others expected, to be honest. He’d been buried in his phone for most of the last three months, and the question he asked earlier was the most he’d said all night.

Sykes’ eyes dart between Nate and Hayes.

Jared Sykes: Besides, and let’s be real here… Would either of you really rather it was you?

Hayes Hanlon: …that was heavier than I expected.

The Event Horizon turns back toward the room.

Hayes Hanlon: I dunno, this is the kinda stuff I watched when I was kid, so none of it is all that surprising. But, it’s what I wanted. So to answer your question…kinda?

He takes a seat next to the Dragonslayer, giving him a quick slap on the back.

Hayes Hanlon: But sorry I haven’t been around to help you with your Bear problem.

Jared Sykes: Hey, just another chance to be the Good Guys, right?

Nate Colton: Never saw it that way.

Sykes and Hanlon look up to Colton.

Nate Colton: Being the ‘good guy?’ At best, it’s a duty. At worst, it’s a burden.

Not the positive speech they were expecting from the normally energetic young superstar.

Jared Sykes: I mean, you’re not wrong. It has its moments, but sometimes… I dunno.

Nate Colton: The cheers are great, sure. But is it worth having some asshole sucker punch you all the time, because they think they can get away with it? Or what Arthur Pleasant did to Tom?

Jared Sykes: And these are the thoughts I’ve had to grapple with for as long as I’ve been doing this. Here’s the kicker: it always comes back to the same answer.

Nate Colton: Because someone has to.

Jared nods and mouths a single word. “Yup.”

Nate Colton: If we don’t, if we just let them do what they want…hell. Look at the other guys in this match. Cancer Jiles, Ivan Stanislav, Paxton Ray. Do you want any of them representing PRIME? Showing the world that the way they act is how you get ahead? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t.

Hayes Hanlon: They don’t represent PRIME, Nate. Not MY PRIME, anyway.

Nate Colton: Right. So we pick up the sword and shield, we play the role of the gallant knights. We take the beatings, we take the punishment…and hope we can hold out until someone else is strong enough to take our place.

Hayes Hanlon: Well, Ivan did throw me through the steel cage and I’m still around, so you’ve got a point.

Nate Colton: So let’s go out there tomorrow night and do our damn job.

Hayes Hanlon: Gonna show these pricks what it really means to be PRIME.

Hayes holds a fist up in the center of their circle. Colton brings up his own to meet it.

Jared hesitates a moment. His expression is hard to read. There’s the makings of a smile, but as for what lies behind it?

The energy and optimism of youth isn’t lost on him. He was this young once, and though he still doesn’t quite look his age the years of physical and mental wear make him feel every day of his forty-odd years. If you asked him, he’d tell you that his career is a cautionary tale of what wrestlers like Colton and Hayes should try NOT to be. Sure, the longevity is nice, but it comes at a cost that sometimes feels too high to bear.

Still, it’s hard not to appreciate the noble sentiment, and a chuckle escaped Jared’s lips.

Jared Sykes: You guys are nuts.

He brings up his hand to meet the other two.

Jared Sykes: Just make sure y’all invite me to the afterparty.

We then cut to ringside for our main event.

The stage lights dim, and we get a lively tune. If you think it isn’t sinister, you’re fooling yourself. Just as sinister underneath it. “Choke” by I Don’t Know How But They Found Me. It heralds the arrival of the Financier of the Gluemaniti, Lord Cecilworth Farthington.

Nick Stuart: Folks, this is it. The main event of the evening. After all this time, finally, Cecilworth Farthington, who earned this opportunity by eliminating then 5 Star Champion Nate Colton in the Murder Rumble, will face Coral Avalon. After twists and turns. After betrayals. It all…leads to this.

Richard Parker: You make it seem so sinister.

As the riff reaches its peak, bright lights are cast down upon the entrance as the Financier walks out. Dressed in his plain black hoodie, his arms in his pockets, Farthington walks out with that easy, self-assured smile plastered all over his face.

Vince Howard: This 5 Star Championship match is set for one fall with no time limit and is THE MAAAIN! EVEENT! OF THE EVENING! Introducing first, the challenger…from Buckinghamshire in England, the United Kingdom… he weighs in tonight at one hundred and eighty-seven pounds… the Financier of the Gluemaniti… CECILWOOOOOOORTH! FAAAAARTHINGTOOOOOOONNNN!!!

