ReVival 40

It’s Friday night, and everything is Glue.

Cecilworth Farthington and FLAMBERGE are busy polishing their championship belts, as they typically do whenever they’re in each others’ company. Gotta get that sheen up, after all, and whoever has the shiniest belt wins. As intense as the belt FLAMBERGE holds, and rated the same five stars as the belt Farthington holds.

Nearby, Joe Fontaine is putting some finishing touches on a ridiculous outfit he’s going to show off for tonight’s festivities. Sid Phillips is giving him advice. The Fabulous Gold Mask, who is for some reason in the Glue locker room with them, is checking his cell phone. Probably checking the weather.

It’s here that, for the first time in a while, Cecilworth turns to FLAMBERGE and asks a deeply important and groundbreaking question.

Cecilworth Farthington: What polish do you use, exactly?

FLAMBERGE: Ouindex, which is the French specialty window cleaner…a bit of powdered egg shell…and very firm elbows.

Cecilworth Farthington: Huh.

The Frenchman lifts his arms to showcase the sharp angles. Cecilworth polishes his belt even more thoroughly, such that one might be afraid that he’s going to polish away the whole design and it’ll just be flat gold from that point onward.

Cecilworth Farthington: Something has been on my mind lately, dear friend.

FLAMBERGE: Why?

He stares back for a second, blinks once, and corrects himself.

FLAMBERGE: I mean, what?

Cecilworth Farthington: Once I have vanquished my opponent for the evening, I will be in the finals of the Almasy. And you, you have your match with Ivan. So…

Both men stop polishing their belts.

FLAMBERGE: …so, you better think of something to put on the line when you and I have the match, no? I’ll be putting L’Uni on the line, it seems only fair. She will be so shiny by then.

And then, almost all together and at once, the four Gluiest of Bois (and single gold masked man) fall silent, and look to the now open doorway.

Standing there, the odd-ball within a group comprised of odd-balls. The once but not-so-future king.

Hayes Hanlon.

The young man looks absolutely exhausted. His dark hair a mess, his mustache frizzled and unkempt. Half the buttons on his black dress shirt-unbuttoned.

Joe, Sid, Flambo, and Cecilworth all shift to face him as he takes a step inside. Reddened, bloodshot eyes from the Event Horizon dart between the four men in front of him.

Another step takes him toward the Financier.

And another brings the two face to face.

Hanlon breathes through his nose, and the Five Star Champion maintains a calm, but poised posture. FLAMBERGE shuffles to gain a cautious angle, and even Joe and Sid manage to put a pause to their nonsense to prepare for the worst.

Messy ‘stache shifting left and right, Hayes remains locked onto Farthington as he produces a few words.

Hayes Hanlon: If it’s not gonna be me…

Hammerin’ Hayes lifts a tired, heavy hand…

…and lets it fall, clapping to Farthington’s left pec.

Hayes Hanlon: …then it’d better be Glue.

With one more pat, Hanlon drags his exhausted body past Cecil and Flambo, and finds a seat between Joe and Sid, collapsing heavily with elbows against his knees. The Financier turns his gaze to follow Hanlon as he sits, and Hayes lifts his dark eyes up from his seat.

Hayes Hanlon: Lead the way.

FLAMBERGE shares a raised eyebrow with Sid. Joe tries to share in the eyebrow as well, and comes close.

Cecilworth offers a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

Fade to elsewhere.

To make a donation in Jay’s name, please visit https://www.myaware.org/donate/donate and/or https://988lifeline.org/donate/

FedEx Forum? Check.

Thousands of rabid PRIMEates? Check.

No possibility the Dallas Mavericks and Memphis Grizzlies are playing here tonight at the same time? Check.

Signs? Let’s do it, baby! First, some fireworks.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Sweet. Okay, camera guy, show us some SIGNS!

LINDZ IS BACK DOING SIGNS, BAYBEEEEEEEEE!

ROLANDANDMATTANDCOLINANDRENNER

IS DAVE GIBSON MEAT?

RIGHT IN THE CABBAGES!

I AM AN AI PICTURE FROM BING

JUST SOME LITE CRIME

CRIME: IT’S WHAT’S FOR DINNER

THANKFULLY, WE NOW HAVE A BERET-WEARING FLAMETHROWER FOR WHEN WE BURN ALL OF THE SHIPS

THE SHIP BURNINGS WILL CONTINUE UNTIL MORALE IMPROVES

THE KITTY IS HELEN

FOR FUCK’S SAKE, CLARENCE

I CAME TO WATCH DONG WEINERS!!

IVAN STANISLAV LOST THE COUNTERTOP CARTWHEEL WAR

I WANT TO BE PART OF THE ICE CREAM COVEN

MR GORBACHEV TEAR DOWN THIS SIGN

DARIN ZION SOLD ME HIS NAME FOR A ZAGNUT

I’M NAUTY LIKE THE OCTANE

I READ TSONDA TSMUT

ON THE TWELFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME
TWELVE OINKERS OINKING
ELEVEN FOG MACHINES FOGGING
TEN TIME LORDS MUSING
NINE PAXTONS PUNCHING
EIGHT DIAMONDS SNORTING
SEVEN SYKES-A-SOBBING
SIX CARDBOARD BANDITS
FIVE POOOOOWWWWWEEERRRRRRBOOOOOOOOMBS!
(BA DUM BUM BUM)
FOUR SEMI-FINALISTS
THREE STOLEN JETS
TWO TSONDA TSEQUELS
AND A KICK IN IVAN’S PLUM TREEEEEEEEEEEE

Nick Stuart: Ladies and Gentlemen, thanks for joining us tonight for the broadcast of a very special 40th ReVival.  We’re coming to you live from Fedex Forum in Memphis for the semi-finals of the Almasy Tournament!  Before that, though, please allow me to introduce my friend, cohort, and co-host, Richard Parker!  How are you doing tonight, Richard?

Richard Parker: I’m here with a pocket full of bees Nick, and I have to tell you it’s not the most comfortable experience.

Nick Stuart: Do I want to know, Richard?

Richard Parker: Glad you asked, Nick.  They say you catch more flies with honey, and there’s an annoying little fucker that’s been buzzing around my dressing room.  I was out of honey, but a traveling bee salesman in the parking lot of the arena was kind enough to hook me up with some honey bees who are now producing their wares entirely too near my jiggly bits.

Nick Stuart: Never a dull moment with you, Richard.  And with that, we turn our attention to the first fight of the night, a pair of wrestlers not so fortunate as to proceed in the Almasy tournament but still here to put on a great show, Anna Daniels and Darin Zi-

Richard Parker: Wrestler X!

Nick Stuart: -on.  What, Richard?

Richard Parker: Wrestler X.  Didn’t you get the notice from legal?  Whatever, here comes Daniels.

“A Darkness in My Soul” by Solid Space plays, and Anna Daniels emerges from the tunnel. The Muse surveys the crowd before slowly walking towards the ring. As they near the apron, they look up at the ring hoping to get a look at their opponent, but Zion is nowhere to be found.

Daniels rolls under the ring ropes, bouncing up and pulling on the ropes. They walk around the ring, surveying the stands. Finally, they settle near the middle of the ring.

Richard Parker: And now… Wrestler X!

Nick Stuart: Richard I didn’t get the memo here, what are we doing?

Richard Parker: Apparently the wrestler formerly known as Zion is no longer allowed to use his own name, and neither are we.

Nick Stuart: Are you serious?

Richard Parker: As serious as a many being stung in the willy by a hundred honey bees can be.

At that moment, a bedraggled and filthy Wrestler X makes his way down from the stands holding a ratty piece of cardboard upon which is written, “WILL WRESTLAR FOR FAOD.”  His jeans torn, his hoodie missing the drawstring, he appears as though a stiff wind will knock him out.  A kindly motherly figure from the front row helps him manage to get in the ring after he makes a plea for help.  She appears to regret being within sniffing range.

Nick Stuart: Ashely Barlow stepping into the ring preparing to officiate… whatever this is going to be.  Richard, do you think Dar- er, Wrestler X is fit to fight?

Richard Parker: As fit as a rabid dog, Nick.  As fit as a rabid dog.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Aaaaand that will signal the start of the match, and Richard I have to say it looks like you might have accidentally made a bit of a prediction with that rabid dog statement as Wrestler X comes out the gate snapping at the air in front of Daniels with his teeth.

Richard Parker: Yessir, Timmy is trying his best to intimidate the Muse, but she just seems perplexed.

Nick Stuart: Timmy?

Richard Parker: Can’t go the whole match with Wrestler X.  Doesn’t roll off the tongue.  Only rabid dog I can think of is Old Yeller…

Nick Stuart: …but we don’t want to give the audience PTSD flashbacks.

Richard Parker: Exactly. So Lassie reference instead. Plus, there’s a good chance Timmy’s going to manage to fall down a well.

Nick Stuart: Is there a well in the stadium?

Richard Parker: He’ll find one.

Daniels runs out of patience for the snip snapping of rabid teeth and starts things off with a hard chop to Travis’s ear.  The blow lands solidly and sends Timmy reeling.  They pull back for a second strike, but Timmy in his crazed state lashes out with a kick at their knee.

Daniels remains upright, but reels from the pain in their joint.  Timmy tries to capitalize on the opportunity by diving forward, arms outstretched and mouth agape, but then…

Nick Stuart: And the Muse deftly dodges Timmy the Manic Missle, dropping a sharp elbow down on his noggin.

Richard Parker: Fuck your head indeed, amirite, Anna?

Timmy falls to the ground in a daze, and Daniels alights the ropes before bouncing off with a backflip and landing flat footed in the middle of Timmy’s spine.  They stomp again on his pelvis for good measure.

Nick Stuart: That looks incredibly painful, and given the state Timmy entered the ring, I can’t imagine he’ll be able to take much of that punishment.

Richard Parker: I don’t know, Nick.  Something I’ve come to learn in my years is that pain is relative.

Nick Stuart: Is it?

Richard Parker: Oh, absolutely.  For example, before today the worst pain I’d ever experienced was a broken finger.  Now, today, having experienced the burning of a thousand suns in the form of 73 bee stings to my scrotum, I can genuinely say that my prior finger breaking experience only rates about a 3 out of 10.

Nick Stuart: Fascinating.  And look at this, Timmy has caught Daniels’s ankle and yanked her off balance!

Daniels falls to the mat, striking their head as they land.  Timmy capitalizes on the moment by leaping onto their torso and delivering a flurry of blows and clawing swipes at their head and face.

Richard Parker: My god, Nick, this isn’t wrestling – it’s wild mayhem!  Someone call animal control!

Nick Stuart: Timmy might prefer if someone calls the ASPCA, because I don’t think Daniels is going to stand for this for long.

Richard Parker: Of course they aren’t, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Glad we agree!

Richard Parker: They’re obviously taking it lying down.

Nick Stuart: The bees are getting to your head, Richard.

Daniels’s eyes are red with fury as she delivers a vicious knee to Timmy’s groin.  Timmy recoils in pain, rolling on the mat.

Richard Parker: Here we go.

The Muse returns fire with a flurry of kicks to the back of Timmy’s head.  The crowd begins to chant.

ONE!  TWO!  THREE!…

Nick Stuart: Poor Timmy is going to need an MRI after this match.

Richard Parker: Judging by how he walked in, he needed one before the match.

FOUR!  FIVE!  SIX!…

Nick Stuart: I don’t understand how Timmy is still conscious.

Richard Parker: Maybe he also has pocket bees.

Nick Stuart: May so.

Anna goes in for lucky kick number seven, but Timmy’s last shred of survival instinct kicks in and he rolls under the ropes and off the mat. He begins to run away from the ring.

Nick Stuart: Well, that’s one way to avoid a count out, I guess.

Richard Parker: NO!  TIMMY!  THERE MIGHT BE WELLS THAT WAY!

Referee Barlow yells a warning for Timmy to get his ass back in the ring and begins her count.

ONE!

Timmy looks crazed and approaches audience members in the front row.  The camera can’t pick up audio, but it appears he might be asking for food.

TWO!

Timmy takes a bowl of nachos from a 9 year old and devours them, fake cheese spilling everywhere.

THREE!

Daniels stares at him with disgust from the center of the ring and begins to walk toward the ropes.

FOUR!

Timmy sits down with the remnants of the nachos and a soda he took from the boy’s sister.  The childrens’ father appears to be yelling at Timmy, but Timmy is nonplussed.

Nick Stuart: Wait, what?  Daniels is leaving the ring.  They look… upset?  It’s hard to read that face.

Richard Parker: That face reminds me of how my ex wife used to look at me when I ate the last slice of pie.

Nick Stuart: Ho boy, Timmy must be in for it.

SEVEN!

The children’s father picks Timmy up by his hoodie and throws a haymaker.  The crack is audible throughout the stadium as Timmy falls to the floor.

EIGHT!

Before the father can go for another shot at Timmy, Daniels picks him up and hurls his weak and starved body over the ropes and back into the ring!

NINE!

They climb back into the ring before Barlow completes the ten-count.

Nick Stuart: Looks like the Muse is not going to let Timmy get off easy, here, Richard.

Richard Parker: Maybe we should have let him fall down the well.

Daniels looks at Timmy’s husk in the center of the mat.  They lift Timmy from under his shoulders and balance him against the ropes.

Richard Parker:  Oh!  I think we all know what’s coming now.  SAY IT WITH ME, FOLKS!

The Muse gets a gleam in her eye as the audience chants in tempo

FUCK!

They raise their hands in front of their face in a ready pose.

YOUR!

They take a step back.

HEAD!!!!

They unleash the powerful strike of an Interrobang which removes the last remnants of consciousness from Timmy’s brain and his body slumps to the mat, unmoving.

Barlow approaches Timmy, nudging at his eyelids to find his eyes rolled into the back of his head.  She motions toward the judge’s table.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: And Daniels takes the W decisively.  What an opening fight, folks.  I am certain Timmy will get appropriate medical care.  Richard, do you need an epipen?

Richard Parker: I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nick, my groin has always been the size of a watermelon.

Nick Stuart: Ok, buddy.

We then cut to the…

Glue Bois rocking the Cold Open? Sigh… one day the news will be worthy.

Anna Daniels and, are we allowed to call him Darin Zion? Do I have to pay some random copyright sniper in East L.A. every time we use the name? We’re getting off track, Daniels vs. Zion is in the books.

Segment One is here.

That familiar news music hits but it is now joined by a real sexy saxophone. Probably comes on a lot stronger than it should but that’s just what happens when you let a saxophone into the arrangement. Can’t be helped.

WON ACTION NEWS TEAM

The words flash across the screen in bold white letters.

As the music continues we are introduced to our segment one news team. Boy that saxophone is making itself known.

Ulsa N. Couth, Weather

If PRIME had a Rita Repulsa a strong case could be made for Ulsa N. Couth. She’s standing on a balcony, somewhere on the moon, looking down on Earth. She cackles maniacally as she lifts her 20 dollar CVS collapsible cane over her head before throwing it toward Earth.

Violent Purple, Sports

U.N. Couth’s cane flies through the atmosphere, slowly turning red and catching fire. It strikes the ground at Violent Purple’s feet. This causes the leather clad trainer of Max Kael? to grow fifty meters tall. She flexes, roaring then kicks a building over. Her rampage complete, she  nonchalantly lights a cigarette.

Crash Jackson, Man In The Field

We see a shot of last week’s report on the mystery of Nashville Hot Chicken. The music suddenly stops as we get a freeze frame. Staring at Crash from behind a corner appears to be a man in a dark suit and sunglasses. A symbol seems just visible fading in through the image, a symbol that looks like a familiar secret society.. An Illumi-

Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Farthington-Primrose, Herald

The saxophone snaps us back to reality, back to mom’s spaghetti. One of them bois you hear so much about sporting a Colombina style masquerade mask and full Renaissance regalia pops up on the screen. He hops up and down excitedly while waving a banner with Max Kael?’s face on it.

Max Kael?, Lead Anchor

Five robot vehicles fly through space, each piloted by a slightly different looking version of Max Kael?. The saxophone is going crazy and a new, 80’s inspired synth beat drives home the point that this shit is off the hook. The five Max’s wave their arms around while shouting in Japanese causing their space robots to transmogrify into different parts of a massive Mecha-Max, wielding the mighty Super Brocaliber Space Sword of Justice. He uses this to smash a nearby planet, utterly destroying it as the music unfortunately comes to an end.

Brought to you by Orphan Tears! A fun gift and a great source of Sodium! There? See! We listen to feedback!

Max Kael? appears as per usual behind his news desk, a stack of papers gripped tightly in his hands.

Max Kael?: Carbon based PRIMEforms welcome to WON ACTION NEWS, I am possibly Max Kael?. Tonight we start with the dangers of copyright names. Recently PRIME talent, the Wrestler Formerly Known as Darin Zion, lost the rights to his name. How? We’re not really sure, to be honest, but what I do know is that we enlisted an AI to dream of Darin related names before copywriting them. Darin Bibleland, Darin Scion, Darin Bolamba, etc, etc. There is a market for Darin names and I plan on cornering it! So if you need a new name, Darin, stop on by and we’ll see what fits. And now.. THE WEATHER!

The scene immediately shifts the cut to camera three which has U.N.Couth standing in front of her usual weather green screen. This time we are shown a picture of the Superdome in New Orleans.

U.N.Couth: In a few weeks time the Superdome is going to have a heavy forecast of violence. Ensuring the viability of my client, Max Kael?, means that I’ve gone ahead and had a match made. That’s right, Eddie Cross can expect a flurry of punches, a tsunami of kicks and an opportunity to join his old, decrepit, cancer ridden mentor, Dave whatshisface, in the hospital! That’s right, people, Colossus has an Eddie Cross vs. Max Kael? front moving in from the East and I wouldn’t be surprised if the SUCKERS in the first row got two the three inches of blood! But wait, there is more to this story, details will become available as we learn them. MAX?!

We are again rushed away from Ulsa and back to Max who looks surprised to hear about the match. He shuffles his papers around in confusion before shrugging.

Max Kael: I guess you heard it here first! Eddie Cross vs. the magnificent Max Kael? for Colossus in December! How exciting! We’re all pulling for Kael here,  I hope Max? wins! And now onto a new segment we here at the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM call “WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”.

The camera pans to a confused looking but incredibly muscular man. He is wearing a Gold’s Gym muscle tee and possibly has negative percentages of body fat. In fact, everyone on set both cannot stop looking at him and are physically repulsed by how vascular he is. That’s right, SHOOT Project’s own Chick Grillbreast has wandered onto the WON Action News Team Set.

Chick Grillbreast: Did I go through a time warp again? Dan Dragon, are you in here? What about the puny luchador?

A small chair is set up next to the WON ACTIO NEWS DESK where Max Kael? is presently standing. He waves Chick over with a slightly disgusted expression. The man was juiced and he had the veins to prove it, grossly enough. Not gonna lie, Max is a little concerned the man might explode and shower him in blood.

Max Kael?: I have no idea what you are talking about! So.. Who are you and WHY are you here?!

Chick Grillbreast: I’m CHICK GRILLBREAST, the King of the Swole Bros, and I’m here because several years ago, my father impregnated my mother, the saintly Mullica Hill Grillbreast, and then nine months later, I did a set of squats out of her uterus. I WAS BORN SWOLE.

Everyone at the desk looks on in horror

Chick Grillbreast: Oh, you mean WHY AM I HERE IN PRIME? Well, it turns out that even though MEAN OLD LINDSAY TROY BANNED ME FROM THE JABBER THING YOU GUYS USE, I was allowed to come here because my friend, the puny luchador, said I owed him one after I ripped a water main out of his street while watching his kids while he went to a wedding, even though I told him THAT WATER MAIN WAS IN HIS LIVING ROOM WHEN I GOT THERE. But he said he’d pay me in this thing called MEAT? which he said like a question and I don’t know why and now my brain hurts.

The Questionable Kael takes shelter behind his papers as the swole monster rants and yells in his direction.

Max Kael?: Oh. I see. WELL great to meet you, Chick Grillbreast and your gigantic, muscular body that appears grotesquely out of proportion with your skeleton. I myself never had a mother and I am only just recently discovering the vintage of my genetic donor so that’s fun! And a friend of the puny luchador willing to pay you in MEAT?! Well that sounds like my good, close, personal friend, the Anglo Luchador. Get this.. He’s a luchador.. Whose white! How crazy is that? Anyway, Chick Grillbreast, do you or one of your biceps have anything you’d like to end this segment with?

He peaks over his papers ready to take shelter should spittle come flying in his direction from the muscle monster.

Chick Grillbreast: YOU FOOL! My muscles don’t talk except when I’m in the same room as the Bone Brigade guys who smoke that funny plant and it makes me hungry for EVEN MORE LEAN CHICKEN BREAST THAN I ALWAYS AM. MY MOUTH TALKS. WERE YOU BORN YESTERDAY?

Max Kael?: No, not yesterday. I was flushed from my Farthington Jizz Pod about seven or eight months ago?

Max takes a moment to think about the number he has offered before nodding confidently to himself.

Chick Grillbreast: Oh, well, that’s… uh, I’M GONNA LEVEL WITH YOU, QUESTION MAN. I’m not very good with numbers or biology or Farthingtons. BUT I DO WANT TO SAY SOMETHING. Reject carbs! Do not give my name to any USADA agents! AND FOR THE LOVE OF ARNOLD, WILL SOMEONE TELL ME WHERE THE PUNY LUCHADOR IS? I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR HIM FOR…

Chick counts on his fingers and somehow holds up three and three-quarters fingers on his left hand.

Chick Grillbreast: THIS MANY DAYS!

The Question Mark Kael looks at Chick’s fingers and scratches his chin.

Max Kael?: One.. two.. Whew, Many. Well, best of luck with that CHICK GRILLBREAST. Here, this is 120% Protein based Vanilla flavored MEAT?. Go get it!

Kael produces a #10 can of Vanilla Flavored MEAT? in Protein Shake texture, shaking it in the air like he was baiting a dog. He then chucks the near 10 pound can off camera hoping that Chick will give chase.

Chick Grillbreast: COME BACK HERE, PROTEIN!!!

Chick runs off camera to chase the protein powder, and several crashes, shattering noises, and for some reason, the braying of a wallaby, can be heard. The screen cuts to a test pattern, as clearly, Chick destroyed something chasing after the Protein Powdered MEAT?

Max Kael?: And now to Crash as he continues his search for the secret to Nashville Hot Chicken!

We cut to a shaky camera feed coming from a bush late at night. Whoever is filming appears to be staking out near a parking lot in a nondescript urban area. Suddenly headlights are visible coming down the road.

????: Shh! Shhh!

Whoever is operating the camera shushes somebody else as the car approaches. It quickly pulls into a parking space and shuts down. The door opens and a young woman with blonde hair gets out.

Crash: Bro, isn’t that the chick Eddie’s into?

The camera turns to reveal that Crash is hiding out in the bush. He doesn’t look happy about the situation.

Max Kael?: Shh!

The shusher and holder of the camera is revealed to be Max Kael? who quickly whips the phone back toward the blonde woman. It appears she has overheard the noises caused by Crash and Max, staring toward the bush with an alarmed expression.

Ava: Hello? Is someone hiding over there?

We shift back toward Crash whose unhappiness has rolled over into full on anger.

Crash: Brovis, that is definitely Ava, this is fucked u-

Suddenly the recording suddenly pauses. Just over Crash’s shoulder, probably twenty feet back, are three men in black suits and glasses staring at them. The secret of Nashville Hot Chicken is becoming a potential dangerous story.

We slowly zoom in on the mysterious men as a brown note begins to play. That same luminous symbol begins to appear, fading through the picture. The symbol of the Illumi-

Max Kael?: Violent Purple? Anything to contribute.

Violent Purple: I did your stupid opening, fuck off.

Max Kael?: Fair play. Onto our final story for the evening!

Camera two comes to life as Max shifts in his seat for the new angle. A picture of Daytona Diamonds manifests over his left shoulder as Kael grins menacingly at the screen.

Max Kael?: Later tonight I, Max Kael?, lead news anchor for the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM will be facing off against the Rhinestone Cowboy in what will no doubt be an epic showdown for the ages. But I’m not just fighting for myself, no, no. Friends, I will be out there fighting for one of the most marginalized peoples in the entirety of the World! Who might that be, you ask?

Spinning in his chair, Max is picked up by Camera One as he assumes his original posture. Over his shoulder a bunch of dirty, sad looking kids stare toward the audience as the sadbastards.jpeg is put on up.

Max Kael?: Bastards. There are kids all over the world whose parents weren’t married when they were conceived and squeezed out into this world! Even worse there are parents that shirk those parental responsibilities for personal indulgences! Self to the core, these absentee parents fuck these kids up something fancy! And our very own Daytona Diamond is one of the biggest bastard generators I’ve ever had the pleasure of doing research on. In fact we can confirm as of this taping that there are at least SEVEN whole children produced by Daytona Diamonds over the last decade or more. However we’ve got a lot of of other bastards that may be linked to him as well, it’s crazy!

Trying to put on a sad face, Max simply looks like some kind of condescending troll than any kind of empathetic being.

Max Kael?: Now these kids might have been out in the world with single parents trying to drag them up but we here at WON ACTION NEWS and the good people at the Kael Adoption Agency have decided to help set these kids on a brighter future! However we’re going to have to wait to finish this story later in the show! So stay glued to your TV because we’ve got more about these little bastards later!

At this point Max should be ending the broadcast but he pauses, looking a little unsure. He clears his throat as the manic expression on his face seems to die down.

Max Kael?: On a more serious note, last week I might have been linked to a minor, lite crime. I just want to assure everybody that if I do plan on hurting you or a loved one it will be with the consent of the law on my side. To Eddie Cross I want you to know that I am sorry for what happened with old Dave Gibson. Honestly, I thought he’d stop me but I guess he was all tuckered out.

He winks toward the screen before that predatory smile slinks back onto his thin face.

Max Kael?: Maybe at Colossus I can send you back to visit and you two can share a hospital room. Bee Tee Dubs, that Ava! Talk about your MEAT? am I right?

A low, sickening whistle wanders up from his throat before Max tosses all the papers on the desk into the air with glee.

Max Kael?: Wooo! For everybody here at the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM, stay PRIME-al! I’ve been Max Kael?!

Like a small child who has discovered that their chair can spin, Max begins to rapidly rotate while flailing his arms in the air. A can of MEAT?, likely thrown by Violent Purple, strikes him in the head knocking him from his chair and onto the floor as we cut away.

Nick Stuart: We’re back from that tremendously strange Max Kael? piece, but not for long! Don Winters is apparently causing some sort of commotion backstage and we’re going to cut to that before Richard can say what he’s absolutely dying to say.

Richard Parker: The Revelator is reve..

Much to Parker’s chagrin the camera and audio feed cut backstage, where Don Winters is stomping down a hallway. He stops at a closed door and pounds his fist rapidly against. The hollow sound echoes down the hallway and no reply is offered on the other end. Winters huffs and bellows.

Don Winters: WHERE ARE THEY!?

The Revelator moves on from that door and repeats his efforts on the next one, which ends with the same result. He pushes the third door in the corridor wide open to find it vacant. With each passing moment, his anger is visibly climbing, the hue of his face coming into line with his crimson shirt. With a match quite literally minutes away, this is not how Don Winters was looking to spend his time preparing for Adam Ellis.

Don Winters: Give me grace.

The words come through clenched teeth as he bangs on doors four and five to no avail. Winters turns a corner to his left and comes to the sixth door, which is already opened and empty. The Revelator cracks his knuckles and neck and stalks toward the next door. He can hear the twang of country music and raised voices. The sickly sweet scent of booze pervades his nostrils. The anger starts to spike again as he raises his arm to pound on the door when it flies open.

Daytona Diamonds: Major Don! Ya made it! Welcome to the Diamond Mine!

The Revelator’s jaw drops open as Daytona grins from ear to ear, leaning in the doorway sloshing a bottle of whiskey in his hand. The Diamond Mine is completely trashed. Half-drank, empty and broken bottles cover nearly every surface of the room. Two mirrors caked with powdery substances rest on one of the tables along with a bag carrying a smorgasbord of pastel colored pills.

Winters continues scanning the room and the realization finally hits him. He’s found who he’s looking for. Leah has lost her crimson dress and is down to her undergarments and is currently bent over one of the mirrors with one nostril pushed close. Matthew is in one corner of the room trying to get Abigail to take her dress off, but she won’t release the drinks in either of her hands. The Revelator is aghast and possibly at a loss for words.

Don Winters: What the h.. (the Revelator stops himself from cursing, he’s a good man) what are you doing with the members of my church?

Daytona Diamonds: Well, Donny baby, y’see… our lil meetin’ of the minds last week got me a-thinkin’. Y’know, I been feelin’ awful lowdown n’ lonesome lately. Rock bottom, you called it. And then you came along like a god dang guardian angel, spoutin’ all that hoodoo ‘bout salvation and purpose… and that’s when I said to myself, ‘Gee, Daytona. You got charm oozin’ out your ear canals. You want purpose? Well, why don’t you start a god dang cult like ol’ Donny?’

A wide grin spreads across Daytona’s face as the realization hits Winters like a ton of bricks. Reaching out and putting a hand on Winters’ shoulder, Daytona leans in closer.

Daytona Diamonds: Welcome to the Cult of the Cowboy, my brother in Christ. You even brought me these schmucks to spread the good word to. You and me, Donny baby! We’re gonna bleed these rubes dryer than a nun’s cun–

From somewhere in The Diamond Mine the sound of shattering glass echoes, Daytona looking over his shoulder to see Leah fallen on the floor, a dazed look in her eyes and the mirror cracked in a million pieces all around her.

Daytona Diamonds: Now, god dang it, Leah! You done went and busted one of the holy sacrament mirrors! You best put a hundy in the holy offerin’ hat ‘fore Cowboy Christ cuts you down!

Winters clenches a fist and grits his teeth.

Don Winters: You’re an abomination. (Diamonds just grins back, hat in hand asking for a Benjamin.) We are no cult. We are a house of God, and you should be ashamed to insinuate otherwise.

The Revelator turns his attention to his own.

Don Winters: The three of you, get OUT of there immediately.

They sheepishly obey and stumble toward the exit, but Diamonds lazily hangs an arm across the doorway, bottle of whiskey hanging loosely in his grasp.

Daytona Diamonds: Now, I don’t think they’re going god dang anywhere ‘til I get my hundy.

Don Winters: You’ve plied them with drugs and exploited their vices. You’ve done far more damage than one broken mirror could repay. Let them go. Now. I’m not asking you, Daytona. I know this is difficult, but be a smart man for once in your surely short and damned life.

Diamonds snorts and spits on the floor at the Revelator’s feet. Winters glares. Diamonds continues to smile.

Daytona Diamonds: This here tollgate (he nods at his arm) ain’t openin’ ‘til you pay the fare, Donny baby. You’ve got to respect the Cult of the Cowboy, and I’ll respect your Cult of the Crimson or whatever the hell it is yer on about.

Winters reaches in and grabs Diamonds by the collar, sending him off-balance. The three members of His Word and Light scurry out as Daytona’s arm flails away from the door. The Revelator admonishes them with a quick glance and they disappear down the hallway.

Daytona Diamonds: Hey, hey! Lemme go, I’ve got a beverage here, man!

Released from Daytona’s grip, the bottle of whiskey begins to fall, but he recovers and deftly plucks it from its descent while still in Winters’ clutches.

Don Winters: I’ve had just about enough of your flippant attitude and total lack of respect for me. Colossus, Daytona. You need to find God and I’m going to bring you one step closer.

Daytona Diamonds: You wanna go?! You wanna fight?! Donny baby, you must be dumb as a box of rocks! Alright then! Be that way! After I beat your ass, you best believe I’m expectin’ my money! With interest! You fuckin’… fuckin’… aw hell, you fuckin’ cheapjack, scumsuckin’, shit swindlin’, peckerwood!

The scene cuts to a close with the two men staring each other down and ReVival goes to check on The Revelator’s opponent, Adam Ellis.

Adam Ellis marches down the dimly lit hallway, his toned and chiseled body glistening with sweat under the fluorescent lights. Every step he took reverberates through the deserted corridor, a clear indication of his unwavering determination. His gaze cuts through the air as he fixates on a distant point in time where victory awaits him.

Beside him, Ginny Van Lear keeps pace, her fiery red hair tied back in a ponytail. She radiates strength and grit, evident in her simple yet purposeful attire of a plain t-shirt and jeans. Her feet were tightly wrapped in MMA tape, ready for combat.

Nick Stuart: Adam Ellis heading toward the ring for a big match tonight against Don Winters.  A couple of weeks ago, Adam and Ginny made a big splash when they were seen at a Kansas City Chiefs game.

Richard Parker: I had set my DVR to tape that game until I found out Taylor Swift wasn’t there…

Together, Adam and Ginny made a formidable duo, their eyes locked in unspoken communication as they walked towards their fate. The anticipation and intensity permeated the air and signaled the beginning of a battle that would test every ounce of their physical and mental strength.

Richard Parker: …and thank Hoyt Ginny’s not packing tonight.

Nick Stuart: Adam needs a win after losing to Eddie Cross in the first round of the Almasy tournament. Is tonight the night he starts turn it all around?

Ginny’s eyes sparkles with adoration and admiration as she gazes at her husband, her gaze filled with both an unwavering affirmation of their love and a fervent promise of a future together. Adam couldn’t resist stealing glances at her as he took in the confident aura radiating from her petite figure. He felt lucky to have such a strong and beautiful woman by his side, and he vowed to never take her for granted.

Ginny Van Lear: Jus’ keep in mind what y’all been workin’ on, and trust yer gut.

Nick Stuart: Tonight is a big night for Adam Ellis. After suffering a loss in the first round, he could really use a victory to boost his momentum.”

Adam clenches his jaw.

Nick Stuart: Adam has a job to do tonight, and it looks like nothing is going to distract him from that singular goal.

Ginny whispers in Adam’s ear and gives his hand a reassuring squeeze as they reach the gorilla position.

Nick Stuart: We’ll find out in just a couple of minutes if Adam can do that.

Adam stands and waits, swaying back and forth, waiting to get out to the ring and win one with Ginny by his side, there was no obstacle too great to overcome.

We then cut to the ring.

Nick Stuart: Welcome back to ringside, folks, and we’re about to get our next match underway. Newcomer Don Winters squares off against PRIME mainstay Adam Ellis.

Vince Howard: Introducing first and making his way to the ring, hailing from Warrensburg, Missouri… he is accompanied by Ginny Van Lear! 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 that 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.

Vince Howard: And his opponent… hailing from Detroit, Michigan… DON! WINTERS!

The first upbeat notes of ‘Movin’ On Up’ sound through the arena and a clearly angry Don Winters marches out from behind the back. In his right hand is a rather mealy looking apple that he’s tossing into the air and catching. He throws it skyward, lifts his arms out in the crucifix position and catches it swiftly as the apple comes back down. The Revelator begins his purposeful walk toward the ring as the jeers filter in around him

“My light shines on”

The words roar across the arena as Winters climbs the ring steps and vaults over the top rope. He drops to one knee and shoots out his arms one more time. The Revelator stands and grins while holding the apple up for all to see.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Okay, we’re set to get this match under…what is Don Winters doing? He’s holding out an apple?

Richard Parker: Well, in the taped promo leading up to this match, Winters used an apple for various religious imagery – the first man made by God, temptation, all that fun stuff.

Nick Stuart: A nice bit of pre-match psychology here…it looks like Winters is offering the apple to Adam Ellis like he said he would!

Richard Parker: Is that…the same apple? Because if so, that’s even more genius! It probably smells terrible!

Adam Ellis looks from the apple to Winters, then holds his hand up and shakes his head.

Nick Stuart: Ellis rightly turns down Winters’ generous offer.

Richard Parker: I’ve seen this script a thousand times, Donny boy! Smash him with that apple!

For a moment, it looks like Winters may grant Richard his wish. He is truly seething with anger from the events earlier in the night, and he grips the apple tight. However, after a moment he collects himself and nods, then turns away and puts the apple back in his corner.

Richard Parker: Blessed are the composed, for they shall not smash apples upon thine enemy’s heads.

Nick Stuart: Oh thank goodness, the match has started.

Winters and Ellis meet in the middle of the ring and begin to attack each other. Winters takes brief control, pushing Ellis back towards the ropes. He tries to use Ellis’s momentum to Irish whip him, but Ellis plants his feet and reverses it, then takes Winters down with a hip toss.

Winters pops back up, but he runs directly into a fist from Ellis, knocking him back. Ellis throws another punch, but Winters blocks it and grabs Ellis’s arm, turning him around and applying a hammerlock. Ellis sends a back elbow, but Winters ducks under it and lifts Ellis over in a northern lights suplex.

Nick Stuart: Don Winters is more than double Adam Ellis’s age, and with that edge in age also comes an edge in experience. Winters has transformed his style over many years of fighting, and you’d have to imagine that will prove a tough obstacle for Ellis to overcome.

Richard Parker: On the other hand, Winters is so old he may have a heart attack in the ring, so score one for Ellis.

Nick Stuart: And how old are you?

Richard Parker: That doesn’t matter. I age in commentator years, he ages in wrestling years. Two totally different concepts.

Ellis slowly gets to his feet, and Winters allows him to. They tie up and this time Ellis takes advantage, locking Winters in a side headlock. Winters attempts to free himself, then decides to trudge towards the ring ropes, where he leans against them and uses his momentum to send Ellis to the other side. Ellis hits the ropes and runs back, where Winters is waiting. He attempts a back body drop, but Ellis is able to slip over his shoulder and land behind him, then grabs him and executes a perfect German suplex.

Nick Stuart: Excellent move from Adam Ellis! Both men enter tonight with a .500 record in PRIME, though Winters has only wrestled two matches and Ellis has been here for 12. Someone is going above .500 and someone below, but who will it be?

Richard Parker: Blessed are the inconsistent, for they shall eventually win more than they lose. Maybe.

Winters rolls onto his stomach, trying to get onto his knees. But before he can Adam is on top of him and attempts to lock in the modified STF. Winters uses his free foot to kick off Ellis, then uses the ropes to pull himself up.

Ellis rushes at Winters, but The Revelator pulls the ropes down and Ellis topples over the ropes and crashes to the outside. Winters exits the ring and looks down on Ellis before spreading his arms out and smiling.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Winters certainly proud of himself here.

Don Winters lifts Ellis up, then slams his head into the nearby ringpost. As Ellis stumbles away, Winters grabs his arm, then uses the arm to slingshot him back into the ringpost again.

Ellis falls over, clutching his shoulder, and Winters taunts again.

Richard Parker: See that? Daytona Diamonds made him mad, and now Adam Ellis is paying the price!

Nick Stuart: Well Don Winters is a lot of things, and when he’s angry you can certainly add dangerous to the list. Ellis needs to recover fast if he doesn’t want this match getting away from him.

Right now it seems the most important thing to Ellis is survival. He stumbles towards the steel steps, and as he does Don Winters grins. An opportunity to do more damage. He walks over and grabs his head, then lifts up before smashing it against the steel steps.

Or trying to, anyway.

Nick Stuart: Ellis blocks the attempt!

Well, you know the age old adage. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. So Winters grabs his head and lifts again, but I guess he wasn’t aware of the other old adage: If you don’t succeed a second time, your opponent is going to elbow you in the chest and smash your face against the steel steps.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Ginny claps as Ellis smashes Winters again, then clotheslines him to the floor. Ellis starts pumping his fists, getting the crowd more amped. Winters pops back up and charges, but Ellis does a drop toe hold into the ring apron. And Jimmy Turnbull knows what to do.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Ellis picks Winters up and rolls him into the ring, then follows.

Richard Parker: What a dork. Usually the wrestler waits until like eight.

Nick Stuart: Well I’m sure Ellis just wants to take advantage of the situation. After all, he can’t pin him outside.

Richard Parker: Yeah but if he waited like six more seconds, that’s six more words for the word count!

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: What?

Ellis pounces on top of Winters and goes for the pinfall.

ONE!

TW…

Nick Stuart: And Don Winters kicks out!

Ellis feels the momentum now. He hears the crowd cheering, sees Ginny’s excited face, and knows he can put this match away if he applies the pressure. He grabs Winters and leads him to his feet, then takes him down in an Arm Trap Neckbreaker. Then he stands up and points to the turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: Looks like Adam wants to go up for maximum damage!

Richard Parker: I’m sure his risk will pay off and he won’t regret this decision at all.

Nick Stuart: Are you being sarcastic?

Richard Parker: Of course not. I’m just trying to be more positive about things.

Adam scales the turnbuckle, then sizes Winters up and leaps…

WHAMMM!!!

But finds canvas.

Nick Stuart: Winters dodged!

Richard Parker: See what being positive gets me?

Adam Ellis bounces off the campus and Winters springs to action, standing over him and grabbing his leg.

Nick Stuart: Sanctified! He’s got that crab locked in! Adam Ellis is far from the ropes, and he’s in trouble!

Ellis begins screaming and reaching for the ropes. Ginny pounds on the apron, and soon enough the crowd begins clapping in time with her. Ellis reaches, then uses his arms to crawl towards the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Is he going to make it?

Richard Parker: I’m going to be positive again, Nick. I’m positive he won’t.

Inch by inch, the younger man nears the ropes. All the while he is screaming as he leg is wrenched on by Winters. Finally, Ellis makes one last ditch effort…

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: He’s got the ropes!

Richard Parker: Okay I’m positive that being positive is stupid.

Nick Stuart: Turnbull gets Winters to break up the hold!

Winters’ anger, which has been palpable all match long, is now at a boiling point. He steps into Jimmy’s space and starts to scream. Then he moves past the referee and approaches Ellis, but as he walks over Ellis jumps up and pushes him back. Then he leaps towards him…

Nick Stuart: Superman punch!

Richard Parker: But Ellis fell too! That leg is causing him issues!

Nick Stuart: Ellis trying to get to his feet to cover Winters! But he stumbles again!

Eventually Ellis lands on top of Winters, and Turnbull gets down to count.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE…

Nick Stuart: Winters just gets a shoulder up! And you have to imagine Ellis would’ve gotten the win if his leg didn’t give out!

Richard Parker: That’s the entire point of submission moves. You weaken your opponent!

Ellis gets to his feet and once again slips, but catches his balance. Winters slowly gets up and they slowly trade punches. You know the kind, right? Where when one guy punches, the fans go “YAY!” and when the other punches, they go “BOO!”

Right, so they do that a few times, and then the “yay”s start to overpower the “boo”s and Ellis takes control. He grabs Winters and tries to Irish whip, but as he plants his leg, he sinks into the mat.

Nick Stuart: That knee again!

Richard Parker: Take advantage, Don!

Don does, leveling Ellis with a dropkick. Ellis struggles to get to his feet, and Winters takes a few steps back, beckoning for him to stand.

Nick Stuart: He’s looking for the Gospel here!

Don runs towards Ellis, but Adam Ellis does something insane…he catches Winter by his knees, then slams him onto the mat. But he doesn’t let go of the legs.

Nick Stuart: Oh my goodness! Ellis has the legs! He’s going for that Elevated Boston Crab! If he can lock this in, it’s over!

Ellis begins to turn so that he can cinch in the maneuver on the fighting Winters. But something happens when you try to bend your legs and you just had a knee injury – you can’t.

Nick Stuart: No! Ellis falls! He has to let go of Winters!

And The Revelator is quick to take advantage. Springing to his feet, he grabs Ellis and lifts him up and over his shoulders.

Nick Stuart: ABSOLUTION! Winters with the pinfall!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Vince Howard: Your winner…DON WINTERS!

Nick Stuart: This was an incredible back and forth affair, but in the end Adam Ellis’s legs wouldn’t let him finish what he started, and Don Winters picks up a great victory.

Richard Parker: I’m kinda hungry. Where’s that apple?

Nick Stuart: Disgusting.

We then cut to a commercial.

Time travel is real. How do you know? The PREVIOUSLY RECORDED logo in the top right of the screen as we return from commercial.

There’s a familiar-and-warm vibe as the camera opens up on the walnut-colored wood and expensive-looking environs. Imagine a bar where a cocktail tastes divine, but you just can’t shake the feeling of emptiness that you paid $24.50 for five sips of liquor and botanicals, no matter how delicious.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

WHOOOOOOOOO!

The Fred Rogers of his own mind, and absolutely no one else’s, is Chandler Tsonda. He’s direct to camera. He’s wearing a black velvet blazer over a black crew sweater, and yes, the velvet of the blazer pops against the velvet of the bartops; c’mon, this isn’t a slum.

In front of the Model Citizen are two important totems:

Chandler Tsonda: Welcome back to the Model Citiz-Inn. It feels like we never left. And I hate to disappoint, but if you’re watching this, then you know that I’m not going to make it to ReVival 40 RIGHT HERE. LIVE. IN MEMPHIS TENNESSEE!

WHOOOOOOOOO!

How do you manage a whole ass cheap pop with a live crowd in a place you didn’t travel to? Only one man, one Numbers Don’t Lie champion, knows.

Chandler Tsonda: Memphis, I may not be in the building tonight, but I wouldn’t miss a chance to…(begins crooning) 

put on my blue suede shoes and

board the plane. 

The vocals are… not good, but there are cheap pops, and then there’s whatever the hell this is. A vocal eruption back in the arena accompanies the B- pipes. A small, loud portion of the crowd sings along.

Chandler Tsonda: Touch down in the laaaaaaand of the delta blues

In the middle of the pouring rain

W.C. Handy, won’t you look down over me?

Yeaaaaaah, I got a first class ticket

But I’m as blue as a boy can be.

Does he do a little air drum on the dark wood table in front of him? You didn’t even have to ask.

And he adds a little flourish on the lyrics for that little always-unbelievably-extra Tsonda flair.

Chandler Tsonda: Tonight it’s rockin’ in Memphis

Walkin’ with my feet ten feet off of Beale

Walkin’ in Memphis

But do I really feel the way I feel?

The world’s most canned set of hoots, hollers, and applause greet the end of Tsonda’s singalong. There is a lot to cringe at, but one cannot disparate the production values.

Chandler Tsonda: Am I a cheap shill, a shameless mercenary chasing the high of an audience’s adultion? Am I fundamentally a whore for a good time and a loud pop? I mean…

Ting! would be the comic caption for what happens next, as Tsonda flashes the delirious smile of his. All pearly whites, arranged in the perfect photogenic way that could sell sunblock in Alaska in December.

Chandler Tsonda: But if we can be serious here for a minute, Memphis, I should admit that part of the reason I can’t be there tonight, is that I’m licking my wounds. No, literally. Avalon popped me something good in the mouth last week, and I’ve got a cut inside my front lip that hasn’t closed in the two weeks since. To say nothing of the…everything else that hurts

For punctuation, the Sultan of Style takes a sip of his faux vodka slush thingy, and winces.

Chandler Tsonda: I’m not sure if I’m cleared to travel, or wrestle, or whatever. I didn’t even ask yet. But the short of it, as you know, is that I’m in the ignominious brotherhood of Wait, THAT guy’s eliminated? (gestures to the bar around him) Pulled my seat up at the bar next to the Hanlons and the Rays, the Youngbloods and the Winters. Jiles. Kuroyama. Cross. Colton. You could probably get pretty deep into a “10 best wrestlers alive” just naming my fellow better-luck-next-yearers.

Tsonda picks up his White Claw and does a mock cheers.

Chandler Tsonda: (raising his drink) To the worst fucking fraternity that I never wanted to find myself in.

In one of the only sincere moments of his schpiel, Tsonda takes a deep breath and exhales. A born salesman, but never unserious about his psychotic competitive streak.

Chandler Tsonda: I got beat, I got beat up, and I’m out.

The Model Citizen stares at and taps the side of his drink pensively, then brings his gaze back to camera.

Chandler Tsonda: Coral knows we’re due for a rubber match sooner or later. And when we tangle? We’re going old school trilogy: our hero on top, and a real crowd-pleaser of an ending. For now, I’ll wait my turn. But speaking of trilogies…

Tsonda shakes his head.

Chandler Tsonda: Turns out there’s an absolutely rabid market for deepfake movies starring this (points to himself) gorgeous piece of business on some other guy’s body? You seen this?

He shrugs as if it’s a surprise to him as well.

Chandler Tsonda: Guess the Asian marketplace wasn’t getting enough Chan in their media diet. A bunch of interns told me this week that there are trilogies, quadrilogies, just a flabbergasting amount of these. Couldn’t make this up if I tried, but I’m evidently the star of more film series than I can name: Tsonda in Tsuburbia, Tsurfer Tsonda, Tsonda on Tsea, I mean…the rabbithole is deep.

This revelation would cause anyone to need a drink. Tsonda tslugs his White Claw.