Farthington’s shoulders shimmy and sway to “Choke” without ever taking his hands out of his pockets as he makes his way to the ring. He rolls under the bottom rope with the speed of a man who’s taking things a little leisurely before leaping up. Finally, he pulls his left hand out of one of his pockets to give the jeering crowd a cheeky wave before he sets himself in a lean against the corner.

The camera cuts to the Western Metal Company building in the outfield. To the luxury suite deck. Dirk Dickwood is there, but we aren’t paying attention to him. No…it’s the emotionless face of Phil Atken we are focused on.

Nick Stuart: This…is the first time we’ve seen the former Universal Champion since he suffered a potentially career ending concussion at the hands of Cancer Jiles and–

Richard Parker: ELEVEN HERBS AND SPICES–

Nick Stuart: And to say he looks none too pleased mighty be an understatement.,

Farthington removes the rest of his hoodie, grabbing his cellphone, and doing Cecilworth things. Which is either something fun or probably involves serial killing and fires. YOU DECIDE THIS IS YOUR OWN ADVENTURE INTO THE MIND OF A BROKEN MAN!

Darkness does not herald the arrival of the 5-Star Champion as it usually would, because it’s hard to turn out the lights in a baseball stadium, and it’s still dusk in San Diego.

A man walks onto stage. This man seems normal, except for the war paint on his bare chest and the fur armor worn over his shoulders and around his waist, along with the helmet with the spectacle guard around the eyes and nose. He carries with him a large hunting horn, and stands off to the side of the stage away from the entrance ramp. After a short pause, the man blows the horn. The sound travels through the building. You know what other sound travels through the building?

The sound of drums.

This isn’t the sound of drums as you might hear from a marching band. This is the sound of war drums. A cacophonous, intimidating beat. The camera catches sight of the source of the drums, just below the stage. Two ripped, burly men dual-wielding huge drum sticks and going to town on huge man-sized drums.

A procession of men and women stream out from behind the curtains. Some are dressed in furs, which can’t be great in the Tropical Turmoil heat, while others have visible armor. Some carry swords, others carry battle axes. All carry shields. There’s a veritable army here.

Cecilworth Farthington, in the ring, cares so much about all of this that he can be seen impatiently looking at his phone.

Richard Parker (squealing): HE DMED ME!

The sound of a man fainting can be heard in the background.

Nick Stuart: …Rich? Are you okay?

I guess he needs a moment.

The procession forms two columns, on each side of the entrance ramp, with the exception of a semicircle of a dozen of these “northerners” around the entryway itself. This semicircle is tightly packed, all of them carrying battle standards that obscure the area they’re surrounding. The drums intensify.

When the drums suddenly stop, and Monster Siren’s “Real Me” begins its opening melody, the semicircle parts and dividing itself into groups that blended into the columns by the ramp. What remains behind the semicircle are two individuals.

One is an ugly-looking man in a trilby and an ash-gray suit, looking for all the world like a man who seems uncomfortably giddy with the fact that he’s standing before a crowd of tens of thousands of screaming fans. In the ring, Farthington catches sight of him with an eyebrow raised, and has a sudden, dire need to see if he’d brought another copyright law book to throw at this man’s head.

The other man is, of course, the man of the hour.

Coral Avalon stands at the center of the stage, all eyes upon him at the eye of the storm. His lion-themed entrance cloak looks like it’s gained an addition in the form of a fur-lined hood, which shrouds his head from the audience. Underneath the cloak, the 5-Star Championship belt is wrapped around his waist, and he wears a version of his entrance gear that burns like a red sun that’s never been seen before this night.

All at once, every man and woman in the semicircle drops to one knee in reverence. Even the ugly-looking man does the same, though he cradles an object covered in a black cloth in his hands.

Avalon steps forward and Lord Gavin Yum, Esq. removes the cloth. There is a metallic object, one that Avalon has not been seen with since he started in PRIME despite a close association in Japan. The longsword gleams in the fading Californian sunlight when Avalon picks it up, just as the guitars of “Real Me” hit.

He raises it up, pointing it up at the sky, and a line of fireworks shoots out from behind him in a vertical line. The moment the fireworks hit their peak, an additional flurry of fireworks fire from the edges of the stadium itself.

Avalon holds this pose for a few moments, and slowly points the sword towards Cecilworth Farthington. Farthington responds only with the smirk of a man who can barely bother paying attention to whatever nonsense is happening before him, and goes back to his phone.