Chandler Tsonda: Apparently these bootleg videos have a life of their own, and a massive community online dedicated to making me a movie star? Craziest shit I’ve ever seen. But in that vein, if you’ve always wanted to see Tsonda Tscats The Hits…I might have made a deal where every piece of merch sold tonight comes with a truly batshit bootleg DVD of a fake movie that, technically, stars yours truly. (winks to camera) You’re welcome for the record-breaking merch night, Troy.

Very normal stuff going on here. We’re being told it’s one of the most normal segments we’ve ever had in PRIME.

Chandler Tsonda: So that’s half of my early Christmas present to you, Memphis. I may be figuring out my next move, my Colossus opponent, and the like, but it’s the season of giving, and I wanna give you something special.

A pause for dramatic effect.

Chandler Tsonda: The other half of your gift is a classic Chan crowd-pleaser. I called my dudes over at B.B. King’s and told ‘em I needed a favor because I couldn’t be there tonight. They said, “hey what about the first thousand people who show tonight’s ReV ticket stub get their first drink on my tab?” And I said “what is this, Prohibition? Why not two drinks?” and they said that sounded like a damn deal.

WHOOOOOOOOO!

Chandler Tsonda: Now don’t go running out on tonight’s show just to get boozin. Because, even if ReV 40 only has your boy coming to you from the Model Citiz-Inn, there’s nothing in the biz, maybe nothing in the world, that can go toe-to-toe with a Colossus go-home show. It’s the whole shebang, and if you can’t get chubbed up for that, then what are we even doing?

Another cheers. Those 70 calories and 0 grams of sugar won’t drink themselves.

Chandler Tsonda: (raising his glass for the final time) To Colossus, the granddaddy of ‘em all. See ya there.

That’s all.

We then cut to the backstage area.

Cameras come to life to focus on the side entrance to the FedEx Forum, where the talent enters. It might seem like it’s late for people to be arriving, but it’s wrestling. You never know when someone’s been jumped by ninjas or if they were given bad directions by a doctor whose laboratory totally isn’t their parents’ basement. The door creaks open and in walks a tan-skinned woman carrying a duffel bag. Her hair is cut short and dyed red, and she’s wearing a jacket with the SHOOT Project logo, tight fitting jeans, and Air Jordans. She’s Miranda DC, the Sin City Champion of the company on her jacket.

Strolling through the halls just adjacent to said entrance is Crash, sporting a brown leather jacket, brown boots, and blue jeans. The Northern Light wears a newfound confidence coming off a win at ReVival 39, confidence enough to shoot a shot at the comely lady he has just spotted walking near the doors.

Crash: You wouldn’t want to do the whole entire human race a huge favor and make some super children real quick, would ya, sweetness?

Miranda turns around with a side eye that would make Miranda Cosgrove jealous.

Miranda DC: I’m not sure who you think you’re talking to, Patchouli, but it ain’t me.

Crash: Sorry. I saw all that razzamatazz on your jacket and… well, it’s an honor to meet you, sexy champion lady. I’m Crash. I tend to the pretty ladies around here. Anything I can help you with?

Miranda DC: Don’t spy on the friendly competition, do you? Anyway, my name’s Miranda, and let’s just say I’m here to help a friend out.

Crash: Thank God. Max? Might need all the help he can get. That’s why I’m here, too.  I’m sure he’ll change his tune when he sees the beauty of this world – and you, girl.

Miranda rolls her eyes but smiles. Mixed signals, everyone loves those, right? They come to a T in the hallway, and Miranda keeps walking straight. Crash stops at the junction and tries to think of where his bros might be right now.

No match tonight. No reason to be here.

Other than there’s somethin’ stinky goin’ on and Crash is here to get to the bottom of it.

To the right, Max? is probably near the lockers and prepping for his match. It’d be a good place to start. LT’s office and then the Medical tent. He glances to the left, having no fuckin’ idea where he’s gonna find Eddie. Either way, time is key and it’s already running out.

Crash: Hey, nerd. Over here.

The camera pans just a few feet to spot a ring hand. They glance at the camera, pointing at themself, before Crash steps forward, still giving the halls an ocular assessment.

Crash: You seen Eddie Cross?

The kid points towards the locker rooms…

PRIME Guy: He went that way.

SHIIIIIIIIIT

“I wouldn’t worry about that nerd, handsome.”

Before he can take off like a bottle rocket and mow down what would likely be close to a hundred people, Crash hears a familiar voice and it steals his full attention. Especially since it’s the voice of the bitch who is trying to destroy his Broallition of Buddies.

Violent Purple: We suspected you might try something..unique to get Max’s attention and it looks like we weren’t wrong. Glad we decided to move things around. A little wholesale chaos? Like a moth to flame, mmm Crash?

Crash slowly steps toward VP with a suspicious look on his face.

Crash: I knew it felt cooler over here, then I could see my breath, and here you are. Park your broom out back, did ya, beautiful?

She presses her finger to his lips. The sudden gesture and surprisingly softness to her skin throws him off. He thought it would feel like chain mail and taste like a newborn’s blood. He slides back quickly, nearly falling into her soft-but-deadly web yet again.

Violent Purple: Aw, baby, you know me. I keep a collapsible broom on hand at all times.

Crash waves a finger at her, shaking his head and pacing around a bit.

Crash: No! Nooo. NO! You don’t get to do that. I’m not fallin’ for your tricks anymore, VIXENNNN!!!

Violent Purple does a super cute and pitiful pouty face, sticking her lower lip out, and turns on toes like a cute little devilwoman. It’s a fun display but in truth she’s a snake who is about to unhinge her fuckin’ jaw and eat him alive. She reaches out and lets one of her fingers run across Crash’s chest.

Violent Purple: Come on, Jason. Don’t you believe in Destiny? In Fate? ..in fun?

The promise of naked times is enough to distract the strongest of men. It for sure one hundred percent works right here and Crash drops his guard. That’s when VP takes a strong step forward, jamming her kneecap into the inner thigh of Crash, and yanks the collar of his jacket in reeeeeal close.

Violent Purple: Just think about this, Muscles. Max? is a personal investment for me and he’s heading for the top. I’d do anything to ensure my client reaches the top. You’re one of his.. Friends? Don’t you want to join him on his rise to the top? Don’t you want to leave losers like Eddie Cross behind and achieve something real? Join us, Crash, become one of my clients and I’ll be willing to do anything for you, too.

Crash really likes being in the Smooch Zone but she’s really scaring the shit out of him. He tries to distance their faces to make eye contact but she yanks tighter, pulling the side of his head against her ample chest. He looks over with a timid smile before wrapping his arms around Purps’ waist, immediately causing her to release her grip. Crash tossels his hair and smiles.

Crash: Thanks. That. Was. Awesome.

VP just rolls her eyes, unsure if it’s worth her breath with this guy. Crash, however, points toward the parking lot.

Crash: Just remember who you’re talking to, babe. I’m doin’ what I’m doin’ for Max? and Ed.

Violent Purple grins that sly smile of hers.

Violent Purple: Of course, baby, of course. But only one of them can win and only one of them is likely to remain your friend. Make sure you’re with the friend that benefits you both, Jason.

Crash’s jaw tightens as he trains his eyes on VP’s smug mug. The insinuation that he’d cross either of them for a shot at the top is enraging but, at the same time, a spot this business puts people better than him in on a nightly basis. The haze in his eyes isn’t anger, it isn’t confusion, but it isn’t certainty at all.

Violent Purple pats Crash on the ass before sauntering off into the arena.

Violent Purple: Think it over. And…

She turns back with a business-like look in her eyes.

Violent Purple: When you’re done thinking, come and find me, and we’ll talk about what’s next.

We then cut to elsewhere backstage.

Backstage Rob Williams sits alone on top of a road case in the long hallway leading to the arena entrance. Alone. No Charlotte, no John, and no Miriam. His graying hair hangs in his face, his head hangs low. A plastic handle of General Beauregard’s Dixie Vodka sits full between his cowboy boots. The seal has been broken, but it still looks full. Rob prefers plastic – it doesn’t shatter when you drop it.

There are many different types of drunk. There’s the college frat party drunk, the distant cousin’s wedding drunk, the get me off this plane drunk. Hell, there’s even the “my other half just left me” type of drunk. Rob is aiming to be the latter. In his hand he has an AA coin. It’s nearly blank on both sides from how hard he has been rubbing it.

The Voice: Oh come on, Rob. I didn’t say you wouldn’t spend any time alone. I just said you wouldn’t be alone on the path.

Rob: What fucking path? Charlotte packed her shit.

The Voice: She’ll be back. She always comes back. And Don Winters’ fledgling is back under his caring wing where she belongs. Our paths are similar and they will intertwine, but now isn’t the time. And what are you doing here alone, anyways? You have work to do. Do you think you will find what you are looking for in that bottle? There is no peace in that liquid. The only liquid that will bring you peace is the blood of our enemies.

Rob finds this a slight departure from the normal

Rob: The what?

Nondescript Gentleman Off Camera: Who in blazes are you talking to?

Rob sighs aloud, his pity party broken up by the gentleman off camera. He quietly slides the bottle between his feet and closes them.

Rob: Who the fuck are you? You work here or something?

Nondescript Gentleman Off Camera: Work here? DO I WORK HERE? PFFFFT! He asked if I work here.

Rob: Sure? What the fuck does that mean?

Nondescript Gentleman Off Camera: It means I don’t have to answer to a white devil like you!

The gap between the two men increases drastically as Rob unfolds himself to stand.

Rob: Buddy, there’s a lot of guys here you can probably pull this shit with tonight. Pointing a finger towards his own chest I’m not one of them.

Nondescript Gentleman Off Camera: You don’t know who I am, do you?

Rob: Cute. You know, I been to jail, I like boys like you. Boys who like to be cute.

Pan left, we see the gentleman Rob is talking to. He’s much shorter than Rob in both stature and size. Even sitting on the road case Rob is a notch or two above eye level. The man smiles, stroking his thick mustache.

Mustachioed Gentleman: Ah, one of those smartasses, huh? Pull that shit in a Turkish jail. They’ll be serving you up as kebab on Sunday. You would be wise to pass on me.

Rob: Yeah well pass on, buddy. I’m busy.

The Voice: Give him a chance to explain himself, Rob. Remember this: Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion.

Rob throws his hands in the air in desperation, overwhelmed with the general state of his life, the back and forth of this voice, and everyone leaving him once again. The Mustachioed Gentleman sees this as disarming and reaches a dark skinned hand out for a shake.

Mustachioed Gentleman: I am the great Captain Suleimon! Purveyor of ISTANBULLSHITTIN’ and PRIME’s most successful Turkish athlete ever!

The two men shake. Suleimon’s grip impresses Rob. For such a small man, he has hands like a vice.

Rob: Pleasure. I’m a mess, but my name’s Rob. What are you doing back here? This place is usually cleared out.

Suleimon: Well if you must know, I’m actually not working tonight, although I assure you, I have a job here, yes, go ask, uhhh… the Illustrious Face-Eater?

Rob looks confused at the shout since no one’s seen Adam Dick in a decade or so.

Suleimon: Anyway, I’m actually here as backup for The Anglo… you know what, I don’t think I can trust you with such information. In fact, I need to go see this curious fellow whose name I totally didn’t partially divulge to you! Güle güle!

Suleimon walks off in the other direction. Rob’s fists clench and that old familiar feeling hits him. His stomach grows tight. The vodka, this racist asshole, his ever present loneliness. It feels like a tidal wave slowly inching towards him and all he can do is watch it constantly threaten to swallow everything he loves whole. His body physically reacts, shaking as he holds back the urge to ventilate Suleimon’s head.

The Voice: And for your lifeblood I will surely demand an accounting. I will demand an accounting from every animal. And from each human being, too, I will demand an accounting for the life of another human being.

The shaking stops. The tidal wave slows.

The Voice: Pray for him. He’s weak.

Rob: I pray that asshole gets what he deserves.

The Voice: Well, that’s a start. A rose by any other name and all of that. We have work to do.

Rob can’t help but chuckle. He abandons the bottle of rubbing alcohol and sets off on his way, following the voice to the next step in his ascension. We then cut to ringside for our next match.

We return to the ring with no entrances, due to time constraints. Both Tony Gamble and Bobby Dean are in the ring, in separate corners. The air around the bout seems way more serious than many might’ve considered going in. And then, we hear the bell.

DING DING

Head Official Timo Bolamba looks at the two men, the size difference, the…everything. Professional wrestling has more than its share of sideshows, and in the past, both Tony Gamble and Bobby Dean have fit that bill to a remarkable tee. Perhaps most remembered as circus clowns, what isn’t so abundantly clear why they’re here.

Why they’d be wrestling in PRIME.

Tony Gamble is the embodiment of a shitheel, someone people pay money to see get their ass kicked. ‘The Grin’ uses his acerbic wit along with an acid tongue that knows no boundaries. A dick cheeseburger. Smaller than most, looked at often as a speed bump. Except…this bump is a spike strip. Ask Paxton Ray. Even though he won, ask Jared Sykes. Look at the trophy case with Alias, 5 Star, and Intense Championships. Know that he’s one of the very few who has surmounted the Jewel In The Crown/Almasy Invitational to claim it for his own.

Bobby Dean is a glutton. Loveable to many, disgusting to most, The Man From Honalee has a putrid record in PRIME. A turnstyle. If PRIME had relegation, he would be so far down the hole, he would be in the Faygo Leagues. But Bobby has been World Champion. The Beautiful eGG, when he tries, becomes a mythical, scary figure. Someone you think one can step over, but when he puts it together, he devours you like a fully stocked buffet.

The clowns are pulling out of their cars. But what about the notion that what we’re about to witness is a pair of ringmasters?

Nick Stuart: These two, just staring across from one another.

Richard Parker: Is Bobby looking at Tony like he’s food?

Gamble grabs the top rope, pulling on it, stretching himself. Bobby, for his part, slowly ambles out of the corner. Are we about to get a lock up?

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
LET THE GALAXY BURN

Any momentum that is about to transpire is caught dead in its tracks. Both Gamble and Dean are frozen, their eyes glued to the entrance ramp. And as Brandon Youngblood starts power walking to the ring, the fans erupt.

Richard Parker: So…which one is getting launched first?

Nick Stuart: This…this isn’t on the run sheet…

Richard Parker: And neither of these two seem too thrilled to be seeing the Tower of Babel.

After the last few ReVivals, both of these men could be seen as targets. Chum in the waters for the two time Universal Champion. Brandon makes no effect to get in the ring, instead following along the side of the ring, moving forcefully to the announce desk, grabbing a headset and fitting it on his head. He says nothing, refuses to sit down. Instead, he just looks into the ring.

Gamble is focused right back.

Bobby Dean?

He grabs hold of ‘The Grin’s’ tights.

ONE

TWO

THRE–NO! KICKOUT JUST IN TIME!

Nick Stuart: OH Dean almost stole a pinfall over Gamble–

Richard Parker: Would’ve been Dean’s second win–

Nick Stuart: And OH! Gamble throwing his thigh into the face of a rising Dean–

Richard Parker: Is that what we’re going to call that? Because it sure was slow–

Nick Stuart: Bobby took the blow, he’s on his hands and knees…Gamble off the ropes DROPKICK! To the head of Bobby Dean! And Gamble is continuing to press forward, KNEE DROP onto Dean’s head. Crisp knee drop right there from the PRIME Hall of Famer–

Richard Parker: And now he’s just kicking at Bobby’s corpse!

The Permascar Superstar is laying his kicks in, the shin finding safe harbor in the Captain’s copious rolls, battering them with surprising ferocity, attacking the ribs, the kidneys, all ways to try and get The Man From Honalee to just lay down. In truth, it’s a brilliant strategy; Dean is known to have a limited gas tank in the first place, and attacking him like Tony is, it is sure to spend that fuel even faster.

Without further ado, Gamble steps away from his onslaught, his trademark smile beaming, and with his eyes locked out Youngblood, he mocks with a bow.

Richard Parker: Gamble shouldn’t be playing this game–

Nick Stuart: Towards Youngblood?

Richard Parker: What? No. Not one bit.

The expectation one would have is that The Diamond would be scowling towards Richard. He doesn’t. Just a focused stare into the ring. Richard, for his part, realizes the potential outrage he might cause from the mere inference. His gulp is audible.

Richard Parker: What I mean is…Gamble should be focused on the task at hand. Keep attacking. Keep on offense. Get the win.

Nick Stuart: And Gamble, turning to face Bobby to do just that–

Richard Parker: SEE!

Nick Stuart: Dean POKES him in the eye with a thumb!

Richard Parker: Well now HE can’t–

Bolamba stops Dean from pushing forward, and despite The Man From Honalee’s protests, as well as his weak attempts to push away Timo, he is powerless from following up. So much for sending a man to the guillotine. eGGescutioner?

By the time he is able to get to Tony, he finds himself getting hit with an eye rake of his own.

And Bolamba admonishes him.

Nick Stuart: Timo has his work cut out for him–

Richard Parker: Wait–

Nick Stuart: Dean with an eye rake of his own–

Richard Parker: And GAMBLE FOLLOWS UP–

Nick Stuart: Timo TRYING–

Richard Parker: AND FAILING–

Nick Stuart: To get between these two EYE RAKE!

Richard Parker: AND ANOTHER!

The battle of the eye rakes continues unabated. The tears fly. Tender eye flesh is scratched and left irritated. Puffy reddened pockets take root. Yet, they push on. Like Frye and Takiyama. Locked together, well, as best as they can be with a large Samoan referee trying to pull them apart. This is a battle for the ages. A true war of attrition.

We will tell our children about this moment.

On the first of December, 2023, we are all witness to the apex of the human spirit…OF CHEATING!

Lock your doors.

Witness.

Be amazed.

Nick Stuart: NEITHER OF THESE MEN ARE STOPPING–

Richard Parker:  WHY DOESN’T TIMO JUST CALL FOR THE BELL–

Like two haggard dogs, leaning on Timo Bolamba, Tony Gamble and Bobby Dean keep trying to rip the other’s eyes out of their head. The Great Eyerake War is in its death throes. Being braced against Bolamba means that he is the only thing keeping them standing.

So he steps away.

And the two fall to the canvas.

For whatever reason, the crowd roars and chants.

CHEAT FOREVER!
CHEAT FOREVER!
CHEAT FOREVER!

In the fall, Gamble’s arm falls on top of Bobby’s heaving chest.

ONE

TWO

NO!

Richard Parker: The ferocity in that kickout!

The Man From Honalee rises to his feet, his fists shaking, a high pitched squeal bubbling from deep inside his tum tum. His eyes are practically swollen shut. You know what this is. WHATCHA GONNA DO, BROTHER, WHEN PONDEROSA RUNS WILD ON YOU?!

Gamble, groggy, rises.

And gets hit

WITH A SIDE HEADLOCK!

Richard Parker: Are you…are you kidding me? Brandon…please hit the ring…

Nothing. No response. Just massive arms folded across The Diamond’s chest.

Nick Stuart: Wait…Gamble with an elbow to the gut…A SLAP ACROSS THE FACE! And Bobby Dean is down!

Richard Parker: That’s…that’s all it took?

Ripping at his own eyes with his forearm, his vision blurred, Tony grabs hold of the trying to rise Dean, planting him with a DDT. Rising quickly, Gamble hits a leg drop, then reaches into the waistband of Bobby’s tights…

Nick Stuart: Wait…what is he…

Richard Parker: Are those…are those Takis? Is Bobby Dean trying to corner the Craig Hamburgers market?

Tony Gamble opens up the chips, dumping the contents all over Dean, who registers the sting of hot flavored chip product as though it were straight salt on open wounds. Howling, Bobby tries to roll away, stumbling to get to his feet. It’s then that Tony Gamble grabs hold of him and smashes his head into the canvas with a front Russian legsweep.

Nick Stuart: STOP LAUGHING AT ME! STOP LAUGHING AT ME! And the follow up…this could be over right now–

Richard Parker: It’s in the bag. The freaking Taki’s bag.

Tony just needs to grab hold of Bobby and submit him. Smile For Me. It’s so simple, right? So simple, that Gamble can’t help but strut to his downed opponent, taking a big stretch, and then, looking toward Brandon Youngblood. It’s at this moment that The Permascar Superstar gets a wild idea. He saunters over to the ropes, taking a seat on the middle one, pantomiming for Youngblood to get in the ring. He even mocks with trying to rally the crowd.

And for the first time, Brandon cracks a smirk.

Why?

Because that Taki dust? Bobby Dean is gobbling it up like a vacuum cleaner. Spick and span! This is not gross at all, because the ring canvas isn’t where men and women sweat, bleed, and do lord knows what else upon. Dean is on his feet.

Gamble has made his statement clear.

He turns around.

And gets caught with a running squash that DESTROYS him.

Richard Parker: Wait…are you–

Nick Stuart: Bobby Dean slashing his throat with his thumb–

Richard Parker: You can’t be–

Nick Stuart: Grabbing Gamble and STANDING HEADSCISSOR–

Richard Parker: Wait–

Nick Stuart: BOBBY DEAN…eats a fruit roll up?

Richard Parker: Tony Gamble is gonna get out of–

And yes, Tony Gamble IS going to get out of this, by dropping down and hitting Bobby Dean in the jewels.

Just one problem.

Bobby Dean hammers him across the small of the back with a scintillating hammer blow. It hits with the power that surprises everyone in attendance. That, is a sample of The Bobby Who Tries.

As is the lift up, and the piledriver he obliterates him with.

Nick Stuart: DEANER WEINER! DEANER WEINER! COVER!

ONE

The fans stand up.

TWO

The fans chant with the count.

THREE!!!!!!!!!!

The crowd is in absolute shock. So is Bobby Dean. ‘You’re The Best’ plays. Bobby Dean, is victorious.

Vince Howard: YOOOOOOOOOOUR WINNER…BY PINFAAAAAAAAAALL! THE EGGSECUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTIONER! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBBY! DEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!

Bobby Dean is as shocked as anyone. Then again, why? Why shouldn’t he win?

Tony Gamble grabs at his head and neck. It hasn’t registered what just happened.

And for what it’s worth, Bobby Dean isn’t done eating fruit snacks. Haribo is the weapon of choice this time. Why not? He deserves it!

Nick Stuart: And that…was a shocker!

Richard Parker: Needless to say…wow…from eliminating Paxton Ray from the Almasy, to losing to Bobby Dean…nobody would’ve seen this one–

The interruption is from the sound enveloping the ringside area.

CLAAAAAAAAAAANG

That being a steel chair being slammed shut.

Looks like Brandon Youngblood’s arm isn’t as wounded as it appeared on the last ReVival. The Tower of Babel climbs up the side of the apron, stepping through the ropes. Even in street clothes, his presence is intimidating, made all the more apparent with his handling a steel chair.

Bobby Dean knows the score. Two time Stuffed Crust Pizza deliveries straight to Youngblood’s face are just as good as wins. Fueled by Haribo, The Beautiful eGGescutioner leaves, post haste.

Leaving just Youngblood and a downed Gamble in the ring. Timo knows what’s about to happen. He needs to stop this. The stalking Diamond pats the chest of Bolamba, aggressive, his mouth moving before shooting him a glare.

Nick Stuart: Bobby Dean is doing laps around the ring–

Richard Parker: And breathing heavy the entire time–

Nick Stuart: Completely oblivious to what is going to transpire–

Richard Parker: He just dumped ANOTHER bag of Haribo on the ground and is doing a…Haribo angel in them?

Nick Stuart: And Tony Gamble is trying to get up, and oooooooh boy.

The oooooh boy is because Youngblood’s foot pushes Gamble back to the mat.

Richard Parker: Yeah, this isn’t going to be pretty.

Brandon opens the chair, and put the bottom bar over Gamble’s neck, pinning him to the canvas as he takes a seat. Bolamba pleads with Youngblood to stop this, but all The Diamond does is reach out a hand, motioning for a microphone.

Richard Parker: I think he’s snapped, Nick. Losing to Ivan…losing in the Almasy…the Universal Championship…I think he’s finally lost it. I think this…this is what I’ve been WAITING for…

Timo rushes to the side of the ring, aggressively motioning for a microphone, receiving one from one of the ringside attendants. He then power walks and slams it into Brandon’s hand, drawing a glare from the PRIME Hall of Famer, all before he draws the microphone near his lips.

Brandon Youngblood: This won’t take long.

If looks could kill.

Brandon Youngblood: Bolamba. Stepping in for me twice. Don’t think I’ve forgot.

And then, his look toward the other PRIME Hall of Famer in the ring.

Brandon Youngblood: And you, Tony. Won’t take long for you either.

“The Grin’s” eyes are wide as he feels utterly trapped, all as a Tower looms over top of him.

Brandon Youngblood: Standing For Jon. How many times you been kicked off socials for some bullshit sexism, huh? You go around, talking your talk, and even though people put you down for three, it’s never enough to shut you up.

The bottom of the chair is grinding, nearly choking.

Brandon Youngblood: If you’d been here since that first day in Vegas, you know where you’d be? Here. Just the same. Looking up toward me. Towards them lights. My state? Failing upwards? My valleys tower over ANY of your peaks.

A confident smirk.

Brandon Youngblood: You got a taste in January. I was going to go home to heal up. To get fully one hundred percent. But you know what…how about this? How about Caesars Super Dome. Biggest stage. Biggest fight. Hall of Famer versus Hall of Famer. Make me kiss your ring. Take me out. Make your claim. Show me that, between the two of us, you’re the real jewel in the crown.

Rising from the chair, Brandon kicks it away.

Brandon Youngblood: You got twenty-four hours to give the world a damn answer. I’ll be waiting.

And…with Bobby Dean all sticky, and Gamble struggling to breathe, we go…elsewhere.

With that, we shift to another area backstage, where Ivan Stanislav, Alexei Ruslan, and Arthur Pleasant are standing in front of a door with the placard KING on the front. Stanislav looks as serious as ever while he nods at Pleasant, while Ruslan remains in the background.

Ivan Stanislav: I am not fan of imperialist connotations of “KING” nor last name “Noble”, but that is hardly any better than TAL and this psychopath who fancies himself flying reptile.

Stanislav growls. Pleasant nods, looking at the ‘KING’ locker room door.

Arthur Pleasant: Ha!

Mockingly, Pleasant starts shaking his finger at Ivan.

Arthur Pleasant: Oh, but don’t underestimate them! I wouldn’t want to poison you by association with what is, according to David, my biggest problem!

The Worst NIGHTMARE of PRIME chuckles derisively at Noble’s locker room door.

Arthur Pleasant: But what am I saying, that’s my tag team partner I’m making fun of. Wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstandings before this match even gets started!

Ivan nods in agreement.

Ivan Stanislav: Precisely! Cohesion is necessary. After all, I had this kind of match alongside The Anglo Luchador a year ago. Of course, we won because I carried him, but…

Ruslan clears his throat, and Stanislav snaps out of what looked like a long speech.

Ivan Stanislav: Yes, anyway. Let us get this started.

Ivan Stanislav knocks three solid times on the door. Once more, it’s hard to explain just how it is, but it’s definitely a “Stanislav”-style knock. Maybe because it rattles the ceiling?

With said ceiling rattled (and possibly irreparably damaged?), the door to the KING locker room opens. The man who answers the door, the largely (emphasis on large for multiple reasons) silent Shawn Graham, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a black shirt with a scowl on his face that would turn the happiest people sour. He moves out of the way of the Universal Champion, and the Red Army proceeds to enter the KING locker room.

Who else is in the room? Cory and Jamaal playing cards, wearing joggers and large coats with no shirts underneath them. In the center of the room, taping up his wrists and a pair of AirPod Max headphones on, is David Noble. Shawn taps him on the shoulder, and David looks over to see Ivan filling the door’s threshold and his upcoming tag partner slinking around the room.

David Noble: Well, this should be fun.

Stanislav, Pleasant, and Ruslan file in, with the Universal Champion regarding each individual in the room carefully. He cocks an eyebrow and frowns before regarding Pleasant for a moment.

Ivan Stanislav: I thought I come here and see what you all are about. After all, you two have match soon against The Luchador and The Pterodactyl Man. I want you to understand, David Noble, that there is no substitute for victory.

Arthur Pleasant: That means don’t you dare fuck this up, Davey. Also, don’t think for one second you’re going to take the lead in this thing. Consider that your first AND last warning.

Ivan clasps his huge hand on Pleasant, telling him to “ease up” without even having to verbally communicate as such. With his other colossal paw, he clamps down on Alexei’s shoulder, who grins.

Ivan Stanislav: And you can take comfort in fact that Alexei will be there, at ringside, to make sure there is no funny business.

It’s hard to say if Ivan is referring to funny business from the opponents’ side, or from KING’s side.

David glares at Alexei.

David Noble: Nothing is more important to me than winning tonight, so you don’t have to worry about that. And what funny business do you think is going to be… happening?

Arthur Pleasant: David Noble, always the perpetual do-gooder. Pfft.

Behind David, Cory slams down a card on top of Jamaal’s, though it is unclear what game they are playing.

Cory Kensington: BOO-YAH! Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Jamaal Ingram: Alright, you won once in ten times, bruv. Relax.

Cory Kensington: You’ve cheated the other nine, bruv.

Cory then looks around and realizes the Red Army has entered the locker room and immediately leaps over the bench, landing in front of David and ready for whatever funny business is taking place.

Cory Kensington: What’s crackin’?

He then looks over and sees a werewolf sitting on the bench.

Cory Kensington: Oi, lower the lights on them teeth, bruv!

Jamaal inches toward the group.

Jamaal Ingram: Don’t mind my brother; he likes to play it up in front of lemons.

David looks at the brothers, who seem cool and charged at the same time. Stanislav, meanwhile, has positively no idea what’s going on.

Ivan Stanislav: Что, черт возьми, происходит? (What the Hell is going on?)

Ruslan shrugs.

David Noble: Alright, we’ve entered the Russian portion of our evening. I don’t think you realize that people aren’t into reading subtitles.

Cory nods.

Cory Kensington: English, mate. We know you speak it. It’s rude to speak Russian in front of us.

Jamaal Ingram: Я три года изучал русский язык и получил высокие оценки на A-Level. (I took three years of Russian and got high marks on my A-level)

Both Cory and David look at Jamaal in shock. Jamaal simply shrugs his shoulders.

Jamaal Ingram: What? The walking Marvel Comics ad walks in here, and I get to be the one looked at weird. Fuck off.

Cory bellows a laugh that seems to annoy Ivan. David, meanwhile, squares with Ivan and Arthur.

David Noble: Look, Rose has set very specific rules. No attacking outside of the ring, no interference. Alexei being down at ringside isn’t going to make her happy.

Stanislav makes an exaggerated motion, looking over everyone’s heads around the room before looking down at Arthur.

Ivan Stanislav: Huh? I do not see Rose here. Do you, Comrade Pleasant?

Pleasant too makes a dramatic look around the room and offers a naturally toothy, manic grin.

Arthur Pleasant: I can’t say that I do, Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav.

Ivan waves a dismissive hand.

Ivan Stanislav: Relax, dear David. Comrade Ruslan is simply extra set of eyes. He would only interject himself if something unbecoming was happening in match, which I am sure will not be necessary. Still, one can never know with arch-rulebreaker like The Anglo Luchador. Besides, I doubt you will have to do much at all, David, with Arthur Pleasant taking the lead.

David nods.

David Noble: Then so be it; let Pleasant take the lead, but let me make things very clear. We’re not going out there to cheat and break the rules. We are going out there to wrestle. Tom is many things, but a rule breaker in the ring, that he is not. So tell Alexei to calm down and observe. Because I promise you, if he sticks his nose in our business and tries to upset the balance of the match, there will be hell to pay.

David looks at each of the three men individually.

David Noble: Do we have an understanding? Because I did not choose this path, but I sure as hell will not let this become the Red Army Hour. Are we aligned on this?

Ruslan straightens his back and places his hand on his heart.

Alexei Ruslan: I solemnly swear to uphold all rules and regulations in PRIME.

Ivan grins a big, toothy grin and squeezes Pleasant’s shoulder again.

Ivan Stanislav: There! It is settled. Let me offer congratulations, eh, premature congratulations, to all you… fine members of KING. Red Army will not let you down.

The members of KING don’t quite match the broad smiles of The Red Army, but nonetheless, we cut elsewhere.

Daytona comes out to the ring in a form fitting rhinestone cowboy suit, like his namesake might suggest. He wears white from head to toe, from the top of his cowboy hat to the soles of his boots, each article of clothing encrusted with shimmering rhinestones and delicate chain stitched embroidery, all unapologetically flashy. Once inside the ring, Daytona sheds most of the outfit and wrestles in just his pants and boots. While he does wear knee pads under his pants, he doesn’t wear elbow pads or wrist tape.

Nick Stuart: The Rhinestone Cowboy, in the flesh.

Richard Parker: I’m just amazed he made it to the ring this week.

The FedEx Forum darkens as the entrance stage becomes illuminated in pillars of pale white light. Onto the stage come a gaggle of children, ranging from ages four to sixteen representing a wide variety of ethnicities. One even appears to be a half-goat human hybrid. We’ll probably address that later.

Each child is also fitted in uncomfortable costumes designed to make them look like Diamonds. Not like Daytona Diamonds costumes, no, literally cheap looking Diamonds. Blocky and shiny, they look difficult to move around in and the children all look unhappy to be dressed in them.

Lining up on the stage, the crowd murmurs quietly, unsure what is about to happen.

Nick Stuart: So I guess these are the kids referred to during the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM report earlier.

Richard Parker: Do people know that Max Kael? is less than a year old? And they’re giving him command of other kids? I have to say, Nick, I’m impressed with this guy’s work ethic, he’s not wasting any time.

Nick Stuart: You made a point. It’s not one that gives me faith in humanity but you have made a point.

The kids line up on the stage as best they can before one of them blows a kazoo whistle.

“I’veJUST clOsed my eeeyeees aGAin..”

The sound that comes out of these kids isn’t good. In fact it’s bad. Some are screaming the opening lyrics of Dreamweaver, by Gary Wright, others are just moving their lips nervously along with the others. Maybe one or two of them are trying to sing. The Goat Boy is just screaming and baying like a goat.

“Climbed AboArd the DREAM WeaVerrr Train.” 

The crowd begins to boo as the kids press on. U.N. Couth power walks out onto the stage in a white pants suit that sits over her old withered bones like a second skin.

“DriVer TAKE awaY myY woories of TodAY!”

Next out is Violent Purple wearing her usual jean jacket and matching black jeans. She cheers the kids on regardless of how terrible they sound and her support appears to embolden the kids. Their shrill cacophony builds as they roll into the final lyric before we dive into the chorus.

“AaNd lEAVe toMoRrROW bEhinDdd!” 

The lights on the stage go out as the arena becomes awash in darkness.

“OoooOOOoooooOOOOOOOOOOH! DREEAAAAAAAAAM WEAVER!”

Max rushes out onto the stage, his hands held up high in the air as he smiles proudly out at the crowd. He is immediately met with a roaring return chorus of boos and jeers from the crowd. Some hate him for not being the “real” Max Kael. Some of them hate him because he has inflicted this child band of terrible singers upon their auditory organs.

“I beLIEVve yoU cAn geT me Throooough the NiGHt!” 

Grabbing a customized microphone from his back pocket as he continues to dance up on the stage to the teeth chattering children’s choir.

“OooooOOOooOOooOoooOOooH! DREAAAAAM WEAVER!” 

He joins in, singing with the children, his own terrible singing voice blending in like oil and water with the collective of diamond costume wearing kiddos.

“I belIeVe weCAN reaCHHH tHe MORningG LiiigHT!” 

The singing finally comes to an end as Max gives his choir of random children, including a weird goat boy, an enthusiastic applause. The crowd does not agree with Kael’s assesment of the collective of children wailing his entrance music. The kids bow and wave to the crowd before scurrying backstage.

Max Kael?: Give it up for the Wayward Diamonds Illegitimate Children of Daytona Diamonds Children’s Choir! What beautiful music they make! Did you see the Goat Boy? That was wild! I don’t even know how that works, that kid is like a cryptid! But DNA tests don’t lie! Which we probably, definitely did.

More hate from the good people of Memphis to not appreciate Max’s taste in music. Max continues to the ring with U.N. Couth and Violent Purple flanking him.

Max Kael?: You are terrible people, to boo a bunch of fatherless children! I’m holding down three jobs and supporting a bunch of little bastards! I’m the face of a massive popular, possibly vegan MEAT? Product! I’m the lead anchor of a HIT news program being the truest of the TRUE on this whole show! Fina-

Before Max can finish his microphone is cut off. You can see him blathering on the microphone for a few moments longer before realizing he’s cut off. He becomes visibly upset, his face flashing red as he marches his way the rest of the way to the ring. There is very loud complaining from Max directed at referee Elvis Nixon, who he seems to blame for the cutting of his microphone.

Eventually he moves to his own corner to wait for the start of the match.

Richard Parker: Well, that’s something we all just lived through.

Nick Stuart: I’d like to apologize to all of the fans.

Daytona peers from the brim of his rhinestone cowboy hat, unsure if he’s having some sort of god awful flashback.

DING DING

The two men circle one another for a bit, neither of them wanting to make the first move. Daytona raises his right hand, fingers stretched out, looking for the old school lock up. Max looks around, as if asking the fans if this man is really doing this? Max finally goes in for the lock up only to lay a succession of boots to Daytona’s midsection.

Nick Stuart: Max Kael? showing his lack of sportsmanship early in this event.

Richard Parker: One is an unholy abomination and the other is a drug addict who wears rhinestone. We’re not going to see much sportsmanship here.

Max grabs the bent over Daytona by the arm and whips him against the ropes, setting up to go  for an arm drag takedown, but Dayona slides out the ring. Daytona wags a finger at Max as he regains his composure. Elvis Nixon begins the count.

One

…

Two

…

Three

UN Couth and Violet Purple begin a verbal attack on Daytona outside the ring.

Rickard Parker: I don’t think Daytona is above hitting a woman and whatever it is UN Couth is.

Nick Stuart: Ah, Daytona is distracted and Max is trying to use it to his advantage. He bounces off the ropes and slides into a drop… NO! Daytona was feigning and telegraphed it. He’s pulled Max out of the ring, slinging him against the guardrail by the feet.

Richard Parker: Daytona is full of piss and vinegar tonight. See the way he has his boot in Max’s windpipe and he’s got him pinned against the guardrail? Fight or flight kicks in, you get them so focused on getting air they can’t think straight.

Reluctantly, Daytona releases Max’s throat as Elvis Nixon threatens to disqualify him.

Nick Stuart: Oh, here we go – Daytona wraps his arm around Max’s head and hoists him into the air for a suplex onto the mat. Daytona sees Max’s entourage coming and slides back in the ring, strutting around to a mixed reaction from the fans.

Nick Stuart: Some of the fans seem to be embracing Daytona here in Tennessee.

Richard Parker: I mean, these are his people.

Nick Stuart: I’m not even sure what that means.

Richard Parker: Have you gone outside your hotel, man? This is Memphis. The city is basically the Rhinestone Mecca.

Nick Stuart: Outside the ring, UN Couth and Violet Purple have helped Max to his feet and the action is back in the ring.

Daytona connects with a stiff right that staggers Kael, who leans into the ropes. Daytona bounces off the ropes and goes for a boot across the jaw of the man who came out of a jizz pod, but Daytona side steps and pushes Diamonds into the ropes chest before wrapping his arms around the torso of the rebounding Diamonds and connects with a snap German Suplex that sends Diamonds flying across the ring, landing on the back of his neck. Kael is on top of him in a hurry with a series of right hands that earns the ire from the crowd.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Kael is working. You can’t help, but be impressed by what this man brings to the ring.

Nick Stuart: Did Ami threaten your life before this show?

Richard Parker: That is definitely, not, a possibility, to some.

Nick Stuart: Well, back in the ring, you’ve got Diamonds stumbling to his feet.

And as he does, Kael drives his shoulder into his midsection and drives him into the nearby corner. With the wind driven out of him, Max connects with a forearm across the jaw before hoisting him onto the top turnbuckle. Max climbs up as well and pelts with a series of right hands to the crown of the skull. He then hoists him up and as he does, Diamonds connects with a headbutt that rocks Max. Both men stand on the top turnbuckle, unbalanced, before Diamonds launches himself at Max and sends both men crashing to the mat.

Richard Parker: Crash and burn! My goodness!

Nick Stuart: Not sure what Max was thinking there, but Diamonds saw that things were going to go from bad to worse in a hurry and decided to nope out of that.

Richard Parker: Max was probably going to just give him a hug.

Nick Stuart: Not in a million years!

As both men make their way back to their feet, Diamonds connects with a spinning back elbow that drops Max to one knee. Daytona then bounces off the ropes and goes for a knee to the face of the one they call Maximillian, but Kael manages to block it with his forearms. Daytona stumbles backwards as Max gets up to his feet and goes for an European Uppercut, which Daytona ducks underneath. He steps behind Kael, hooks him into a full nelson, and connects with a snapdragon suplex. Max’s skull bounces off the mat as the fans are split in cheering for Diamonds.

Nick Stuart: Smart thinking there by Diamonds, using Kael’s momentum to catch him off guard with that suplex.

Richard Parker: Diamonds has about three brain cells he can rub together at any given time and two of them are usually locked in trying to find someone to take back with him to his hotel.

Nick Stuart: You sound angry.

Richard Parker: No, envious. It’s a really efficient manner of thinking.

Before Max can stand up Daytona lays into him with a forearm uppercut. Daytona grabs Max into a headlock, setting up a running bulldog. Just before take off Daytona is stopped in his tracks as Max lays into him with a low blow.

Richard Parker: Ouch, got him right  in the Rhinestone Cowboys.

Nick Stuart: Max is screaming something at Daytona about raising children.

Richard Parker: This has all the makings of a new age country song.

Max leans back into a brutal german suplex, bouncing Daytona’s head off the mat. Before Daytona can recover

Richard Parker: Here we go, it looks like Max has him locked in the Arkham Deathgrip! Put a fork in him, that has to be it.

Digging his fingers deeper and deeper into the nerve center under Daytona’s chiseled chin, Max screams at him again about being a single father. The light begins to leave Daytona’s eyes and his knees buckle. Elvis Nixon reaches for Daytona’s hand to do the dramatic “is he alive” drop, but Daytona grasps Elvis tightly, pulling him into the fray. In the commotion, Daytona manages to wedge a fingertip directly in Max’s right eye.

Nick Stuart: I cannot believe the level of cowardice on display in this match.

Richard Parker: Really?

All three men, Elvis included, stumble away from the melee. Daytona leans on the top rope, holding his throat while Max furiously rubs his eye. With Daytona’s head facing him, Max sees an opportunity and bounds off the rope, charging for Dream Weaver. He sticks his arm out, putting all his force into the lariat aimed at Daytona’s dome piece, but Daytona moves like a coked out cheetah, dropping underneath and wrapping Max around the waist to deliver Kael’s crotch to the top rope.

Nick Stuart: I am not sure I’ve seen a match with so many crotch shots.

Richard Parker: Not on this program, no. You usually have to pay extra for that.

Off the ropes Daytona bounces into a lariat of his own, delivering Max to the canvas. Daytona cocks his head back, hacking at one of his blackened lungs to create a giant loogie that he delivers on Max’s prone body.

Nick Stuart: Oh my god.

Richard Parker: God has nothing to do with this. Here comes that wretched beast UN Couth.

As UN Couth and Elvis Nixon argue on the apron, Max climbs to his knees. Daytona grabs a handful of Max’s jet black hair and begins laying punches into his face.

Richard Parker: Oof, Max has sprung a leak. Blood is beginning to flow from his forehead.

Woozy and unbalanced, Max slumps forward when Daytona releases him. The crowd jeers as Daytona spins around with his arms outstretched. Victory is within his grasp and he can smell it, despite years of putting various experimental drugs provided by showgirls up his nose.

Richard Parker: It’s time to close the deal.

Everyone can feel it. Max pushes himself up onto his baby deer legs, wobbling to a stand. Like a drugged up hawk Daytona swoops in, lining Max up for How The West Was Won.

Nick Stuart: Wait, Violet Purple is on the apron! Elvis is still arguing with Elvis Nixon! OH NO! POCKET SAND TO THE EYES!

Richard Parker: Do all of these weirdos carry sand? How do they store it?

A loud yell escapes Daytona and he releases Max to grab at his eyes. Max capitalizes quickly, bouncing off the ropes, rebounding off into a full sprint at Daytona.

Nick Stuart: DREAM WEAVER!

UN Couth backs off the apron, conceding to Elvis Nixon by raising her hands in the air. When Elvis turns around Max has Daytona wrapped up in a pin.

ONE

TWO 

THREE

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: That’s it, ladies and gentleman. Max Kael? pulls one out with the help of his fellow WON ACTION NEWS teammates.

Richard Parker: That’s a damn shame. I was rooting for Daytona.

Max Kael? quickly exits the ring, joining UN Couth and Violent Purple as Daytona gets to his feet, holding his head. The entourage of Max et al back down the entrance ramp. A few of the children wave goodbye to the man who may potentially be their father. We then cut to a commercial.

Our return from commercial takes us backstage of the FedEx Forum, where Speedy Riggs, decked out in his tropical hammer and sickle t-shirt and slacks, walks alongside Ivan Stanislav’s shy assistant, Arina Timofeyevna. Per orders from Stanislav, Arina wears a smart red military uniform that might be a size or two too big for her, along with red pants and boots. Her black hair is pulled back in a ponytail while they walk, but it’s not long before Riggs stops and turns to her.

Speedy Riggs: I’m sorry Arina. I have to uh, take care of something. Can you just wait here for a moment? I’ll be right back! Just don’t move!

Arina nods wordlessly, while Riggs turns and does a little pee dance, before rushing down the hallway and around the corner. Arina nibbles her lower lip thoughtfully and looks curiously at a nearby bulletin board, reading various papers that are tacked on the board itself.

“Huh, mandatory forklift safety meeting.”

The voice is familiar, but it doesn’t belong to anyone on the approved list of trusted and vetted individuals. Quite the contrary, if anything this would be inscribed on a list of revolutionaries branded enemies of the state. If it was sorted by priority, this person would be near the top with perhaps only one or two above it. There’d be a grainy black and white photo attached. Someone would have drawn stink lines with a pen hard enough to gouge lines in the paper.

Jared Sykes: Honestly, I get why. Those things can be a real pain to handle if you don’t know what you’re doing. I get a complementary lecture every time we travel, because once you dress construction equipment up like a giant turkey you’re kind of branded for life.

The man some people call the Heart of PRIME is standing a few feet behind her and eyeing a sheaf of paper that the Teamsters Local 667 has tacked up. Despite being already dressed to compete, he looks quite relaxed. His shoulders are relaxed, and his hands are buried in the pockets of a sweatshirt that is uncharacteristically zipped all the way to his neck, perhaps to hide the tee shirt he’s been forced to wear tonight.

Jared Sykes: Between you and me though, if you ever get the chance I strongly recommend taking one for a spin. It’s stupid fun.

He extends his right hand.

Jared Sykes: I’m Jared, by the way. Don’t think we’ve met. You’re with Ivan, yeah? Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav. Sorry, I probably massacred that pronunciation. Sometimes it’s a miracle I can speak English.

Arina turns, slowly, at first not realizing someone might actually be speaking to the girl. Her vibrant eyes blink once as she listens intently, not nearly as well versed in English as her superiors. She tilts her head to the side, listening and blinking, until her eyes widen at the mention of “Jared.” She looks down at the pleasantly offered hand, and then looks back up at the owner of said hand.

Arina Timofeyevna: You are… Jared Sykes?

Her question is simple enough. Her voice is gentle and curious, nothing more. She doesn’t take the hand.

Jared Sykes: Yep. Either that or everyone I know has been lying to me since birth.

The joke doesn’t land, and Jared is left to lower his hand and slide it back into its pocket. Yet another awkward exchange forever immortalized on film. That’s when the filter between his brain and mouth goes on break.

Jared Sykes: Okay, so this is weird.

It doesn’t get any more not-weird between the two of them. Arina’s eyes widen more as the realization that yes, this is indeed Jared Sykes. The Jared Sykes. The dastardly, evil, wicked, heartless, bloodthirsty Jared Sykes. One of, if not the, most monstrous men in the United States, no, the world. The creature bent on the absolute destruction of everything good and beautiful in this wonderful world of ours.

Arina shrinks and presses her back against the wall while bringing her hands up in front of her in a weak defensive posture.

Arina Timofeyevna: Do not hurt… do not hurt, please!

She looks frantically up and down the hallway. Surely Speedy was coming back? Certainly someone from The Red Army was nearby to deliver her from this monstrosity!

Jared Sykes: Hold on, what?