Avalon throws back the hood of his cloak, revealing that left half of his face has been painted red, as though stained blood. The face paint looks solid except for the parts that look like stylized as though it’s dripping off. He drops the hood to the ground. With another pointed look to Lord Farthington, he then drops the sword to the ground and begins his long march to the ring.

Vince Howard: His opponent… residing in Seattle, Washington! He weighs in at two hundred and fourteen pounds! THE CROWNLESS KING! THE FIVE-STAR CHAMPION! CORAAAAAAALLLLLL AVALOOOOOOOOONNNN!!!

The fur-clad men and women that line the ramp bow before him as he approaches. Avalon maintains a steady walk to the ring, his eyes never stop glaring at Farthington.

Nick Stuart: A look of determination on the face of the 5-Star Champion, Richard.

Richard Parker: …

Nick Stuart: Oh, for God’s sakes, wake up!

Avalon reaches the ring and walks up the stairs, stepping through the ropes. He approaches the hard camera and displays the hand symbol of the Crownless Kingdom – fists together, pinkies and ring fingers out. This symbol is matched by every “soldier” that Avalon walked by on his way to the ring. It’s matched by Gavin at the entrance ramp.

The king may have no true crown, yet he has a kingdom. It’s tens of thousands strong. It chants his name. It supports him every step of the way as he begins to remove his entrance cloak. There is a clear favorite here. The journeyman who hadn’t been seen at this stage of the game in almost twenty years. The biggest match of his life, against a foe he intends to bring ruin to.

Cecilworth Farthington, for the first time, finally put away the cell phone. Avalon’s kingdom starts to file out, leaving the man with only the championship belt in his hands and a determined stare.

Richard Parker: Cecilworth…HEY CECILWORTH! I can protect your phone! I promise I can protect your phone!

Nick Stuart: Will you stop!

Richard Parker: You…you don’t understand, Nick…this is CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON! In a PRIME Pay-Per-View Main Event! A once in a lifetime experience! I will tell my children…my children’s children…my children’s children’s CHILDREN…that on this night, at this moment…I was there. I was there for the spectacle that was Lord Cecilworth claiming the MOST PRIZED championship in all of professional wrestling…the 5 Star Champion.

Nick Stuart: Which acknowledges Coral Avalon as the holder of that prestige.

Richard Parker: Oh no. No no no. NO NO NO! Don’t you DARE Nick. Don’t even THINK of ruining this for me. For…for US!

Nick Stuart: These two have remained in their corners, and the tension here in San Diego? Palpable. In the last few months…so much has changed. The 5 Star Championship…has truly ascended to a championship at or near the level as the Universal Title. Fantastic bouts. The holders in this era of PRIME have been peerless. Hayes Hanlon. Rezin. FLAMBERGE. Nate Colton. And now…Coral Avalon.

Richard Parker: There’s a reason it’s where it is tonight.

Nick Stuart: Still no movement. There’s a buzz in the air. An air of uncertainty. So much at stake here. Fueled by ascent. By betrayal. By mission statements. And after tonight, only one will be left standing.

The painted Crownless King scowls in the direction of The Financier. Cecilworth, his hands clasping the ropes, stretching, ready to explode forward, wears a foreboding sneer, his eyes narrowed.

Ashley Barlow looks toward Cecilworth, then to Avalon. With a heavy clap of the hands, the bell rings.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: We…are underway.

Barlow bounces on the balls of her feet from the center of the ring, expecting an instant clash. She, along with the fans at home and in Petco Park, are not disappointed. Both men aggressively part their corners, Cecilworth in a mid level jiu jitsu stance with his hands maintaining fluid motion ready to touch, while Avalon comes out in a bladed boxing stance. Once they are within reach, Farthington shoots with his knee sliding across the canvas looking to pick at one of Coral’s legs. Wrestler to wrestler. Anticipated because of all that is known from the twenty plus years the 5 Star Champion has spent in the ring. That Coral avoids isn’t surprising; what is, though, is how, off a pair of back steps from the dangerous hands of Farthington, him quickly exploding forward with a charging single leg dropkick that batters the chest of the unexpecting challenger.

The Glueminati Leader had been in the process of trying to reset himself, but found himself susceptible for a moment in trying to gather, and as a result, paid the price. Avalon’s boot burrows into Cecilworth’s sternum, powering him back violently with his arms flailing. The Crownless King is on his feet instantly, powdering the Financier first with a charging european uppercut that clobbers him into the corner, and, once there, laces them deep into his chest over and over.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: AVALON! AVALON! AVALON is a man POSSESSED!