An entire circus of emotions play out over Jared’s face. First comes the wide-eyed shock. Next is the palpable confusion as to why this woman would think herself in danger. For a fleeting moment there’s the faintest hint of a sad clown, wounded at the thought that he would commit such an act.

Then it all clicks into place, and the realization sets in. To try and deescalate the situation, Jared makes a show of taking two deliberate steps backwards. His hands are up now, a man backing down from a gunfight.

Given her reaction, maybe leading with the forklift joke was a bad idea.

Jared Sykes: Just breathe, okay? Just try to calm down. You’re not in any danger. I’m not coming any closer.

He slowly lets his hands fall to his sides, but he makes sure to not hide them again.

Jared Sykes: I don’t mean to scare you, but… Can I ask you something? What have you been told about me that you think I’d do something to hurt you?

The move helps to calm Arina slightly, though she keeps her back straight against the wall all the same. Her own bout of confusion crosses her face before she swallows loudly.

Arina Timofeyevna: You write wicked, vile things about Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav. You… you try kill him with lifting forks. You try to hurt Mr. Ruslan. You… try to stop Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav’s great patriotic duty for goodness for world.

She swallows again as she tries to catch her breath while eyeing Sykes up and down carefully. He certainly didn’t look monstrous, at least.

Arina Timofeyevna: You tell dirty jokes! You… you hate Russians! You wish to do nothing but bring painful suffering to good hard-working people worldwide!! You would dash me against wall and laugh at my pain!

Jared allows her words to settle before speaking.

Jared Sykes: I understand why you might not believe this, but I’m going to say it anyway. That last thing… the one about you, and the wall, and me laughing? That’s not what I do. You’re nervous. I get that. I can only imagine the things you’ve been told.

He takes another step backwards.

Jared Sykes: But you’re in no danger from. None. As far as hating Russians? Nah. I lived through the Cold War, when every night the news was about how our countries were going to blow each other up. I was a kid then… Didn’t really understand what it meant until I got older. We might not agree on everything, but I don’t hate anyone because of where they come from.

He exhales a heavy sigh and rubs the back of his neck.

Jared Sykes: That said, some of what you said is true. I know I can be a pain in the ass, and I have definitely gone out of my way to annoy Ivan and Alexei. No denying it. And yeah, I ran Ivan over with a forklift. It’s… well…

Another pause, but this time it’s to consider his words. Despite everything he’s had to endure at the hands of the Red Army, not to mention everything his partner suffered through, this person – though understandably biased – is innocent.

Jared Sykes: I’m not proud of that. It’s clear these men mean a lot to you, so I’m sorry that you were affected by it. This can be a violent sport, but I don’t want to hurt anyone if I can help it. Does what happened make me a monster? I dunno, but I can see why you’d think that.

Arina’s demeanor, though not completely unguarded, does relax slightly while she listens to Jared Sykes. He’s certainly not being crass, or violent, or chaotic, or exhibiting any of the qualities she’s believed, and been told, to believe. She brushes an errant strand of dark hair from her face and pulls in her lips for a moment, weighing his words, before answering.

Arina Timofeyevna: I…

But her words are annihilated by a wall of sound coming down the hall to her right.

Ivan Stanislav: HEY!

Arina immediately straightens up and skirts to her right, jogging slightly towards the Universal Champion, who seems to blot out the earth behind him as he marches down the hallway towards Jared, with slamming boots and clenched fists. He looks at Arina and growls.

Ivan Stanislav: Ты в порядке? Он причинил тебе боль? (Are you okay? Did he hurt you?)

Arina Timofeyevna: Нет, Старший Прапорщик Станислав, не он. (No, Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav, he did not.)

Stanislav moves protectively in front of Arina while he glowers down, down, down at Jared Sykes.

Ivan Stanislav: Trying to get cheap shot in on The Red Army, are you, Jared?

Jared’s shoulders fall ever so slightly. Of course it was going to end this way. When you approach a member of the Red Army, a confrontation with their leader is inevitable. He shoots a quick glance towards the ceiling, trying to gauge the fall distance if he happens to be thrown through it.

Jared Sykes: I was actually just telling your friend how much I regret that whole incident with the forklift.

The Russian Bear inclines his head and lifts a bushy eyebrow as air blasts through his nostrils with a whistle.

Ivan Stanislav: Do you now?

Jared Sykes: I’m having a hard time figuring out this reaction. Not sure whether you believe that or not.

Stanislav doesn’t take his eyes from Jared, but he speaks Russian.

Ivan Stanislav: Он правду говорит, Арина? (Is he telling the truth, Arina?)

Arina Timofeyevna: Да, Старший Прапорщик. Он говорит правду, и опять же, он не угрожал мне и не причинял мне вреда. (Yes, Starshy Praporshchik, he tells the truth and again, he did not threaten or harm me.)

A low growl rumbles through Ivan’s chest as he grinds his teeth and digests this information. He too, looks up at the ceiling tiles for a fleeting moment, before looking back down at Jared. He nods his head slowly and swallows thickly.

Ivan Stanislav: I will believe what you say, Jared, because of what those who I trust say. But know this: my success in Tropical Turmoil tournament saved you from what you deserved after that forklift incident. You win your match tonight, and I will defeat FLAMBERGE at Colossus.  Then we finish what you started months ago. Your golden ticket will be one way flight, via Red Scare.

Jared’s eyes dart first to Arina, and then back to the Russian Bear.

Jared Sykes: Well, who am I to argue.

And then a grin curls at the corner of his lips.

Jared Sykes: I’ve flown that airline before. No snacks. In-flight movie is a little sus. But the landing ain’t so bad, once you know to brace for the turbulence.

It grows just a little wider.

Jared Sykes: I’ll be pulling for you.

Stanislav nods slowly and grunts.

Ivan Stanislav: Likewise… let us go Arina…

Before Stanislav turns all the way around, Arina offers Jared a polite, but shy, smile before doing an about face when Ivan can see her. He takes one step away from Jared before turning again to face him.

Ivan Stanislav: Oh, and Jared…

He narrows his eyes.

Ivan Stanislav: I want to say you did not damage Arina because you are man of principle… even if man with no brain. I want to say that I… appreciate it. I want to say that you are sincere in what you say regarding forklift. I want to say all of this, Jared Sykes…

His eyes don’t leave Jared’s own and leaves that statement to hang in the air, before he lets his expression fall.

Ivan Stanislav: But I am sure this behavior of yours is simply out of mind-shattering fear of what I would do to you.

Stanislav offers one, very small nod in his direction and yet, his hardened expression softens slightly. Perhaps it’s how he lifts and pulls his bushy eyebrows together. He whispers. .

Ivan Stanislav: Спасибо… (Thank you…)

He curtly turns and trudges down the hallway after Arina without another word as we cut elsewhere.

Once again the camera finds Rob Williams sulking backstage. He closes his eyes tight and breathes out through pursed lips, reaching one of his bear paws out to lean on the wall. A TV set up on a table nearby is replaying ReVival 39.

TV: What is this, North Korea? Not gonna bring me down. I get a chance to break off two Kit Kats tonight? Sounds like my kinda party.

The Voice: Him. He is to be your sacrifice.

Rob: What?

TV: Hey, did you see they painted that Big Bad Brosovich with metal or some shit?

Head leaned back, the world is spinning for Rob Williams. In one ear he hears the voice calling for the blood of this blabbering bro-machine and in the other it’s a brokakke party from Crash Jackson on the TV. Pain covers Rob’s face as he raises his hands to his ears, his teeth clenched to the point that they’re creaking in his skull. The TV just repeats the same thing, over and over and over.

TV: Hey, did you see they painted that Big Bad Brosovich with metal or some shit?

Rob Williams: For the love of God, what the hell even is this?

Something is wrong.

TV: Hey, did you see they painted that Big Bad Brosovich with metal or some shit?

The Voice: We need blood, Rob. If the offering is a burnt offering from the herd, you are to offer a male without defect. You must present it at the entrance to the tent of meeting so that it will be acceptable to the Lord. You are to lay your hand on the head of the burnt offering, and it will be accepted on your behalf to make atonement for you. You are to slaughter the young bull before the Lord. This man is your bull.

TV: Hey, did you see they painted that Big Bad Brosovich with metal or some shit?

Eyes finally open, Rob looks at the TV. Crash Jackson is centered on the small monitor. Over and over and over it replays. Rob pulls his phone out and begins dialing his manager John.

Rob Williams: (grunting) I just made you my special project. John.. It’s Rob. Get me a match with Crash Jackson. I don’t care, just do it.

Rob hangs up the phone. The TV screen is black, silent.

The Voice: Bring me your burnt offering.

The screen fades to black as Rob stares at the inanimate monitor, lightning still striking through the landscape of his head.

EARLIER TODAY…

…or so the friendly chyron at the bottom of the screen tells us.

The scene is the clubhouse bar within the FedEx Forum. The place where talent and staff go to socialize and throw one back when they’re off the clock. The subject is one such person: Kerry Kuroyama, the Emerald Apex, nursing a tumbler of whisky on the rocks.

His expression can only appropriately be described as sour. Could be it’s a condition stemming from being in Tennessee and tasting some of their famed sour mash. Or, more likely, it could be coming from two weeks of countless “I told you so’s” from his Vae Victis VVingman, Scott Hunter.

Whatever the reason, Kuroyama is stewing in silence, and doing his damned best to ignore the camera trained on him. Probably because he’s had some bad experiences with them as of late.

Bartender: Wrasslin’ tonight, buddy?

Kerry shoots the bartender a look that could slay a grizzly.

Kerry Kuroyama: [coldly] No, “buddy”, I’m not. If I was “wrasslin’”, do you think I’d be sitting here right now?

Moments later, another member of the PRIME roster enters the bar. It’s Nate Colton, who continues to labor under the impression that wearing a polo shirt with your work’s logo on it in public is acceptable. He takes a seat next to Kerry without really looking, and sets a bill on the bar.

Nate Colton: Bud Light, please.

The bartender nods and takes his money, returning moments later with an open bottle that he sets in front of Nate. The Next Diamond takes a drink, and only then turns to the man sitting next to him.

Nate Colton: Hey man.

Kuroyama breaks from his ruminations and gives his company a sideways glance and salutary nod.

Kerry Kuroyama: Colton. Enjoying the off-time?

Nate Colton: It’s all right. Still a little sore from that fight with Paxton two weeks ago, so a night off doesn’t break my heart.

As he raises his bottle again, he looks at the screen…which just so happens to be showing a graphic for the Almasy sem-finals, coming up later tonight.

Nate Colton: Rather be doin’ something else, though.

Kerry sees what he sees, and sneers.

Kerry Kuroyama: Hmph, tell me about it. Nothing burns my ass more than having to sit here and be a spectator. Especially knowing I did everything right…

Nate Colton: I hear that.

The Next Diamond offers to clink glasses. Kerry hesitates when he notices Nate’s choice of beverage, face going taut in silent judgment. But he keeps it cordial, and tips the tumbler.

Clink.

Kerry takes a glance at the screen himself, and his expression decays from sour to rotten. He snaps in the direction of the bartender.

Kerry Kuroyama: Hey “buddy”, think we can switch over to something else?

The Memphian mixologist on duty shrugs, grabs the remote, and flips to the next channel.

“Today in Gaza, more violence erupted after–”

Kerry Kuroyama: Keep going.

“Now, for only the low price of $59.99, you can own your very own–”

Kerry Kuroyama: A bit more.

“♫Nobody else is stronger than I am! Yesterday I moved a mountain! I bet I could be your–♫”

Kerry Kuroyama: Next.

“HEY ERRYBUDDY LISTEN, I HIGH-JACKED THIS BROADCAST CUZ I GOTTA WARN YA ABOUT THE INVASION–”

Kerry Kuroyama: Next.

The screen finally ends up on the weather channel. Nothing but sunny skies, mundane stats on the highs and lows, and gentle, inoffensive muzak. Kuroyama breathes a sigh of relief.

Kerry Kuroyama: That’ll do, thank you.

He shakes his glass for a refill and gets another. After the first sip, he turns himself toward Colton.

Kerry Kuroyama: I’m curious about something, Colton. Maybe you can enlighten me here. Because you’re one of the few that’s been here since day one, and as far as I’ve seen, you’ve nothing short of a no-nonsense straight shooter. Kinda like myself. So maybe you can help me to understand something…

Nate Colton: Yeah?

Kerry takes a heavy swig, and winces. Straight Tennessee bourbon is definitely not made to be refined.

Kerry Kuroyama: How do you deal with it? The fucking circus, I mean.

He grinds his teeth in repugnance.

Kerry Kuroyama: I was hoping by coming to PRIME, I’d be leaving it all behind. But it’s all over this place. Practically saturated in it.

Nate Colton: Most of it doesn’t bother me. Like, the vending machines and wherever…it’s silly, but if they’re having fun and the crowd loves it, it’s fine. When that stuff gets into the ring, though…

Kerry nods, picking up on what Nate is putting down.

Kerry Kuroyama: Yeah… when it gets in the ring, you either have to play with the other clowns, or be vilified as some asshole. Heaven forbid I take my profession seriously.

Nate Colton: Right? Or they call us the idiots because we don’t cheat like they do, or have a whole entourage protecting us all the time. They’ll try to tell me “that’s the way the business works,” like I haven’t spent my whole life in it. I know, all right? I know Jiles is gonna cheat his ass off, and Gamble’s gonna take every cheap shot he can think of just to get in your head. I know Vickie Hall will…be Vickie Hall. It’s just the way things are.

Colton shakes his head and takes another drink.

Nate Colton: That don’t mean it’s the way things oughtta be.

Kuroyama looks at the Next Diamond and considers him for a moment. Finally, some of the sourness leaves his face. In his head, gears are churning.

Kerry Kuroyama: No. It doesn’t.

Kerry ponders into his drink for a beat.

Kerry Kuroyama: Let me ask you another question, Colton…

Nate Colton: Go for it.

The Pacific Blitzkrieg turns in his seat.

Kerry Kuroyama: Where would you rather be at Colossus? Sitting here…?

He nods further into the building. Presumably to the part of the arena where the ring is.

Kerry Kuroyama: …or standing in there?

Nate Colton: In the ring. No question. Proving myself against the best, with the whole world watching…that’s the whole reason I came to PRIME, man.

The Pacific Blitzkrieg looks him in the eye and nods slowly.

Kerry Kuroyama: Same. Except I don’t have any interest in signing up for some gimmicky scrum match for the old “title opportunity” carrot on a stick. I want to wrestle the way we ought to wrestle. I want to be on the show of shows to remind everyone why it ought to be that way. You feeling me here?

Nate’s lips curl into a little smile.

Nate Colton: I think so. A fight like that…goddamn, I’m hyped just thinking about it. None of the bullshit, just two of the best pure wrestlers in PRIME laying it all on line…‘cause that’s what the sport is about. Yeah…I’m definitely feeling you.

With a slight smile, Kuroyama lets out a single deep chuckle in his throat.

Kerry Kuroyama: …I’m thankful to hear that. Sounds like we’re in agreement then. Sure I shouldn’t spill my drink on your shoes or something, just so people aren’t confused as to why we’re fighting?

Nate Colton: Heh. Nah, most people can figure it out. If not…their loss.

Kuroyama takes in a deep breath.

Kerry Kuroyama: Finally… a real challenge.

He comes to his feet, reaches for his billfold, and drops a crisp hundo onto the bar.

Kerry Kuroyama: Next one’s on me. See you in two weeks.

The Emerald Apex slowly extends his hand. The Next Diamond quietly considers it before offering his own. The shake is firm; not quite to dick-measuring levels of who can squeeze the hardest, but enough pressure on both ends to wordlessly know where they stand with each other.

Nate Colton: Can’t wait.

They break hands, and Seattle’s BEAST makes his exit. Nate sits back down again, grinning widely as he finishes his beer. No sooner has he sat down than the bartender puts another one in front of him.

Nate Colton: Thanks. Hey, any chance we can find a basketball game?

We then fade to ringside for our next match.

Nick Stuart: We’ve got more tag team action coming right up, ladies and gentlemen! On one side, we have the wildcard team of David Noble of KING and Arthur Pleasant of the Red Army…

Richard Parker: The ruling class and the working class. What could possibly go wrong?

Nick Stuart: …and they’ll be going up against the like-minded lucha tandem of the Anglo Luchador and Rocky de Leon!

Richard Parker: So, basically, Peter Parker and Miles Morales.

Nick Stuart: We know that TAL and KING have been at odds with each other lately, and the same goes for Pleasant and Rocky. No doubt this match will present an opportunity for some of these individuals to feel each other out as competitors going into Colossus. Let’s get the entrances underway and see how it unfolds!

“Brick and mortar
Blood and water
Goin harder
Firestarter”

The PRIME*TRON comes alive as the lights dim inside of the FedEx Forum. David Noble’s name is scrawled across the screen in red letters before fading away to a rotation of clips outlining his career, primarily in PRIME and DEFIANCE. He emerges from the backstage area, alone, wearing a pair of black wrestling boots and blue jeans.

“This ain’t a threat, it’s a promise
I been floating like a butterfly
That’s word up to Muhammad
Time for blowing up atomic”

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, representing KING… he hails from Buffalo, New York, and weighs in at two-hundred and forty-five pounds… here is, DAVID NOBLE!!

He marches down to the ring with a mixture of boos and cheers from those gathered in the audience. He looks straight forward, not interested in the fans around him, but focused on the match ahead. He rolls underneath the bottom rope and makes his way to the opposite set of ropes, placing his left foot on the middle rope and his right foot on the bottom rope before throwing his right hand up.

“That’s how you know I’m a fighter
I push through the pain
Rise from the flames
That’s how you know I’m a fighter”

He then makes his way to a corner of his choosing and sits in the corner, waiting for the match to start.

Nick Stuart: Noble looks absolutely focused this evening. I also can’t help but notice that he is without any of his KING associates as he comes to the ring. I’ve been told that Rose is not in the building.

Richard Parker: He’s flying solo, but that’s just fine! Despite the highway robbery he suffered at the hands of Garry Ray-Ray in the Almasy, the wrestling royalty of KING don’t need cheerleaders to get the job done!

“Slum Planet” by 3TEETH and Mick Gordon hits the speakers and a chorus of boos immediately follows.

Two words, followed by two letters, written in signature style, appear on PRIMEview with a bleeding effect; this is created by a machete that slices through the bottom of the screen with a violent effect. Arthur Pleasant, meanwhile, has already begun making his way out from behind the curtains.

YOUR NIGHTMARE,
AP

Vince Howard: And his partner, representing the Red Army… he hails from Under The Midnight Sun, and weighs in at two-hundred and twenty-five pounds… he is PRIME’s Worst Nightmare, ARTHUR PLEASANT!!

Coming down the aisle, Pleasant’s lips curl into a sickening grin as he flashes his money makers to a mostly jeering crowd.

Richard Parker: You know, on second thought, maybe it would have been wise for David to bring some back-up. There’s no telling if or when this maniac tries to pull a fast one.

Nick Stuart: It’s an odd couple team to say the least, but from what we know, Noble and Pleasant are hardly strangers as opponents. That may very well work toward their favor now that they find themselves on the same side.

The arena darkens before bursting with a flash of light with the intro to “Cynic” By Local H. The PRIMEView plays a montage of The Luchador hitting various flips, arm drags, and ranas before Scott Lucas’ first guttural “HEY!” hits on the song. At that moment, The Anglo Luchador steps out from the back, looking around at the fans cheering for him before going to one knee, his left fist on the ground. He waits a beat and then pops to his feet, cocking his right fist in the process.

Vince Howard: And the opponents, coming to the ring now… hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and weighing in at two-hundred and eleven pounds… please welcome, the ANGLO LUCHADOR!!

The Anglo Luchador comes down the aisle, slapping hands. He stops at ringside before sliding into the squared circle, leery of the two opponents that await him inside..

Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador is coming to the ring with a lot of energy! Two weeks ago, we witnessed the contract signing to set up his battle with a member of KING, and now he’ll have the chance to preview his opponent before Colossus.

Richard Parker: I can see why he’s feeling confident. A stallion like Noble gets saddled with the chicken-biter like Pleasant, but Anglo gets his number one fanboy? It’s not fair, I tell you!

*Here I come, drop your jaws to the floor
I’m riding on my mighty laser-shooting dinosaur
Oh, oh, oh, here we come, can you hear him roar?
Woah-oh, woah-oh*

As the drums pound and open “Laser Shooting Dinosaur” by Angus McSix, Rocky slowly rises from the floor at the top of the ramp, following a flood of smoke out the opening.

*Here I come, drop your jaws to the floor
I’m riding on my mighty laser-shooting dinosaur*

As the song blasts the words BOOM BOOM BOOM, Rocky pumps his fist and bolts toward the ring.

Vince Howard: And finally, his partner, hailing from Laredo, Texas, and weighing in at two-hundred and fifteen pounds… here is, ROCKY DE LEON!!

*Let’s sing now, here we go, hear my battle cries
Woah-oh, woah-oh, oh-oh-oh*

He slides under the ropes and plays to the crowd. He sprints around the ring waving his wings, stopping at each side to amp up the crowd, returning to center ring for the end of the chorus.

*Prepare for epic fight and his laser missiles
The sound is boom, boom, boom for every time a goblin dies
Let’s sing now, here we go, hear my battle cries*

He roars out, gesturing the crowd for call and response:

WOAH-OH! (WOAH-OH!)
WOAH-OH! (WOAH-OH!)

Oh oh SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Nick Stuart: What a heartfelt ovation for PRIME’s resident dino-loving daredevil!

Richard Parker: Well, it’s not going to be all fun and games when that bell rings. I don’t know what he did to get the attention of Pleasant, because that guy is practically a bird of prey in his own right!

Nick Stuart: I can’t help but agree, partner. Arthur Pleasant is one the most unhinged competitors I’ve ever seen, and that’s including all the craziness that went down in the old days! But tonight, Rocky won’t be fighting his battle alone!

Rocky meets up with TAL in the ring, and when the numbers are finally even, the luchas slide under the ropes and take a moment to pose for the fans. Presiding official Jimmy Turnbull diligently makes his final checks while Noble and Pleasant glare at their masked nemeses.

Nick Stuart: Lots of tension in the ring right now, and our official Jimmy Turnbull isn’t looking to waste any time as he cues for the bell!

DING DING

After much conversation, the Anglo Luchador volunteers to start things off on behalf of his lucha-tastic team. Across the ring, it’s decided through as few words as possible that David Noble will open things up for PRIME’s newest odd couple. TAL and Noble meet in the center of the ring and throw themselves into the collar-and-elbow.

Nick Stuart: Noble and the Anglo Luchador go right into the lock-up! Could be seeing a preview to their Colossus match-up right here!

Noble makes the first move, slipping around the back and wrenching the arm into a hammerlock. TAL swiftly reverses into a hammerlock of his own, with an added sweep to the legs to drop David onto the mat. TAL follows up by bulldogging Noble around the head, but soon finds himself on the mat as well following a snapmare!

David sets his knee into TAL’s spine and pulls back on his head for a violent, twisting chinlock. The Son of a Shogun doesn’t stay in place for long however, working his way back to his feet while attempting to pry Noble’s hands away. David cuts off his attempted escape with a knee to his lower back and pulls the Luchador into a rear waistlock.

Nick Stuart: David Noble with the GERMAN SUPLEX–NO!! The Anglo Luchador lands on his feet and gets behind him! And David barely dodges an enziguri the moment he turns around!

Richard Parker: Inches away from having his nose taken off!

There’s a pause in the fight as Noble and TAL stare each other down and catch their breath. From his corner, David hears someone blow raspberries. Pleasant is getting impatient, and entertaining himself by busting Noble’s balls on his ability to handle this masked fossil.

David responds to his partner’s unique show of support by tagging PRIME’s Worst Nightmare into the match. As he steps out, Arthur’s sinister smile stretches from ear to ear. He steps through the ropes to come into the ring, while TAL cranks his neck and readies himself for a scrap.

Nick Stuart: There’s no love lost between these two after their battle at Tropical Turmoil earlier this year!

Richard Parker: Right. If Arthur’s got a kill list–and I’m sure he does–then I’m positive ol’ Angles is still pretty danged close to the top!

Pleasant lingers in his corner for a moment, grinning like a lunatic. Then in a flash, he streaks across the ring, zero to one hundred. TAL barely ducks a Yakuza kick pointed at his head. He ducks again when Arthur pivots and aims again for the noggin with a sharp high roundhouse.

TAL slips in behind and traps Pleasant’s arms into a full nelson. He tries to follow through with the dragon suplex, but Arthur shakes his head and powers his way out. Before TAL can react, Pleasant spins and goes for the TIGER KNEE!

Nick Stuart: WHAT a knee strike, taking the Anglo Luchador right off his feet!

Richard Parker: If there’s one thing Arthur Pleasant is proud of, it’s his head kicks.

Nick Stuart: But could it be the one-shot knock-out? Pleasant making the cover!

One!

Two!

No, it is not!

Pleasant takes a moment to gloat in the direction of his corner over his handiwork. Noble rolls his eyes and tells his partner to focus on the fight. Arthur scoffs and pulls TAL back to his feet. Feeling confident, he attempts to wrangle the former Intense Champion into a choke… only for TAL to hook his legs and roll him to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Anglo catches Arthur overconfident and off-guard, and rolls him right into a pinning situation off the jackknife!

One!

Two!

Pleasant kicks out!

Arthur’s earlier cockiness quickly switches into fury after the surprise pin, and he’s back to his feet in a flash. He goes for the head once more with a roaring elbow as TAL hustles off the mat, but the luchador ducks and runs into the ropes. On the return, Pleasant tries to pop him up for a powerbomb, but doesn’t account for TAL’s leg headscissor.

Nick Stuart: HURRICANRANA by the Anglo Luchador!

Pleasant takes a bump and clutches his back. TAL hurries to his corner and tags Rocky into the match, to a raucous pop from the crowd. The Sultan of SKREE! comes into the ring in style by springboarding off the top rope and catching the recovering Arthur Pleasant with yet another flying headscissor.

Nick Stuart: PTERICANRANA by Rocky de Leon!

Rocky and TAL make it to their feet at the same time and exchange looks. Nodding in unison, they together jump into the ropes and spring off with twin moonsaults that lay out Pleasant once more as he is rising to his feet.

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: STEREO LUCHASAULTS! They’re busting out ALL the flips tonight, Rich!

Richard Parker: Yes, I noticed. I’m getting dizzy…

Nick Stuart: This crowd is going crazy for this high-flying tandem, and right now Rocky de Leon has a chance to put this away and stick it to the thorn in his side, rolling Pleasant onto his back and making the cover!

One!

TWO!

Kickout by Pleasant!

Undeterred, the FDP pulls PRIME’s Worst Nightmare back off the mat and traps his head into a three-quarter facelock before running to the corner. Whatever he has planned doesn’t come to fruition, as Arthur pushes him off at the last second and sends him chest-first into the turnbuckle. Seeing his chance to make a move, Pleasant falls into his corner and tags back out to Noble.

David has a head full of steam as he steps back between the ropes, and almost immediately decapitates the staggered Rocky with a running lariat that flips him to the canvas. Noble stays on him with heavy stomps to further punish the man-o-dactyl while TAL can only helplessly watch from his corner.

Nick Stuart: David Noble back in the action, quickly jumping on the opportunity to regain control of this match for his team! Now he hooks Rocky de Leon by the arms to wrangle him to his feet… BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLY SUPLEX, and he floats over straight into the cover!

One!

TWO!!

NO!! Rocky pops the shoulder! Nevertheless, Noble is looking laser focused tonight. No doubt he’s been wanting this bounceback win after his early exit from the Almasy Invitational.

Richard Parker: Provided ol’ TEETH! over there doesn’t screw it up for him first!

The Tsar of the Top Rope tries to will himself back up, but David stays on top of him. Rocky gets rocked with a right hand to put him on rubber legs. Noble effortlessly reels him into a facelock and lifts. Rocky stays suspended upside down for several seconds before crashing down on his head and shoulders.

Nick Stuart: BRAINBUSTAAAAH!! That could do it right there as David again makes the cover, hooking the legs!

ONE!

TWO!

BROKEN UP by the Anglo Luchador!

The crowd pops as TAL dashes in at the eleventh hour and pulls Noble off of his partner’s chest. Turnbull quickly steps in to usher him back to his corner, but the moment his back is turned, Pleasant uses the opportunity to rush into the ring and choke the life out of Rocky while he’s still lying on the mat.

TAL immediately tries to come to his partner’s rescue, which only further keeps the official’s attention away from the action happening just behind him. Noble doesn’t exactly look approvingly at this, but also doesn’t lift a finger to stop it.

Nick Stuart: Arthur Pleasant trying to take advantage of the official being distracted, getting some cheap hits in on Rocky de Leon! Come on, Jimmy! TURN, Turnbull!

Jimmy finally listens to TAL’s fiftieth attempt to get him to look behind him. The moment he sees Arthur in the ring, the official hurries in to reprimand him. Pleasant scampers back to his corner and immediately goes out to the apron, innocently shrugging while flashing his bastard’s smirk.

Nick Stuart: Turnbull giving Pleasant a stern warning not to test his patience!

Richard Parker: Good on David to not get involved in that tomfoolery. It’s beneath him.

Nick Stuart: But he’s got no problem with allowing it to happen!

Richard Parker: A win is a win, ain’t it?

Nick Stuart: Speaking of Noble, he cuts Rocky off at the pass while the FDP attempts to crawl to his corner to make a much needed tag. What’s he got in mind now? Rocky goes up onto his shoulders… and Noble goes for the ROLLING FIREMAN CARRY SL–

…NO!! Rocky shifts his weight and ROLLS HIM OVER the other way with the crucifix! Shoulders are DOWN!

ONE!!

TWO!!

KICKOUT!

Rocky rallies what strength he has left to make a desperate crawl for his corner. TAL leans in over the ropes. Their hands are only inches apart before Noble clocks the Anglo Luchador off the apron with a running forearm. A knee to Rocky knocks the FDP back to the mat, and David drags him to his corner.

Nick Stuart: Tag made back to Pleasant, and Noble holds Rocky de Leon in place! MUAY THAI KICK to the ribs knocks the wind right out of him! These two finally seem to be on the same page!

Richard Parker: Because Arthur finally came around to seeing what a natural leader David Noble is in the ring. So long as he lets him call the shots, they can’t possibly fail!

While Rocky is stunned, Pleasant snags him into a facelock and hooks the leg. He lifts his prey up and NAILS the first of three rolling fisherman busters!

Nick Stuart: Arthur Pleasant looks to be taking Rocky to the Land of Make Believe!

Richard Parker: The dolt dresses up as a dinosaur! I’d say he’s already there!

Keeping the hold in place, Arthur rolls through, lifts, and CRUSHES Rocky de Leon with a second fisherman buster! Out on the apron, TAL holds his head in concern and grief. Still keeping the hold in place, Pleasant again rolls, lifts…

…but feels a sharp piercing shot to his ribs. Followed by a second. His grip suddenly begins to weaken.

Nick Stuart: Uh oh! Arthur Pleasant may have gone to the well too many times! De Leon trying to fight his way out!

Pleasant fights back, but doesn’t expect the Sultan of SKREE! to go downstairs with a drop toe hold that trips him forward and nearly garrotes him on the middle rope. Arthur remains there, struggling to breath. The crowd cheers as the flying dino sees his window of opportunity.

Quickly, Rocky throws himself into motion against the opposite set of ropes.

Nick Stuart: Rocky de Leon with the TIGER FEINT KICK!! Pleasant got ALL of that in the face!

Pleasant sprawls off the impact, but takes a lucky roll to his corner where he quickly makes the tag to Noble. Not wanting the now weaker of two opponents to gain a vantage, David hits the ring and runs to the ropes where Rocky is rebalancing himself on the apron.

Rocky hops the ropes to reenter the ring, but ends up leapfrogging over Noble as the latter ducks the telegraphed attempt at a hurricanrana. A recovering Pleasant, still in the ring, attempts to take a swing as Rocky lands, but the FDP ducks. Rocky makes his own move by way of a kick to Arthur’s midsection.

Nick Stuart: Rocky with a kick–NO!! Caught by Pleasant, who sends him flipping back–NO!! Rocky with the HEADSCISSOR ON DAVID NOBLE as he tried to get him from behind, and sends him colliding into his own partner!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

Richard Parker: These people certainly have faith in their flips!

Nick Stuart: NOW Rocky de Leon has his chance!

The crowd is cheering and on their feet. The Anglo Luchador is bouncing in place out on the apron. Rocky de Leon crawls inch after laborious inch across the canvas, reaching out for TAL’s awaiting fingers.

Noble and Pleasant eventually come to and push off each other. They quickly move to intercept Rocky before he can make the tag, either man snagging a leg. De Leon is left held up by his hands in the wheelbarrow position for a moment while Noble and Pleasant seemingly disagree on which direction to pull him.

Rocky makes the decision for them, by tucking his head and rolling forward. The momentum pitches David and Arthur into the ropes. With a burst of energy, the FDP bursts off the mat and slaps the skin off of TAL’s waiting palm.

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: TAG MADE TO THE ANGLO LUCHADOR!!

Anglo hits the ring like a house on fire. Noble gets swept off his feet by a running axe-handle smash. Pleasant moves to stop him, but runs into a monkey flip that bounces him off the mat. David is quickly back up but instantly walks into an atomic drop followed by a right-left-right punching combo that knocks him back into the turnbuckle.

TAL finds Pleasant back on his feet, regaining his wind in the opposite corner. He moves in and snags him by the arm, sending him in motion with an Irish Whip. Noble streaks from the corner before the imminent collision, leaving Arthur to connect with the turnbuckle chestfirst. David comes after TAL, but is met with a boot to the gut.

Nick Stuart: Anglo with the CANADIAN DESTROYER!!

Richard Parker: Great! Now I have motion sickness!

Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador makes the pin!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THR–BROKEN UP by Arthur Pleasant!

BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

The fans jeer as the recovered and now irate Arthur Pleasant comes at TAL with kicks that could dig a hole to China. Turnbull commands him back to the apron, but it falls on deaf ears as Pleasant yanks Anglo back to his feet.

Unfortunately, he only then looks up in time to see a body in the sky above him blocking out the lights. Before he can react, he’s twisted down into the canvas and left spinning on his head like a top.

Nick Stuart: PTORNADO D-D-T BY ROCKY DE LEON FROM OUTTA NOWHERE!!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

Richard Parker: At least Arthur could make a decent living in professional breakdancing if the wrestling thing doesn’t work out!

Nick Stuart: De Leon back up… STANDING FOUR-FIFTY SPLASH onto David Noble’s chest!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: Up again… STANDING SHOOTING STAR!! Rocky finally firing on all cylinders, busting out EVERY danged flip in the book! He makes the cover…

ONE!!

TWO!!

THR–NO!! Noble gets the shoulder up!

Richard Parker: Attaboy, David!

Turnbull attempts to direct traffic, but might as well be invisible to the four competitors duking it out in the ring. Rocky heads to the apron to set himself for his next move… only to be completely blindsided by a charging overhead chop from Arthur.

Arthur hooks Rocky around the head to suplex him back in the ring, but suddenly finds himself grabbed from behind by TAL and sent tumbling over the ropes.

Nick Stuart: THE ANGLO LUCHADOR MAKES THE SAVE!

TAL helps Rocky regain his balance and points to where Noble fell. The ptenacious pterosaur picks up what his partner is putting down, and nods. They cup their hands over their mouths and throw their heads back, and the capacity crowd joins in with a thunderous…

SKRREEEEEE!!!

Nick Stuart: Could it be the legendary DOUBLE DINO DIVE!?

Richard Parker: I haven’t seen this pulled off since aught-five!

Unbeknownst to the two luchas, Arthur Pleasant has regained his bearings on the outside. TAL and RDL leap to the top rope in unison as he scrambles up the apron after them.

RRRAAAA–BOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Richard Parker: OOH, right in the DINO EGGS!

The Double Dino Dive, tragically, only ends up being a single, as Pleasant gives the Mortal Kombat uppercut straight to Rocky’s groin mid-flight. TAL, sensing something amiss, air-cancels at the last moment and lands on his feet, only then noticing his partner crumbling like a leaf and crashing hard into the mat.

Nick Stuart: That CAD! That was a blatant low blow courtesy of Arthur Pleasant! And right in plain view of the official! Jimmy Turnbull signals for the bell!

DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

The official leans through the ropes to communicate the result to the ring announcer. In the ring, TAL stands in confusion while Noble begins to pick himself off the canvas.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, official Jimmy Turnbull has determined that the winners of the match, due to disqualification… are THE ANGLO LUCHADOR and ROCKY DE LEON!!

The news is bittersweet to the capacity crowd, as Pleasant pulls Rocky out onto the apron and continues bludgeoning him mercilessly. The Anglo Luchador moves to break it up, but finds himself tangled up by David Noble.

Nick Stuart: Well this was a wash! It looked as though we were moments away from securing the clean victory, until Arthur Pleasant stepped in and denied them the glory!

Richard Parker: No, what we were moments away from seeing, Nick, was David rolling out of the way at the last second and leaving those lucha goons looking like idiots after botching their big move! But instead, his partner denied him that opportunity.

Nick Stuart: Right now, we may need to get some help out here before this scene descends into chaos!

Enemigos and backstage officials race down the rampway and swarm the ring to break up the escalating brawling. Pleasant continues to assault Rocky on the apron until two officials pull him off. He spits in one of their faces and leaves the scene by hopping the rail and storming off. Meanwhile, in the ring, there is a mighty pull-apart between Anglo and Noble.

Nick Stuart: Folks, let’s head to the back real quick while our team restores order out here. Still to come, the semifinals of the Almasy Tournament!

Nearly $1,400 has been raised so far. To contribute, visit https://www.proliteracy.org/donate/

It started at a catering table, and that’s where we find ourselves as we cut backstage. Paxton Ray is standing nearby, his hand on his beard.

Paxton Ray: Pigs in a blanket or finger sandwiches? Tough choice.

“You lose your appetite for wings?” Rich Patterson asks, just now coming around the near corner of the corridor. He pulls up at the table and looks over the spread.

Rich Patterson: I don’t hardly blame you. I haven’t had any, either.

Paxton looks over and his face immediately changes. The snarl starts to form at his lips, but after a moment he sucks it in and nods.

Paxton Ray: Yeah I don’t need any wings for a while.

He looks back at the plate.

Paxton Ray: So ya came here for food or ya came here t’judge me some more?

Rich Patterson: That’s an awful pouty line of questioning, isn’t it?

Paxton raises an eyebrow in Rich’s direction.

Paxton Ray: Ya ain’t timid. I’ll give ya that.

Paxton reaches into one of the plates and takes a pig in a blanket, eating it in one bite.

Paxton Ray: (through food) ‘Bout all I’ll give ya, though.

Rich follows suit and grabs a pig in a blanket, dipping it into a ramekin of mustard.

Rich Patterson: Here all I wanted was an apology from the apology man. But I suppose this — (stuffing the food in his mouth, talking through it) — is worth about as much.

Paxton Ray: Mustard. Disgustin’.

Paxton sighs.

Paxton Ray: Listen man. I ain’t into the whole back an’ forth. Ya don’t like me. I don’t like ya. We ain’t got anythin’ else to go over. So jus’ get your food and let’s let whatever this is end.

Rich Patterson: Feels like we’ve spent a lot of time together these past couple weeks. Some ways, I feel like I’m your antagonist. Do I antagonize you? Am I antagonizing you? That’d of course make you the protagonist, which I don’t agree with. I think you get too much attention as it is — all press is good press, I suppose — but I’ll give credit where it’s due: You seemed nearly like a human with healthy outlets last ReVival. Thank god for Doug, right?

Paxton stares at Rich for a few moments. He slowly reaches and grabs another pig and chews it for a while before answering.

Paxton Ray: That almost sounded like somethin’ nice. I been tryin’. I didn’t see novody else watchin’ Tsonda’s back. An’ I ain’t been doin’ any of this t’impress ya but it’s good t’see ya acknowledge somethin’ at least.

Rich Patterson: I wouldn’t say impress. Let’s say the effort didn’t go unnoticed.

Paxton Ray: Ya really won’t pass up a chance t’be a dick, will ya?

Then the Bayou Butcher shrugs.

Rich Patterson: (grinning) Slow and steady’s all I’m saying.

Paxton Ray: Whatever. Good enough. See ya later mustard boy.

Patterson plucks another pig in a blanket off the tray, straight-up submerges it in mustard, and tosses it back.

Rich Patterson: Keep it up.

He turns to go but gets blindsided by a shoulder tackle from behind. The sausage flies from his mouth as he falls. The camera pans up to see Paxton standing over him, snarling.

Paxton Ray: Ya used a word before.

He picks up Rich and hits him with a fist to the face, knocking him back.

Paxton Ray: “Antagonist.”

He clutches the hair on Rich’s head and punches him again.

Paxton Ray: I been an antagonist to a lotta people. It’s kinda my comfort zone. But I been tryin’ t’be better. An’ it ain’t been easy, for me or the people I hurt.

As he says the word hurt, he sends another punch into Rich’s face. Rich gets his wind and starts to punch back at Paxton, forcing him back. It appears like he may get the advantage, but then Paxton brings a knee up into his gut and stuns him with another punch.

Paxton Ray: But those people were meetin’ me halfway. Nate Colton forgave me. Jared fuckin’ Sykes forgave me. But not ya. An’ I ain’t even done nothin’ t’ya. Well, till now.

Paxton slams Rich’s head into the catering table.

Paxton Ray: Nah, ya were my antagonist. But I guess even though ya talked ‘bout me like ya knew, ya didn’t understand jus’ who ya were antagonizin’.

Paxton stands over Rich, snarling.

Paxton Ray: Ya think I was gonna let ya talk to me like that? Talk ‘bout me like that? And jus’ ‘cause I been tryin’ to make right with others I’d let it slide? Nah. Ya wanted this version a’me? Well here ya fuckin’ go. An’ we ain’t finished yet.

Paxton sends one more punch to the back of Rich’s head.

Paxton Ray: I’ll see ya at Colossus.

The Bayou Butcher grabs a finger sandwich and pops it in his mouth, then spits it towards Rich.

Paxton Ray: Pigs in a blanket were better.

He walks off as the camera stays focused on Rich, leaning against the catering table. We then transition elsewhere.

The scene shifts to a hallway where two malignant figures walk with purpose toward the offices of one Lindsay Troy. As Ulsa N. Couth and her niece Violent Purple stalk toward their goal, they pass by a snack table and don’t notice Eddie Cross leaning against the wall with a plate full of cheese, salami, and crackers.

He watches as they march past him and harrumphs loud enough to get their attention, causing them to full stop.

Eddie Cross: Where are you two going in such a hurry?

He eats a cracker and stands to his full height.

Eddie Cross: Wait, let me guess. Diablo released a new expansion and they need a boss for the players to fight.

Ulsa N. Couth’s hearing aid is the first to catch Eddie’s comment, spinning around to glare at the youthful Samoan. Violent is slower to notice and not nearly as taken aback by Cross’s comment.

U.N. Couth: What the fuck is a Diablo supposed to be?

The cantankerous old hag snarls however Violent Purple gently pats her Aunt on the shoulder before slipping in front of Eddie Cross with a sly smile.

Violent Purple: We’re on our way to see the Boss herself, Lindsay Troy, to get the details of your match against Max Kael? worked out. Specifically we’re here to ensure that our clients match is fair, called right now the middle and not the result of nepotism. We all know your relationship with the head referee, Timo Bolamba, even if you do decide to use the Cross last name.

Violent crosses her arms and stares up at Eddie defiantly.

Eddie Cross: Congratu-fucking-lations Batman, you cracked the case. You really think my Dad wants anything to do with my matches? He hasn’t touched one since I got here.

Ed drops his plate of snacks on the table next to him and sidles up to within personal space of the Purple Demon. Despite the fact that she is clearly sending out inviting vibes to attract unsuspecting victims, EC doesn’t fall for the tingling that runs up his back when her eyes make contact with his.

Eddie Cross: Funny you should mention that though, because I was thinking the same thing. I don’t want anyone I can’t trust officiating the match. That’s why I thought I would take a page out of some of the veterans books and show up early, do a little press, sign some autographs… and most importantly, go pay my respects to The Boss.

Violent’s brow raises slightly as Eddie speaks. Her head cants to the side slightly when he mentions the work veterans put in, especially paying respects to the boss.

Violent Purple: Enough pontification, get to the point Cross.

He smirks and shakes a finger.

Eddie Cross: Where’s your sense of showmanship, my beautiful Ms. Purple? That’s like week one shit in Dave’s gym. Anyhow…

As she rolls her eyes, he continues. The young man’s tone changes and he instinctively clasps his hands and rolls his shoulders for the promo, just like Dave taught him a long time ago.

Eddie Cross: You want to play games with me? Coming after Dave? Asking about Ava in Jabber? Well you and the sea witch over there forgot something really goddamn important; Gaming is my world, Purple. Did you really think you were going to beat me? I’ve been watching you slithering around Max since the moment you and your Dior Hypnotic Poison perfume made it to the show.

Her eyes narrow to viper like slits as he inhales deeply and shivers to enunciate her point.

Eddie Cross: You think you’re some sort of spider? You think you control the narrative and push the crone and Max around in your web, but for all your tricks and subtlety, you’re just a woman, after all. And not even a particularly interesting one, at that. But you’re right, enough chewing time… here’s my game;

He holds his arms out and narrows his eyes, the blazing green iris’s cutting holes into the temptress in front of him. His right arm darts into his pocket and pulls out a tri-folded stack of papers. He opens them up with deliberate pace to read off the first page.

Eddie Cross: Colossus. Eddie Cross vs Max Kael? In a one on one match with a special guest referee… CRASH JACKSON.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

U.N. Couth: You fucking rodent! How DARE you sp-

The old woman’s rant at Eddie is cut short by Violent who simply puts a hand on Couth’s shoulder, pushing her back gently. Violent studies Cross’s face carefully, a serious expression on her face before that sly smile slowly slips back into place.

Violent Purple: Fair play, Eddie, fair play.

VP seems momentarily taken aback as her eyes dart back and forth. She settles on a devilish smirk though as she has already worked out her next move.

Violent Purple: And since you clearly are confident in your choice, how about we put that ego to the test. We’ll put up our talent contract over Max Kael?. If you beat him at Colossus he’s free and clear of us.

There is a decent reaction at the prospect of Max being freed from his contract to Ulsa N. Couth and Violent Purple. Couth herself seems unhappy with that offer as she starts to speak up again but is once again quieted by her niece.

Violent Purple: BUT.. if you lose, you sign on with our Talent Agency and join the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM permanently. If you really think about it, it’s win-win. Either you free your “friend” or you get to join him. What say you, Eddie Cross?

Eddie pauses and his eyes flick back and forth between Violent Purple and U.N. Couth. The youth seems like maybe he has made a misstep. Maybe this game hasn’t played out like he thought it would.

Eddie Cross: Let me get this straight, you want an answer right here right now and that gives you two weeks to try and corrupt Crash against me?

Violent Purple nods.

Violent Purple: Life’s full of tough choices, isn’t it? If you want Max free, you’re never going to have a better chance.

Eddie breathes in deeply, contemplating for a moment before he holds out his hand.

Eddie Cross: Bet.

Purple’s sly smile widens as she firmly grips Eddie’s hand in her own, shaking.

Violent Purple: Give Dave my best.

She winks at Eddie before her and U.N. Couth depart. The old woman gives Eddie the stink eye something fierce before moving on. The kind of stink eye that immediately recalls memories of sewage drain off and leper colonies. In short order both women are gone leaving Eddie to enjoy his food once again.

We then cut to elsewhere backstage.

The scene heads to outside gorilla where Vickie Hall is flanked by Jonathan-Christopher Hall to her right, Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy to her left, Darin Zion directly behind and the ESPN 30for30 camera crew hovering around. Of course, there’s a PRIME camera directly in front of her face.

Vickie Hall: Tonight my lovely Jonathan-Christopher will finally get even with Jared Skypes after all he’s done to me!

Vickie looks down at her PRETTY PINK© outfit, revealing a mark of chocolate on her skirt. It’s unclear if this was actually the dress she wore on ReVival #3, when chocolate was spilled on her thanks to Jared Sykes. Someone on the internet has probably already looked this up for confirmation and tweeted about it.

Vickie raises her head to the camera.

Vickie Hall: Everything you’ve done, Jared. It ends tonight. I realize taking the Tag Team Championships away from you wouldn’t have mattered, because the division was dying out anyway. Nothing my man could’ve done to you then would have made up for the trauma you caused me.

Vickie squirms at the thought.