Richard Parker: GET OUT OF THERE CECILWORTH! YOU SAW THOSE RATTY FURS! RABIES! HE’S A JUNKYARD DOG AND YOUR LORDLY CHEST WILL NEED SHOTS!

The only shots that are happen are the ones the slightly heavier Coral Avalon absolutely blasts across the chest of Cecilworth, threatening to cave his chest in from the very get go. The longer limbs of Farthington reach out to stop the assault, but each blow punctuates his errant swipes. After the eighth consecutive blistering european uppercut lands, Cecilworth finally manages to lay his hands on the 5 Star Champion, but a palm slap across the chest connects before there’s any lacing of fingers around the neck of Avalon. The challenger winces, reaching instinctively for his glistening red chest, and in the process, leaves himself vulnerable.

Nick Stuart: SNAP KICK TO FARTHINGTON’S HEAD!

Richard Parker: THIS IS INSANE!

Nick Stuart: And Cecilworth Farthington can’t even stand up, he’s dropped right on his backside, and OH! ANOTHER SNAPKICK, this one landing with the chest and his knee connecting with the challengers face!

Richard Parker: Abort! Abort! Ground control to Lordly Farth…you’re dealing with a damn basketcase in there!

Upon the blow, Cecilworth bails, rolling underneath the bottom rope aggressively, clutching his face. He stumbles with a few steps, dropping to a knee before exploding back up, grabbing at his nose, his eyes watering.

Richard Parker: WATCH OUT!

Nick Stuart: AVALON LAUNCHING HIMSELF OUT OF THE RING AND BETWEEN THE ROPES AND OBLITERATING CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON WITH A DRIVING EUROPEAN UPPERCUT! And the challenger is scrambling to his feet but FALLS BACK OVER–

Richard Parker: Oh he’s getting back up–

Nick Stuart: But Avalon is already there to mee–Rhongomyniad! Rhongomyniad! That kick NEARLY took off Farthington’s head!

Richard Parker: I DON’T LIKE THIS ONE BIT!

Nick Stuart: Avalon following up and he’s got Farthington and HALF NELSON BACKBREAKER! FARTHINGTON IS APOPLECTIC ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE RING!

Richard Parker: This…this is his strategy…Avalon doesn’t care to make this a fair fight and HE KNOWS if he keeps my precious Farthy out of the ring then this match goes countout and HE RETAINS! What a damn gloryhound!

Nick Stuart: Avalon doesn’t need that kind of glory, Richard…he’s already there. He’s the one who’s driven the 5 Star Championship to pay-per-view main event status, a feat only accomplished twice before; Point Of Impact back in 2004 when Joey Troy upset the 5 Star Tzar, Ian English, to end his 158 day reign…and Jason Snow against Kaiser Vashaun in the main event of second night of Colossus VI in 2009…and that match pitted Universal Champion versus 5 Star Champion in a winner take all.

Richard Parker: And you know what all those have in common? The 5 Star Champion LOST! But Cecilworth has to get this back into the ring to accomplish that!

Farthington clutches his back, rolling around on the mats around the ring in Petco Park. His heels stomp against them, his face etched in a wince. Barlow is deep into her countout, but Avalon, despite what Richard Parker was inferring, has no interest in ending this battle in such a cheap manner. He grabs onto the head of Farthington, yanking him up to his feet before driving him into the ring apron, causing spit to fly from the Lordly mouth of the challenger. Grabbing Farthington’s legs, Avalon rolls him back into the ring, following up, Ashley stopping her count. Cecilworth is staggering in disarray, trying to gain some form of balance, only to have Avalon leap to the top rope and drive himself forward with a front dropkick.

Nick Stuart: Farthington is unprepared here…and it’s shocking. After all this time, after so much, how the lead up to this night had him seemingly five steps ahead of Avalon, in the ring, he’s proven to be no match.

Richard Parker: Are you…are you freaking kidding me? That’s slanderous. Disgusting. Uncouth. You need to stop spreading falsehoods!

Avalon keeps pressing the advantage he is building, running forward and throwing a knee into Farthington’s gut, making his challenger double over with another brutal spray of spit. Instantly, Avalon grabs onto him, double underhooking his arms and lifting him.