Vickie Hall: Jared, it’s always about YOU and I for one am sick of it. Now we can seek real retribution. We can give you the significant hurt that is going to register. Of course you won’t understand, you’re a narcissist. But everyone else will cheer.

Vickie looks like she’s finished. However, in the background, Tristan-Crispin, Darin Zion and the  members of the ESPN camera crew are nudging Jonathan-Christopher to take a couple of steps forward, stand beside his Amazing Life Partner and add a few more thoughts.

At first, apprehensively, he does. But as Jonathan-Christopher approaches his wife, he looks into her eyes, nods with confidence and then addresses the camera.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: Jared, I have wanted to get my hands on you one-on-one for a while. I knew you’d make it this far, you’re good.

Vickie’s face seemingly cringes upon the compliment.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: But I’m building something here which cannot be ruined.

Hall looks around him.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: A CONVOY. A family. People who support me. What do you have?

The Timid Tiger isn’t so timid when he shrugs with sarcasm.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: Soon you won’t have much left.

JCH keeps nodding to himself.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: Recently you’ve been wrestling rather desperately. Well, Jared… I have ALWAYS wrestled desperately.

Jonathan-Christopher points to the backstage locker room.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: None of them believed I could make it this far. However, the group around me, they knew.

He takes Vickie’s hand and holds it in the air.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: My champion; my love! You wish you could have this, Jared. But you can’t. You have Justine. Nobody likes Justine.

Vickie mouths the word “narcissist”.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: And now I am going to do it. I am going to FINISH THE STOR-

Vickie cuts him off.

Vickie Hall: Honey, we should get to the ring, okay?

Vickie leans forward, as if suggesting she’d like a private word with Jonathan-Christopher, even though the cameras are rolling.

And even though they will likely pick up what she has to say, no matter how low her voice may be.

Vickie whispers into Jonathan-Christopher’s ear.

Vickie Hall: You shouldn’t tell Jared he’s good. Remember, we want to tear him down.

JCH nods, looks in the camera and gives two middle fingers.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: ROT IN HELL, JARED!

He grins.

She grins.

All is gud.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: And see you out there.

Vickie jitters with blissful glee as her eyebrows shift up and down. She glances at the chocolate mark on her dress, then she grits her teeth.

Vickie Hall: Jared, it’s time to receive your just desserts.

Vickie holds a fist in the air.

Vickie Hall: CONVOY, roll out!

Off they go to ringside.

Nick Stuart: Semi-finals tournament action… IT’S NEXT!

Nick Stuart: The semi-finals of the 2023 Almasy Tournament… I can’t believe we’ve made it all the way here.

Richard Parker: Yeah, I mean who ever would have thought Jared Sykes would have made it this far?

Nick Stuart: Me, I would have thought Jared Sykes could do this. He’s been incredible this entire tournament, and really has shown that he’s still carrying the banner as the regularly competing half of the World Tag Team Champions.

Richard Parker: Tag team, who cares about Tag teams? WE HAVE THE HALLS NICK! LOOK AT THEM!

“I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith cues as the crowd boos and Vickie Hall skips out onto the stage sporting one of her many divine PRETTY PINK© dresses. Out next is the ESPN camera crew, three of them, running around from all angles not to miss anything of importance.

Nick Stuart: They are something else.

Jonathan-Christopher is last to emerge from the curtain. He wears a PRETTY PINK© bath robe with Vickie’s initials across the left side of his heart. As Hall scurries over to his Amazing Life Partner, he reaches out for her hand but instead she pulls it away and points towards the ring.

Vickie Hall: Do this for me, honey.

Her statement is picked up by the PRIME cameras and likely the ESPN ones, too.

She waits for JCH to lead the way down the ramp. At first, Jonathan-Christopher nods in Vickie’s direction and adds an “I love you” before discarding his robe and revealing the same color of PRETTY PINK© board shorts. He marches down the rampway, swinging his arms around to loosen himself up.

Nick Stuart: More and more each week, this man gains additional confidence.

Richard Parker: How could you not with her by your side?

Jonathan-Christopher approaches the apron as both camera crews circle around. Vickie claps when she reaches the bottom of the stage, standing directly behind him. JCH then hops onto the apron and offers to open the ropes for Vickie. However, she shakes her head no.

Richard Parker: This is personal. Period. After everything Jared has done to them.

Nick Stuart: After everything JARED has done!? Accidentally spilling chocolate milk on someone does not equal getting purposefully stabbed with a rusty nail! Waterboarded! Blindsided! Everything Vickie, Jonathan-Christopher and Zion has put Jared and Justine through…

Richard Parker: (totally not selling or seemingly listening to Nick) Plus the cheating loss Hall and Zion received at the hands of Calvin and Sykes during last year’s Colossus…

Nick Stuart: We’re done here.

As the announcers converse, Jonathan-Christopher rolls under the ropes and meets eyes with Vickie, awaiting her further instructions. Such as, should he hit the buckle and pose? Drop to his knees in the middle of the ring and confess his undying love?

Vickie tells him no. Instead, The Forever Man simply stands at the ropes and glares into the entranceway for the Hall’s most hated opponent EVERRRR.

Vickie Hall: Avenge me, dear. A.VENGE. ME.

Nick Stuart: Some potent instructions from Vickie Hall here.

Richard Parker: Vengeance is the cause, Nick. And no, that is not the guy from the fWo in 2001.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, because I needed to be assured of that.

This is normally the part where the lights would go out, and everyone would get real excited that a pink-haired sad boy is about to make his way through the entryway, but that’s not what’s happening. At least, not yet.

No, first we have to deal with the cavalcade of dummies that have stepped onto the stage. Imagine a group of school children who got separated from their field trip and don’t know where to go, equal parts excited and terrified. That’s what we’re looking at here, except these men only have the mental capacity of children. There’s six in total, which should be a hint as to who we’re dealing with.

Lance, Ian, Nevin, Devin, Zephram, and Taylor.

Richard Parker: This is how this idiot wants to do the Almasy Semi-Finals?

Nick Stuart: I think Jared has the right to walk out however he wants.

Richard Parker: I hope the owls get you.

Normally these schmucks – known as The Troy Boys ’round these parts – wear costumes that reflect the different phases through the career of the woman from whom they take their stage name. Not that any of that is normal in the traditional sense, it’s just how these dopes roll. Tonight they’re deviating a little, and instead of looking to honor such notable moments as “This AI image kind of makes me look like Desade” Troy, they all have coordinated tee shirts. The shirts in question are plain black with a single letter block-printed in vibrant pink. All except for Nevin. His shirt is a collection of five exclamation points. With all six of them standing in a row, it’s easy to see who they’re here to celebrate tonight.

RAY JR !!!!!

Wait.

Wait, no. That’s not right.

Guys.

Guys, what the fuck are you doing?!

You nitwits had one job, and you fucked it up.

Look at them, all smiling and waving. It’s like they don’t even care.

Okay, now is when the lights fade, and we get ourselves a proper entrance. That first note always hits, like the bottom falling out of the world. We get the traditional flood of white light when it does. While the intro lingers, the lights fade out. The song is “Plenty” by Northlane. This is where the cheering starts. Lance thinks it’s for him.

I’ll never be ready to meet a memory

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring…

Notes on a low-tuned guitar. Pulses of white light in time with it. We’ve been doing this for a year. You know the drill.

A memory that abandoned me

Vince Howard: Hailing from Boston, Massachusetts…

The only thing louder than the thundering guitar coming through the speakers is the explosion of the crowd. Now all six of the Troys are waving, those fucking chuds.

Vince Howard: Weighing in tonight at 201 pounds and accompanied to the ring by Justine Calvin…

Falling silent

Going mad

I’ve gone walkabout with the parasites in my head

The first person through the entrance is Justine Calvin, practically doubled over with laughter. As the music thunders away and the purple and blue lights start flashing over the crowd, she sets about getting those daffy-ass Troys into the proper position so the collection of shirts spell the right name.

JARRY!!!!!

It’s worth noting that all six of the Troy Boys are taller than Jared Sykes, because unless you’re watching this on television or have one of the seats higher up in the arena it’s not immediately apparent when he steps out onto the stage. This is because the Troys have made a human wall in front of the entrance, so Jared has to walk a path around them to get where he needs to be.

Far too quiet

It’s deafening

As a I pick away at the surface, the itch burns through my skin

Before he can start down the ramp, Justine holds up a single finger to stop his progress. At this point, it doesn’t matter where you’re watching this from – the floor seats, the upper deck, one of James Cameron’s many submersibles, the fucking International Space Station – the heavy sigh that escapes Jared is visible everywhere. He unzips the black hoodie he wears to every match and reveals his own custom shirt. This one’s not as basic as ReVival 39, and instead has a large golden ticket on the chest.

A large golden ticket with the name “JARRY!!!!!” in some bigass NIXON RESIGNS font.

Vince Howard: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYY… JUUUUUUUUUUUNIORRRRRRRR!!!!!!!

If the introduction on the last show was an accident, this one is damn sure deliberate, and Vince doesn’t even care. There is not a single fuck to be given.

He does eventually get around to the correct name, but it’s said without the same enthusiasm.

Vince Howard: (quietly) jared sykes

When the dirt crushes my bones (oh oh, oh oh ohhhh)

And the worms call me their home (oh oh, oh oh ohhhh)

If I’m asked to start again

I can’t pretend I’m ready

I can’t pretend

I’ve had plenty

The man-who-should-just-probably-go-ahead-and-change-his-legal-name-at-this-point hops onto the ring apron and tries to get himself back in the frame of mind that one needs when they’re about to fight someone who tried to murder them.

Justine? Yeah, still giggling about all of this.

Richard Parker: I’ve been stunned to absolute silence.

Nick Stuart: I… I don’t even know what to say Richard.

Ashley Barlow has also been stunned, and she quickly shakes her head to remove her stupor and begins checking Jared Sykes and Jonathan-Christopher Hall over. The two men both receive instructions, before Ashley heads to the center of the ring.

Nick Stuart: I hope she told him if she see’s Vickie Hall anywhere near the ring apron she’s throwing her out.

Richard Parker: WHY!? She’s a manager, she’s a contracted PRIME talent. She’s allowed to be out here, now Justine Calvin, you need to get her to the back right now. Look at her, she’s not a manager, she’s a wrestler.

Nick Stuart: I’m sure you would love that.

Richard Parker: So would ESPN.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Good thing we don’t care what they think.

Jared Sykes is on absolute fire out of the gate. He rushes across the ring and catches Jonathan-Christopher Hall half asleep with a flying forearm. Hall stumbles back into the corner and Jared Sykes is all over him. Sykes fires off a big right hand to the stomach, before grabbing one of Jonathan-Christopher’s arms and begins unloading with kicks to the midsection. Vickie Hall is irate as the crowd counts along.

2!

3!

Richard Parker: He’s clearly breaking the rules like a minute into this match. Ashley has to disqualify him.

4!

Nick Stuart: I think it’ll be one more.

5!

Sykes stomps out of the corner and Barlow gives him some stern words on his way past. Barlow goes to check on Jonathan-Christopher Hall but Sykes beats her there as he careens in with a huge splash that rocks Hall. Sykes grabs JCH by the head and pulls him out to the center of the ring and whips him to the ground with a snap suplex. JCH grabs his back and tries to roll to the ropes but Sykes follows him, driving a boot into the center of his back. Vickie reaches out from the outside and is able to grab Jonathan-Christopher’s arm and tries to pull him to the outside.

Nick Stuart: Is this a JCH tug-of-war game?

Richard Parker: I’m ashamed to say it is.

Nick Stuart: That documentary is sure going to have some footage from tonight.

Sykes snapped up Hall’s leg, and began pulling Hall back towards the center of the ring, dragging Vickie onto the apron. Barlow approaches the ropes and gives a stern warning to Vickie while Sykes pulls Jonathan-Christopher up to his feet. Sykes grabs Hall and puts him in another front facelock. As he goes to lift him in the air, Hall finally fires back with an elbow to Sykes’ midsection. Jared looks down a bit perplexed and drives a knee into Hall’s midsection. JCH crumples to the mat, but Sykes drags him up by his hair.

Nick Stuart: Jonathan-Christopher Hall is getting exactly what he has coming to him and it’s beautiful.

Richard Parker: I’m sure it is for you, Nick. I’m sure.

Sykes picks Hall up and drives him to the canvas with a bodyslam. He goes to the rope, and comes back off the ropes with a leg drop from Jared Sykes.

ONE!

TWO!

…

……..

…………..

…………………

……………………….

……………………………

…………………………………

………………………………………

………………………………………………

………………………………………………………

KICKOUT! 

Richard Parker: Thank Hoyt that wasn’t it.

Nick Stuart: That would have been a bit embarrassing… yes…

Sykes gets up to his feet and drags Hall up with him. He rotates and whips Hall into the corner, but JCH manages to dive under the bottom rope. Vickie Hall rushes over to JCH as he slumps down onto the arena floor and begins breathing heavily.

Richard Parker: Get out there, get your bearings. Restart this match, smart move from Hall.

Nick Stuart: I think Jared Sykes remembers being waterboarded with chocolate and wants to violently beat him up.

Richard Parker: Well yeah, but to prevent that…

ONE

TWO

JCH and Vickie are having a brief discussion while Hall continues to sit on the floor with his legs stretched out.

Richard Parker: Hall’s been in the ring with some serious competitors in this tournament.

Nick Stuart: He has Richard, he has. But nobody with the credentials of Jared Sykes.

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

Vickie slowly begins getting JCH to his feet.

SIX

And Jared Sykes has waited long enough.

Nick Stuart: AND HERE COMES SYKES!

Sykes leaps over the top rope, having started at the far ropes, and absolutely pastes JCH with a plancha into the barricade. Vickie goes sprawling.

Richard Parker: OH C’MON! HE HIT AN INNOCENT BYSTANDER!

Nick Stuart: Yeah, real innocent…

Richard Parker: It’s a DQ, Nick. Clearly. It’s one of the unwritten rules of wrestling.

Nick Stuart: Talk to Farthington, he’s the only one with the rulebook.

Ashley Barlow restarts her count.

ONE

TWO

Sykes gets to his feet and drags Hall to the apron with him. He slams Hall’s head into the canvas and rolls him up onto the apron. Sykes hops up and puts Hall’s head between his legs and wraps his arms around his waist.

Nick Stuart: Call back to Colossus!

Sykes flips JCH up and into a powerbomb position. He goes to step forward with JCH, and Hall manages to push himself out of Sykes’ grip and back down onto the apron. Sykes turns around and Hall absolutely levels Sykes with a superkick.

Richard Parker: WHERE DID THAT COME FROM!?

JCH is breathing heavily on the outside, but Sykes is down on the apron and Hall rolls his way into the safety of the ring.

Nick Stuart: I have no idea Richard, but that kick took Sykes clean off of his feet.

Jonathan-Christopher keeps collecting himself in the ring and breathing deeply while Sykes rolls in under the bottom rope. Sykes gets to his feet and stumbles to the center of the ring. He pulls Hall to his feet, Sykes fires off a right hand, but Hall returns with a thumb to Sykes’ eye.

Nick Stuart: This is the Jonathan-Christopher we all know and hate…

Richard Parker: He’s doing it for her Nick, he has to do it.

Sykes stumbles away and Jonathan-Christopher looks to the far corner, but stops on his way there and turns back towards Sykes. He runs into the ropes and comes back off of them with a cross body.

Nick Stuart: JCH with his second legal offensive maneuver this evening.

Richard Parker: But they’ve been big.

Hall hooks the leg and Barlow drops to the canvas.

ONE!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Nowhere near enough to put away Jared Sykes.

Richard Parker: Well you know, Sykes could have forgotten he was wrestling…

Hall storms his way to his feet and pulls Sykes up with him. Hall reaches back for a knife edge chop, and slams his arm into Sykes’ chest as hard as he can. Sykes looks at Hall, looks back at his chest, and then looks at Hall again.

Richard Parker: Oh shit…

Sykes fires off a big right hand, then another, then another and JCH is sent reeling back to the corner covering his head. Sykes bursts forward into the corner, but Hall manages to get out of the way and Sykes connects with nothing but turnbuckle. Hall stumbles off down the ropes and Sykes follows in pursuit. Hall turns around at the last second and manages to catch Sykes in the midsection with a boot to the stomach. He goes for a DDT, but Sykes manages to grab JCH by the back of the legs and hold him for a moment.

Nick Stuart: Big suplex from Jared Sykes.

Richard Parker: Looked like a back body drop to me.

Nick Stuart: He just squatted an entire other man.

Richard Parker: Finally used that giant…

Nick Stuart: Some nights I hate my job.

Sykes flips Hall over onto his back and hooks a leg.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: It’s a Hoytmas miracle!

Nick Stuart: Hall’s still in it.

Sykes brings JCH to his feet immediately, and irish whips him into the corner. Sykes comes forward and once again drives a splash into Hall’s chest. He smirks and begins to trot his way back across the ring. Barlow goes in to check on JCH and Sykes comes sprinting across the ring for another splash, but Hall yanks Barlow into the way and Sykes crashes into her in the corner. Barlow stumbles and falls to the canvas while Hall manages to scramble away.

Richard Parker: Barlow’s down! Barlow’s down!

Nick Stuart: But so is Vickie Hall and I think Jonathan-Christopher is just now realizing it.

JCH heads to the corner anyway and looks over the rope at the still downed Vickie. Sykes checks on Barlow momentarily, and watches as Hall slides his way out of the ring. Justine immediately marches around to the side of the ring.

Richard Parker: What the hell is she doing!

Nick Stuart: Making sure while Barlow is down, nothing funny is happening on the outside.

JCH looks under the ring and comes back up with a steel chair. Justine immediately bee-lines for JCH who jabs her in the stomach with the steel chair. Sykes notices the commotion and gets to his feet, heading towards the ropes. Hall pulls back to smash Justine with the chair but catches a jab to the nose for his trouble.

Nick Stuart: Justine Calvin is not someone JCH wants to mess around with.

Richard Parker: Of course not Nick, he has Vickie. His loving wife, you pervert.

Nick Stuart: I’m going to tell Justine you even had that thought.

Richard Parker: Please don’t.

Justine snatches the chair from Jonathan-Christopher and is all smiles. She turns towards the crowd with the chair in the air and turns around, and comes face to face with a now recovered Ashley Barlow.

Nick Stuart: Oh…

Richard Parker: YES! YES! SHE’S OUTTA HERE! YES!

Justine Calvin is shocked and screaming at Barlow, Sykes even pleads with Barlow but it’s not enough. In the madness, Hall rolls into the ring, and tries to roll up Sykes. Barlow doesn’t notice immediately but turns around and drops to count.

ONE!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: I guess some quick thinking from Jonathan-Christopher there.

Richard Parker: You never know Nick, you never know.

Sykes rolls to his feet, and Jonathan-Christopher follows him. The two meet in the center of the ring and Sykes levels a chop across the chest of JCH, JCH fires back with one of his own, Sykes lets another chop rip…

Richard Parker: THAT’S IT! STAND YOUR GROUND!

Hall lets out a scream and fires off another chop into Sykes’ chest, but Sykes just returns the favor with a chop so hard that JCH’s eyes are wide open. He grabs his chest, but Sykes opens his arms out and goes for a roundhouse kick to the stomach. Hall fires off a straight kick to the midsection of Sykes’ though and manages to hit Sykes with a quick DDT.

Richard Parker: GOT HIM!

Nick Stuart: Hall is becoming something that resembles a wrestler, Richard. You aren’t wrong.

Hall covers.

ONE!

KICKOUT!

Sykes kicks out furiously and storms his way back to his feet.

Richard Parker: And look who is back to her feet.

Vickie leans up against the apron and is scanning the area around the ring.

Nick Stuart: I can’t believe she isn’t bleeding.

JCH tries to bring Sykes to his feet, but he’s met with a stiff uppercut that hits him under the chin. Hall stumbles backwards and Sykes storms forward; he drives a boot into Hall’s midsection, and then a right hand across his cheek. Hall stumbles backwards further, and makes his way to the ropes. Sykes grabs Hall by the back of the head and tucks his head underneath his right arm. He goes to lift Hall into the air for the Omega 13…

Nick Stuart: Vickie Hall is holding JCH down on the mat…

Richard Parker: Teamwork, the power of love, look at these two!

Nick Stuart: Ashley see’s it! Vickie got caught again!

Sykes tosses JCH to the ground and goes to the ropes with Barlow, Barlow winds up.

Nick Stuart: SHE’S OUTTA HERE!

Vickie hops up onto the apron and is irate, as the confrontation occurs, Jonathan-Christopher Hall comes up behind Sykes and delivers an earth shattering low blow.

Nick Stuart: OH C’MON!

Richard Parker: YES! That’s it!

Sykes legs smack together and Hall is grinning ear to ear. Vickie takes her leave immediately and Barlow turns around to quite a scene of Jared Sykes holding his nether region and JCH wrapping his arms into his, Hall spins and smashes Sykes to the canvas with Stand By Me. Hall hooks both legs as Barlow slides into count.

ONE!

Hall grabs a fistful of Sykes’ trunks

TWO!

….

……..

…………….

…………………………..

………………………………………

………………………………………………….

………………………………………………………………

……………………………………………………………………………

THREE!

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: YES! YES! THE HALLMARK JOURNEY CONTINUES!

Jonathan-Christopher collapses in the center of the ring as Vickie Hall comes storming out of the back. Ashley Barlow calls for the bell as Sykes is shouting at Barlow. Calvin follows Hall to the ring, but Jonathan-Christopher rolls to the outside and the two documentary superstars scurry away up the ramp.

Vince Howard: And your winner of the match by pinfall… and advancing to the night one Colossus Main Event is a finalist… Jonathan-Christopher Hall!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: Jared Sykes was robbed.

Richard Parker: Look how happy they are! LOOK HOW FAR THEY’VE COME!

The Love Convoy turns towards the ring smiling and raises their arms in the air. Justine is shouting very not nice things at the two as the scene fades.

We return from commercial to the backstage area where Simon Tillier is standing by, and he is happy as happy can be!

Because for once in his life, he gets to interview someone who is otherwise a completely normal human being and isn’t a Dopesmoker here to warn us about the coming alien invasion, a sentient powerbomb in the shape of a man, a vaunted member of Vae Victis, or Joe Fontaine.

Because standing with him is Coral Avalon.

Simon Tillier: Ladies and gentlemen, with me at this time… Coral Avalon.

There is a strong reaction in the crowd for the Crownless King of the eGG Bandits. Most of it remains positive, especially since Jiles is conspicuous by his absence. Even Bobby Dean is nowhere to be seen.

Avalon stands with his hands on his hips in his full ring gear.

Coral Avalon: Hey.

Simon smiles and turns towards Avalon with the first question on his mind.

Simon Tillier: Mr. Avalon, tonight you’re going up against Cecilworth Farthington, who defeated you at Tropical Turmoil for the 5-Star Championship this past June. Any plans going into this vital rematch?

Coral Avalon: There’s too much on the line tonight to openly discuss strategy with you, Simon. Unfortunately. So all I’m going to say is that this one isn’t going to go like it did in San Diego. It’ll be me moving on to the finals.

Simon nods.

Simon Tillier: I can’t help but notice that Cancer Jiles isn’t here tonight. Will he not be in your corner for your match?

Coral Avalon: Yeah, I don’t know where Jiles is. I hadn’t seen him since that night in Nashville. Bobby said something about a “gallows” but refused to elaborate, so he’s probably fine.

Simon Tillier: I wouldn’t… associate “gallows” with “fine”.

Coral Avalon: It’s Jiles, though. He’ll be back.

Simon Tillier: Fair point. Where is Bobby, anyway?

Coral Avalon: Oh, he’s over there.

Coral gestured off-screen, behind him. The camera pans sharply to the left to find that Bobby Dean is gorging himself on whatever catering he could get his grubby hands on, and paying little attention to what Avalon is doing. This is despite the fact that Cancer Jiles would definitely not have approved of Avalon being interviewed by Simon Tillier of all people.

Coral Avalon: Just let him be.

The camera pans back to Coral and Simon and Joe Fontaine and Sid Phillips, as we get the interview back on tr—oh, wait a second.

Joe Fontaine is dressed very questionably, like a lizard version of the VENDBERGE itself. There’s bags of Bret’s hanging off of his body behind a glass screen, for God’s sakes. Sid is in his full Komodo Powerbombing Lizard glory. Avalon turns his head to see them, but barely reacts at all. If he has any sort of reaction, it’s because he knows how stupid this could get.