Nick Stuart: EXCALIBUR–

On the lift, Farthington starts kicking his legs with ferocity only seen with Hank at your local pool.

Richard Parker: REVERSAL–

The momentum makes for poor balancing, and Avalon has no choice but to let go. The Financier falls to his knees, and while Coral tries to strike right away, doing so causes him to get caught with a thrusting palm strike under the chin. The blow staggers the champion, and, doing what he can, he follows up with a pair of slaps to Avalon’s face, chipping away some of his face paint. Avalon fires back with a european uppercut, and while it connects solidly, Farthington connects with one of his own, his eyes having gone wild. Another european uppercut from Avalon is followed by Cecilworth, and before there’s another volley, Farthington boots the champion in the stomach and grabs him in a front chancery, planting his opponent to the canvas with a DDT.

There is no letting go of the head.

Richard Parker: OHHHHH guillotine choke!

Farthington wrenches hard on the hold, trying to separate Coral from reality. Sensing extreme danger, Avalon gets from his knees to a semi-stance, kicking up and rolling atop his challenger, pinning him to the canvas.

ONE

TWO

Farthington breaks the hold, both men splaying out on the release. Coral reaches for his head, and as he does, Cecilworth, flicking away strands of his hair, smothers his opponent with his arms, grabbing onto his neck with an attempt at The Tarp. Avalon throws his head back the moment he feels those hands and arms going for him, catching The Financier square in the mouth.

Nick Stuart: Coral doing everything he can to avoid falling into grapples with Cecilworth.

Richard Parker: And who wouldn’t? Man is an artist in torturing tendons, ligaments, joints, bones. A saint with a mean streak if you cross him. And Coral Avalon HAS crossed him!

Nick Stuart: Cecilworth grabbing at his mouth, and OH! Forearm shot to the head! And another!

Richard Parker: WHAT IS THIS STRIKING CRAP?!

Nick Stuart: The gameplan is clear. And it is working. And it looks like Cecilworth wasn’t anticipating ANY of this.

Avalon drives another forearm, and, with Cecilworth staggered, lifts him up to his feet, and goes for broke.

Nick Stuart: Camelot’s Turntable! That’s the first time we’ve seen this Armament in PRI–

Richard Parker: LOOK!

The wrist-clutch snap Angle slam indeed makes its debut. And Cecilworth smashes into the canvas. But upon the impact, and given the proximity, Farthington, in a last ditch gasp, grabs onto Coral Avalon before he can get in a more protected position. His body screaming in pain, it is time to make the 5 Star Champion pay, and like an unfathomable monster from deep in the sea, he manages to grab onto a makeshift octopus hold, his legs grabbing at Avalon’s head, snatching the arm. Like liquid. And with his opponent now in his grasp, Cecilworth roars as he does his damnedest to torque with all his might.

Coral roars as well. But his takes on a great definition of pain.

Nick Stuart: Farthington! Farthington! He’s doing this RIGHT OFF of a Coral Avalon armament!

Richard Parker: Such poise! Such presence! Such lordship!

Nick Stuart: To be grappled by Cecilworth Farthington might be to experience death. He’s known for breaking arms on whims. And it’s not like he’s a particularly large man, but his grip strength and knowledge of the human body in correspondence to submission wrestling and grappling is peerless in the sport. This man, love him or hate him, is a savant.

Richard Parker: And I love him!

Nick Stuart: But what he’s exuding here is a grit most people would not like to admit. And Coral is yelling out in pain, doing his damnedest to get out of this.

Richard Parker: Oh don’t you dare crawl! No!

Tangling himself in the ropes, Barlow has no choice but to call for the break. That doesn’t mean Farthington has to be in a particular hurry to. Waiting until four and a half. He finally lets go. But just because he does doesn’t mean is keeping away from the attack. Cecilworth starts throwing heavy elbows into the back of Avalon, over and over, the point of the elbow colliding with his spine, the back portions of his ribs. Grabbing the ropes and yanking himself up, he follows up by burying his knee into the back of the 5 Star Champion, and again, and again, all before the last strike drives Coral out of the ring in a heap.

Nick Stuart: Shades of what we saw Cecilworth do to multiple opponents in the Murder Rumble.

Richard Parker: If you want the hedge maze, don’t…um…minotaur horns.

Avalon struggles to get to his feet, clutching his midsection. After Sage Pontiff and the monitor, after being a suplex lawn dart for STRONK, his ribs and midsection is worse for wear. Farthington slinks to the ring apron, his eyes beaded on the 5 Star Champion, then, to the Western Metal Company luxury suites, toward the distant form of the wheelchair bound Phil Atken. And when he looks back toward Avalon, he takes a running start, throwing his leg wildly for a penalty kick.

It catches only air.

Cecilworth tries to turn somewhat after missing, discombobulated. As he does so? Avalon yanks him from the apron and onto the arena floor, and begins once again brutalizing him with european uppercuts.

Nick Stuart: Cecilworth stumbling, trying to get away…OH! Avalon using that apron as a weapon here…slamming Cecilworth’s body into the apron, again and again, grabbing him by the head and OH! He drove Farthington’s head into the edge of the ring apron with force!

Avalon rolls under the bottom rope to stop Barlow’s count, then rolls back outside.

Richard Parker: This…THIS IS NOT A SPORTING CONTEST!

Nick Stuart: Avalon knows what it will take. Knows what he has to do. He doesn’t just want to win over Cecilworth Farthington…he wants to batter him. Brutalize him.

Cecilworth is dazed, clutching his head, all as Avalon peppers him with a forearm strike. And another. Another. He punctuates everything with a hellacious european uppercut.

THHHHHHWACK!

Nick Stuart: Farthington in real trouble here and–

Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Nick. Because proximity allows Cecilworth to grab onto the arm of Avalon and, with all his force and dropping the mats, he whips him into the steel steps.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!

The blow is so massive that the top and bottom portions become disconnected, and Avalon, having landed with his body against the steps, is now ass over teakettle and writhing in pain.

Richard Parker: You see?! That’s what you get!

Cecilworth stalks over, falling to a knee once again before shooting up. The Financier lifts Avalon from the mats, then powers him into the guardrail. A shoulder blow to the midsection continues the onslaught. A heavy knee. And another. And then, he grabs hold of Avalon and forces him into a brutal submission hold.

Richard Parker: Bow and arrow hold!

Nick Stuart: And there’s no escape! Nothing! Cecilworth is yanking Coral Avalon to the breaking point, and no rope break can save him from this! Only the count can stop this!

Barlow chastises Farthington on the outside, but The Financier is more concerned with the count. When she reaches 8, he lets go and staggers to the ring apron, lifting himself up and getting into the ring.

Richard Parker: The presence. The presence of mind…what a smart man Cecilworth is.

Coral struggles to get up, his midsection now in tatters. He hobbles, following up, and as he gets on the ring apron, Cecilworth explodes, his lanky arms ripping at Avalon, clubbing him with a forearm before turning him around so he faces towards the crowd. A hammerfist to the chest is followed by a Farthington grabbing hold of Avalon and pulling his neck and head through the middle and top ropes. Another hammerfist blow gives Farthington the opportunity to grab at Avalon’s feet, yanking them between the bottom and middle rope.

Nick Stuart: Oh my word…what is he…

Richard Parker: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Nick Stuart: FARTHINGTON IS LATCHED ONTO CORAL AVALON WITH A INVERTED FACELOCK, his knee…HIS KNEE in to back of Avalon! And he’s torquing him! Good lord look at the bend there!

Richard Parker: He’s pulling him apart like whole hog barbecue!

Barlow is quick to get in, trying to pull Cecilworth away, but she is no match for his grip. He just stares at her, watching as she begins to count. At the absolute last moment before disqualification, Farthington lets go.

Only to grab onto him again.

Nick Stuart: This…this is BARBARIC!

Richard Parker: It’s…it’s beautiful. Picasso in his element!

At another last moment count to five, Farthington lets go. But this time, as he goes to grab onto Avalon, the desperate 5 Star Champion grabs onto the back of his neck, yanking him down and guillotining him against the top rope.

Nick Stuart: Desperation! Pure desperation!

Richard Parker: But look at him!

Nick Stuart: Coral is grabbing at his ribs! He’s grabbing at his body! He’s struggling! Fighting. Kicking against the canvas and…and…he’s rising up!

Richard Parker: Farthington’s grabbing at his own jaw…

Nick Stuart: Avalon struggling…A BURST! Rhongomyniad! Rhongomyniad!

Richard Parker: BUT HE COLLAPSED!

Avalon did, indeed, collapse, but Cecilworth is once again out of sorts. Coral struggles, his entire body vibrating in raw intensity. He lets out a primal roar, throwing everything he has into a knee to the midsection of a staggering Cecilworth. Double underhook.

Nick Stuart: EXCALIBUR!

Richard Parker: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: EXCALIBUR! FARTHINGTON’S IN TROUBLE! HE’S IN TROUBLE!

There is no pin. Instead, Avalon, fighting with all his might, gets to his feet, and stumbles to the turnbuckle, lifting himself and perching at the top.

Richard Parker: NOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOO! CECILWORTH! PRECIOUS CECILWORTH!

Nick Stuart: CARNWENNAN! HE’S–

Richard Parker: OOOOOOOOOOOO–

Nick Stuart: AT THE LAST MOMENT–

Richard Parker: NOOOOOOOTHING!

Coral threw his heels heavy at the end of the top rope foot stomp. The only problem? Cecilworth rolled JUST in time. Farthington does everything he can to get up, and Coral, grabbing his legs, is doing the same. Cecilworth sees red. And in an instant, he latches onto Avalon.

Richard Parker: TARP TIME BABY!

Nick Stuart: OH NO! CORAL IS CAUGHT!

Coral’s eyes bug out as the constriction takes effect. Cecilworth isn’t playing. He’s doing everything he can to choke Coral Avalon the absolute fuck out. Brutally. He’s yelling. He’s screaming. He’s practically foaming at the mouth.

Richard Parker: HE CAN’T FIGHT THIS–

Nick Stuart: CORAL TRYING TO GRAB HIS HEAD–

Richard Parker: CECILWORTH HEADBUTTS HIM–

Nick Stuart: CORAL TRYING CORAL TRYING–

Richard Parker: WAIT WHAT’S HE–

Nick Stuart: AVALON! AVALON BURSTING TO THE CORNER! HE’S RUNNING UP THE TURNBUCKLES HE’S GOING TO BREAK THE TARP–

Richard Parker: NO WAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

Coral tries to moonsault to get full rotation. To break free from the hold choking the absolute life out of him.

There’s only one problem.

Cecilworth managed to maintain his grip.

Nick Stuart: OH! OH NO! THE TARP IS IN DEEP! FARTHINGTON MAINTAINED THE GRIP!

Splaying out on his stomach, Coral looks as best as he can to see where the bottom rope is. The movement was enough to loosen the grip slightly, allowing precious oxygen in his lungs. Enough for one last chance. He starts to crawl to the rope as The Financier latches onto him with all he has. So close. So close.

Then, he’s no longer on his stomach.

He’s on his side.

Body triangle.

The choke is in full. Coral tries to move, but oxygen deprivation, his crippled midsection, and the immense grip of the best submission wrestler in the sport is locked tight. There’s two choices. One is the way so many have chosen to go out. With their own vanity. Ultimate badass. Unconscious. That is the most dangerous path. And with The Tarp in like it is…his airway could be collapsed.

He’s already died once.

Wounded as he is, he has a daughter on the way.

With no alternative, he taps.

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: YOOOOOOOOUR WINNER…AAAAAAAAAAND NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW! 5 STAR CHAMPION! CEEEEEEEEEEEEECILWORTH! FAAAAAAAAAAAARTHINGTON!

A real piece of shit would keep the hold on. And as evil as some are, the moment Coral taps, Cecilworth releases. He slumps over, the two men fully and utterly spent. Laying on the canvas. Looking upward.

Nick Stuart: This…this was a sprint!

Richard Parker: What a turning point!

Nick Stuart: Farthington pulls this out…but man…nothing Coral Avalon did tonight can be held against him. He fought his ass off and if not for months of work done to his midsection…this match might be different.

Richard Parker: Maybe. In truth, maybe.

Nick Stuart: Perhaps a gameplan has developed for Cecilworth Farthington. He better hope not…the 5 Star Championship contender list is great…and Coral Avalon is still there as well…

Farthington finally stirs, nodding in acknowledgement to Coral. After all things, if you can see it, is a reassuring hand. A show of respect in the touch. Coral, slumps, rolling under the bottom rope. And as Ashley Barlow goes to raise the hand of the rising Farthington, he takes the 5 Star Championship, limply clutching it, nearly falling against the ropes.

That limp lift?

His gaze?

It’s pointed at the man in the wheelchair, looking on with only a stone expression.

FADE. TO. GLUE.