Joe Fontaine: Hey HEY hey!

Sid doesn’t say anything. Judging from the look on his face, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to be here and that Joe has insisted.

Simon’s expression goes from professional to despairing so rapidly that it’s some kind of record.

Coral raises an eyebrow. He opens his mouth to say something, but Fontaine keeps going.

Joe Fontaine: It’s all gonna end exactly like it did the last time! You’re going to sleep the sleep of the choked unconscious! Cecilworth is like a walking gallows! He’s so good at strangling that he doesn’t even need the strangling gloves! You gonna get choked! You gonna get asphyxiated! You gonna get suffocated! You gonna get exsanguinated, which isn’t even a choking thing, but you know where I’m going with this!

He’s pointing his finger at Avalon, who is nonplussed about the whole thing.

Coral Avalon: You know, I—

Fontaine interrupts him.

Joe Fontaine: And when you get choked unconscious until you die, you’ll be dead and I will laugh and laugh and laugh and then I’ll visit your grave and laugh and laugh and laugh!

Sid Phillips: Choking someone to death is a crime, Joe. Farthy wouldn’t appreciate it.

Joe Fontaine: Fuck. Uh…

Coral Avalon: I mean, really, I ha—

Give him credit, Joe’s quick to recover from the crime snafu.

Joe Fontaine: I’ll visit you while you’re lying comatose in a bed from all of the choking and I will laugh and laugh and laugh! And all one member of your family that actually gives a crap about you will visit your bedside crying and she’ll have to hear me laugh and laugh and laugh! And they’ll write articles about how Farthy is the rule and you are the suck, and I will read them and I will laugh and laugh and laugh! 

Coral Avalon: This seems really unneces—

Did Joe say he was done?

Because he isn’t done.

Joe Fontaine: And when PRIME has to look into your contract and decides to fire you because you can’t wrestle anymore because Farthy choked you into a waking oblivion that you can’t escape, I will laugh and laugh and laugh! And when I watch the Saturday morning cartoons tomorrow and think about what’s about to happen tonight, I will laugh and laugh and laugh! And when I walk the family dog and I think about all of the great times I had watching Farthy choke you to almost-but-not-quite-because-that’s-a-crime death, I will laugh and laugh and laugh!

Coral Avalon: That’s just getting excess—

Joe Fontaine: FURTHERMORE!

Coral throws his hands up because he can’t believe this bit is still going.

Joe Fontaine: After we get through beating those Red Army chumps into Red Roadkill, I’m gonna get backstage and I’m gonna gather all of my cool Glue friends together and we’re going to watch it happen and laugh and laugh and laugh! And when I get the moment you get choked unconscious framed in a picture next to my cool custom-built PC that I use to beat fools in Street Fighter, I will laugh and laugh and laugh! And when I have an artist commission a full-blown painting of that moment and hang it in the goddamn Louvre thanks to the influence of my French bestie best, I will laugh… and laugh… and laugh!

Joe actually needs a moment to catch his breath. His hands are on his knees, and he’s breathing hard enough that Sid has to pat him on the back to help him along, which is likely the best non-powerbomb-related thing he’s done since he joined PRIME.

Coral Avalon: …Are you done?

Joe holds up a finger, asking him to wait a moment.

Coral can’t believe it.

Coral Avalon: Jesus Christ.

And then Joe continues.

Joe Fontaine: There… there will be so much laughing that I’ll think about all of the laughing I plan to do and I’ll laugh… and laugh… and laugh! 

He’s done. Even if he wants to continue, he’s done.

Coral Avalon: Okay, uh… can I ask you something?

Joe doesn’t want to be asked questions judging from the dismissive waves of his hands, but Coral doesn’t take the hint.

Coral Avalon: …What in the hell are you wearing, Joe?

Joe glares at Coral angrily.

It’s not helped when Simon chimes in.

Simon Tillier: You, uh… you look like a mid-transformation Megazord that got into a teleportation accident with the snack machine.

Joe doesn’t say anything else. He just turns and walks out of the scene. Sid watches him go with a bewildered expression on his face, and then he jerks his thumb over his shoulder while looking over his shoulder.

Sid Phillips: I’m, uh… we’re, uh… just gonna go get to our match now.

He turns and leaves the scene, leaving Coral and Simon to watch the erstwhile Winds of Change escape. After a long pause, Coral turns to Simon.

Coral Avalon: Uh, that’s all I’ve got for the interview, so… I’ll go get prepared for the match with Bobby now.

Simon Tillier: …Yeah. I guess we’re done.

Coral walks off-camera in the opposite direction of the Glues, leaving Simon behind to feel bad about how poorly that had gone. With that, we move on to a certain luchador…

The camera cuts to the back, a hallway, in front of a dressing room. There are three people standing in front of a door. In the middle is the massive hunk of human meat who ran afoul of WON ACTION NEWS. Chick Grillbreast. To his left, the fiery and feisty Puertorriquena with the dyed-red pixie cut who made acquaintances with Crash. Miranda DC. To his right, the old but hardened old Turk with the thick moustache and eternal scowl who threatened to turn the ship burner into kebab. Captain Suleimon. All of them are quiet. A voice pops in from off-camera.

Voice: You probably know the story by now.

Walking slowly but purposefully into frame, in front of the triad standing in front of the dressing room door, is The Anglo Luchador, the common thread binding the three of them together. He’s shot from the waist up, his lucha mask and shirtless, still sweating from his match earlier, visible to the audience at home.

TAL: Three of a kind slip up and get caught on camera. All three of them have something in common. And you probably know why they’re here too, but they’re not what you want to know about. Yeah, it’s cool that you get to see special guests, but as cool as these folks are, the SHOOT Sin City Champion, the man with the least body fat in history, and this old salt…

Suleimon raises his hand like he wants to smack The Luchador.

TAL: …they’re not what you were waiting for from me. No. You want a stipulation. You wanna see how I’m gonna beat Rose at Colossus. Well, who am I to keep you waiting?

Chick Grillbreast: A PUNY LUCHADOR?

TAL: Not now, Chick, please.

The huge mass of muscle and two brain cells (if we’re being generous) snorts.

TAL: This year has been challenging, exhausting. I had to endure being torn down, cell by cell, until I could find an in to build myself back up again. I don’t know if I have that in, or at least I wouldn’t have if I walked into this match down four. But for all I’ve lost in the last year, the Intense Championship, Nora, my peace, my brother’s health, respect, everything, there’s one thing I’ve more than anything else.

He focuses his gaze on the camera with a scowl visibly burning through his mask

TAL: Blood.

A curious roar can be heard from the arena outside.

TAL: And the funny thing is, I don’t even care. I made myself bleed at Great American Nightmare last year. I don’t hate bleeding. But man, I hate bleeding in vain. And I’ve bled in vain so fucking much this year that it kills me. But this match, the “in vain” portion is going to end, because no matter the result, the blood will mean something. If I bleed, then the earth will be salted. I can hit rock bottom and really experience what it means to start over again, to be lower than the burning ship guy or whatever refugee from the pirate millionaire’s sinking ship decides to come here because it really is better.

The Luchador throws his head back and deeply inhales.

TAL: But if I win, if I make you bleed, Rose, then I show I can take the pound of flesh just as much as I can lose it. I’m not as far away as I feel. So if you haven’t figured it out by now, for the dorks online who need everything spelled out for them, here’s the stipulation. FIRST BLOOD.

The roar from the crowd can be heard more loudly now.

TAL: And that’s why I have these people here. Rose has KING. In a match where there are no rules except to make your opponent pop a gusher, well, going in one-on-five would be stupid, even for a wrestling good guy. I recruited some of my tightest people in this business outside of Timo. Conflicts of interest are a son of a bitch.

Richard Parker: The way the crooked officiating is here in PRIME, I’m shocked he wasn’t allowed to be there anyway!

Nick Stuart: Will you stop it?

TAL: So I went out and I got someone who considers me a mentor, the brightest young prospect in SHOOT Project, Miranda DC.

Mira flashes the “hook ‘em, horns” hand sign and smirks.

TAL: And even though he’s not the graceful high-flier he once was, Captain Suleimon is still one of the toughest assholes I’ve ever seen, even at his old age.

Suleimon raises his hands and cracks his knuckles.

TAL: And this galoot behind me, all I have to do is tell him you dickheads carbo-load every day of the week and he will annihilate you. Chick Grillbreast may not be the brightest bulb in the pack, but if he gets his hands on you, you’ll turn into a singularity.

Chick Grillbreast: Carbo-loading makes me SO. MAD.

He lets out a primal scream that can be heard in New Orleans.

TAL: Now, I know that some out there like KING and Richard Parker aren’t very good at math.

Richard Parker: Hey! D means degree!

TAL: But I only have three allies here when there could be four members of KING on the outside trying to start shit. Well, the last person I could recruit had to be family. Timo is my brother from another mother, but again, he’s a referee. My real brother, the only one I can count on, is still kinda injured. My two kids aren’t old enough to watch my back. So that leaves one option left, an option that one of your goons is intimately familiar with, Rose.

Nick Stuart: Oh my! Could it?

TAL: If there aren’t any siblings or offspring available, well, the next best thing would be the offspring of a sibling…

The Luchador turns around, doing his best Vanna White at the door. Or at least he thinks he’ll be able to do that except Chick is still standing there.

TAL: Chick, that was your cue to move.

Chick Grillbreast: OH, SORRY PUNY LUCHADOR. My head’s been feeling funny ever since I had that protein shake that Max Question Mark gave me.

TAL: Just move.

The behemoth steps to his right and reveals that the locker room door has a coat of arms on it. Three kaiju – a shark and a rhino flanking a minotaur – standing behind the black Number Three Goodwrench car. The official seal of Bolambaland.

TAL: That’s right. The Slap-Fighting Champion of Nelson County, Kentucky. The son of the Samoan Silencer, by wrestling stipulation. The Grand Generalissimo of Bolambaland. Garry. Ray-Ray. Nelson. Bolamba.

The crowd roars again.

Richard Parker: Not this moron again!

TAL: Rose, Noble, the rest of you goons, I’m done fucking around. You picked the wrong hero to defenestrate. At Colossus, you’re gonna bleed, and my army is going to make sure that happens.

Nick Stuart can be heard hooting as the camera cuts to the ring.

Nick Stuart: Time for multi-man action! And a preview for what’s to come at Colossus!

Something is happening at the entryway.

Something terrible.

A vending machine is being wheeled out to the entrance ramp and it’s enormous. We’re not even sure where it’s come from, but it’s here and now we’re stuck here having to deal with it. Bags of chips of the party sized variety are trapped within this vending machine, waiting for someone to put in giant novelty coins in order to pick them out.

Richard Parker: I do have the munchies right now. Care for a Snickers?

Nick Stuart: I’m more of a Butterfinger man, myself.

Richard Parker: Awful choice but I’ll go get –

After a short pause as the Memphis crowd takes this in, that old familiar piano riff hits and it’s go time.

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

As Run The Jewels’ “ooh la la” blares of the PA system, the crowd erupts for the arrival of its Lizard King. Le Protagoniste. The Neck Collector.

Also, some dipshits teaming with him, they guessed.

Then as one, three men slither out from the opening at the bottom of the vending machine in a manner that couldn’t be considered anything but lizard-like. It can best be described as a real “mlem” situation. They hit the ground in unison, each dressed in outfits based on the lizards that best fit them.

For Le Protagoniste, he is the bearded dragon. Natch. For the Man of a Thousand Powerbombs, it is the elusive Komodo Powerbomb Dragon, said to have been hunted to extinction by its fearful non-powerbombing brethren (citation needed). And for Smooth Joe Cool, he is none other than the elusive VENDBERGE dragon. He even has Bret’s chips in place of scales, the cad!

In perfect unison, the three stand up.

Richard Parker: Okay, that’s a little freaky.

They walk to the ring. Joe and Sid are their usual selves, the clowns. It’s FLAMBERGE who’s serious, stone-faced, and unblinking on his way to the ring.

Vince Howard: The following is a six-man tag team match, scheduled for ONE FALL!

The fans go apeshit about ONE FALL. (ed. Note: goddammit Roland no they don’t, stop it.) Even Joe and Sid hit each other as if saying “it’s one fall, not two, like we thought.”

Vince Howard: Introducing first… representing the GLUEMINATI! JOE FONTAINE! SID PHILLIPS! AND… FLAAAAAAAAMBERRRRRRGGGGEEEEE!!!

Once again, when the three men of the Glue make it to the ring, they each slither into the ring in the same slimy motion. Joe and Sid get up and head for the turnbuckles to gesture and preen at the crowd. FLAMBERGE… just lies there for a little while.

Is he asleep?

It is winter, after all. Lizards aren’t overly fond of the win—nope. He’s up. Nevermind.

The theme music ends and additional tension surfaces within the arena.

“The Soviet National Anthem” cues and out marches Alexei Rulsan, Arthur Pleasant and the trio team consisting of Kenny Freeman, Randall Schwartz and The Russian Bear, the PRIME Universal Champion. Ivan. Stanislav.

Vince Howard: Their opponents… representing THE RED ARMY… Randall Schwartz, Kenny Freeman and the Universal Champion… Ivan Stanislav!

The champion leads the way, thunderously marching down the ramp and towards the ring while his teammates are flanked to his right and left. Meanwhile Rulsan and Pleasant trail behind.

Nick Stuart: We are ready for a war. For a fight. I don’t think this one will be pretty.

Richard Parker: I’d be surprised if it is a technical masterpiece. I doubt either team wants to lose but the name of the game is inflicting as much punishment as possible. This being said, outside of Ivan and FLAMBERGE, I wouldn’t take anyone else too seriously-

Parker can’t finish his sentence. Freeman goofily slides into the ring and immediately FLAMBERGE hurls himself right into Freeman’s chest.

DING DING

The bell sounds and the match is a go! FLAMBERGE has Freeman on the canvas and is slamming his right forearm against the side of Kenny’s neck but while doing so, FLAMBO’s eyes lock directly on The Russian Bear as the champion is not in his corner yet, he’s merely walking up the steel steps.

Stanislav stares at FLAMBERGE in return.

Nick Stuart: Messages are going to be sent throughout the entire match.

FLAMBERGE with additional forearms. They connect but they don’t connect AS HARD as he’d like, since he keeps looking at Ivan. Nonetheless, the Frenchman whips Freeman onto his feet and sends Kenny into the ropes. FLAMBERGE tries for a judo kick but Freeman ducks it, rolls underneath FLAMBERGE’s legs and pops up with a German suplex!

Nick Stuart: The number one contender had his eyes locked on Stanislav and it cost him.

FLAMBERGE is, however, back on his feet and calling Freeman towards him. On the outside of the ring, Arthur Pleasant and Alexei Rulsan try encouraging Kenny to keep the offense going.

FLAMBERGE charges at Freeman with a running knee and nicks the tag wrestler under the jaw. Freeman falls into the ropes and FLAMBERGE comes in with another high knee strike.

Nick Stuart: Kenny had FLAMBO with the German… errr- Russian suplex, but needless to say he didn’t follow-up quick enough.

FLAMBERGE Irish whips Freeman into the ropes but Freeman ducks a clothesline and hits the next set of ropes. There’s a blind tag made by Schwartz so when Freeman comes back towards FLAMBERGE, this time he’s hit with a roundhouse kick-

But Schwartz races in with a clothesline, knocking the Intense Champion down!

Randall raises his hands and boos surface. He begins to reign down boots on FLAMBERGE, as the upcoming challenger latches onto the ropes in an attempt to pull himself up.

Richard Parker: Ivan has his boys ready to go!

Eventually, FLAMBERGE is able to overcome the onslaught from Schwartz, as he pushes Randall away and dives towards his corner.

He tags in Sid Phillips.

Five more inches and one-hundred more pounds steps over the top rope and into the ring. Phillips walks to the center and asks Randall to meet him there.

Schwartz considers tagging out but he takes a step forward…

And then returns to his corner when The Russian Bear extends his arm.

TAG.

The crowd roars as they want to see the largest men in the match go head-to-head. Stanislav steps over the top rope and meets Phillips in the center of the ring.

Ivan with a large chop to Sid’s chest. Phillips takes the blow and returns with a hard chop of his own. Not a powerbomb… not yet.

Ivan absorbs the blow. He drills another smack into Phillips’ chest followed by snatching Sid’s head and delivering a hardout headbutt.

Phillips moves into the ropes but in return he sends a HARD forearm to Ivan’s chest.

This time, the champion doesn’t exactly absorb the blow as well as before. So Phillips does it again. He hits the ropes and slowly moves towards Stanislav.

Another blow across the chest!

Sid grows restless, it was clearly going to happen. He tries to tuck Ivan’s head in-between his legs in an attempt for a powerbomb. The crowd rises to their feet, wondering if they are going to see it-

When Freeman and Schwartz burst into the ring and knock Phillips down with a half-in-half (or whatever they could hit) as Stanislav pulls away at the very last second. Sid wobbles in the ring, remaining on his two feet when in comes Fontaine and FLAMBERGE but Timo Bolamba is there to stop them.

This allows the Masters of the Moscowverse to clobber Phillips with another half-and-half, getting all of it and knocking The Powerbomb Machine straight to the canvas.

Freeman and Schwartz exit the ring while the two men on the outside show their support. Stanislav has recovered from the Phillips smashes so he proceeds to headbutt Sid numerous times, working the Glue Man Guy into a corner.

Ivan raises a red right hand.

CHOP!

And SLAMS it across Phillips’ chest.

Richard Parker: I could feel that!

CHOP!

Richard Parker: My ears are bleeding!

CHOP!

Richard Parker: So is Sid’s chest.

Small trickles of blood seep out from Phillips’ chest. It’s not a lot, but enough to show a heavy dent was made. Ivan takes Sid’s arm and tosses him into the empty corner across the way. The champ goes pouncing towards the powerbomb loving star when Sid unGLUES himself from the padding at the very last second and connects with a back elbow.

Nick Stuart: The fans don’t have a horse in this one but I think they’re getting behind the antics of the Glue Men a little more… and I don’t think anyone would shy away from seeing Phillips powerbomb the Universal Champion!

Phillips raises his gluey arm in the air and reigns it down upon Ivan’s chest.

CHOP!

CHOP!

CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!

And then he tries for a powerbomb. By sticking Ivan in-between his legs, he pulls up on his waist…

No! Can’t do it.

Phillips sucks in a deep breath and tries again.

It looks like he might lift him-

NO!

Ivan breaks free, spins around and clubs Sid with a discus clothesline! Both men fall on their knees.

Nick Stuart: A desperation move by Ivan and it pays off.

Richard Parker: Not going to lie to you, partner, I want to see powerbombs.

Nick Stuart: Stand in line.

Stanislav is working his way over to his corner while Phillips does the same. FLAMBERGE’s hand is stretched out as far as it can go. Even for a smaller guy, his hand is further extended than Freeman or Schwartz’s.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is not going to back down. He wants Ivan!

TAG, Phillips to FLAMBO.

TA-

FLAMBERGE races in and snatches Stanislav by the boot-

TAG! Ivan to Kenny.

Kenny leaps over the ropes but he’s immediately whacked out of thin air via a roundhouse kick!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE dropped Ivan’s leg the second he saw the tag. He will wait to get his hands on Stanislav. Right now, it’s about winning the match.

FLAMBERGE throws Freeman into the air with a belly-to-belly suplex. A high angle hip toss follows. Then another. And a third.

FLAMBERGE shoots to his feet. He hits the ropes when-

WHAM!

The red right arm of Ivan Stanislav meets the Frenchman in the back. The crowd boos. Freeman collects himself and then plants FLAMBERGE with a DDT.

Freeman rolls FLAMBERGE onto his back and hooks a leg.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: The first pinfall of the night and we have a strong kickout!

Freeman’s face suggests he knew the DDT wasn’t going to win the match, it was only done to tire FLAMBERGE. Freeman stands, walks to his side of the corner with FLAMBO’s head in his armpit…

And tags Stanislav.

Who tags Schwartz.

All three men walk into the squared circle. Stanislav snatches Freeman by the waist and HURLS Kenny into FLAMBERGE, knocking Julien Lavigne down on his knees. Stanislav takes hold of Schwartz…

Meanwhile the Glue Man Group want to interject but Timo Bolamba is there to stop them!

Like a battering ram, the champion has Randall by the legs and whips him into the side of FLAMBERGE’s face.

Ivan dusts off his hands like this was the easiest thing he’s ever done and exits the ring.

Schwartz with a cover!

ONE.

TWO.

SHOULDER UP!Some of the crowd is lightly behind FLAMBERGE but most of the fans watch for what happens next. Schwartz rises to his feet and dances around the fallen challenger, waiting for his time to strike. Then, almost as if mocking FLAMBERGE (or legitimately trying to wrestle Julien’s style), Randall attempts a couple of judo strikes while The Neck Collector gets to his feet.

Jab.

Jab.

Jab.

BOOM!

FLAMBERGE leaps in the air and catches Schwartz under the jaw with a tremendous knee strike! FLAMBERGE then finds his corner and dives to tag Joe Fontaine.

Nick Stuart: It’s Joe’s first time in this match.

Fontaine leaps onto Randall’s shoulders with a swinging tornado DDT!

Fontaine pops to his feet and fires into the ropes.

Springboard dropkick.

Fontaine is back on his feet again. He rolls his hands into tiny balls of fists and moonwalks to an empty corner of the ring. He climbs to the second buckle, waits for Schwartz to find his bearings and then measures the Moscowverse teammate.

Fontaine leaps, lands on top of Randall’s shoulders-

But it’s turned into a powerbomb!

Sid Phillips’ face is a rush of envy as Schwartz stays in position for the cover!

ONE.

TWO.

SHOULDER UP!

Randall makes his way over to his corner and tags in the giant.

Stanislav looms overtop of Fontaine. He plucks the smaller man from the canvas and sucks him into a bearhug.

Nick Stuart: Ivan is going to take the life right out of-

FLAMBO races into the ring, leaps in the air and connects with what looks to be a modified spinning heel kick, finding Ivan’s head directly over Joe’s body.

Stanislav drops the hold. FLAMBO is about to do more when Kenny Freeman is there to hammer him in the back.

Timo Bolamba is batshit crazy in the middle of the ring to ensure the corners don’t empty.

Too late.

Everyone is in there now and fighting with one another. The Glue are taking it to The Red Army, so much that Arthur Pleasant hopes to jump onto the apron but Timo knows he can at least put a stop to that.

Joe Fontaine throws Kenny Freeman right into Sid Phillips’ waiting arms and Sid connects with a pop up powerbomb!

Nick Stuart: He’s euphoric!

Randall Schwartz is steered towards Sid and this time Randall is hit with a jackknife powerbomb!

Phillips shakes with intensity after hitting a couple of powerbombs.

Then the Glue Men realize they are in the ring…

And only Ivan Stanislav remains.

FLAMBERGE, Phillips and Fontaine hit the ropes and they clothesline the giant out and over, ultimately to the mat below.

Fontaine runs up the turnbuckle padding and leaps off, landing on top of all three men AND Arthur Pleasant (but Alexei was able to run away at the last possible second) with a beautiful looking moonsault!

Stanislav is the only one who wasn’t fully taken down. He’s resting at the bottom of the rampway, on his knees, taking a deep breath before he slams his arms against the ground-

And eats a Joe Fontaine superkick in the face!

Ivan falls to one knee. Fontaine roars back-

When Rulsan grabs Joe by the arm! He spins Fontaine around and then Ivan Stanislav roars in with a clothesline, flipping Joe inside out in the process!

Richard Parker: I forgot who the legal men were.

Nick Stuart: I think you’re looking at them.

By now, Timo has restored order in the ring so Ivan tosses a limp-bodied Joe under the bottom rope and then comes bowling in himself. A one handed scoop slam puts Fontaine exactly where Stanislav wants him.

Ivan locks eyes with FLAMBERGE across the way. Stanislav smiles sadistically as he places both massive palms around Smooth Joe Cool’s skull…

And proceeds to crush Joe’s temples together!

Fontaine screams. CRIES. Maybe even begs to break free. It looks like he’s going to tap when FLAMBERGE wants to enter but Timo races over and stands in his way.

Stanislav drops the hold. But only because he’s looking for The Red Scare. He hoists Fontaine into the air when Sid Phillips enters the ring and blows RIGHT PAST Timo since the referee’s hands are full with FLAMBO.

Phillips connects with a shoulder block to Stanislav.

Sid pounds his chest. It looks like he so desperately wants to hit a powerbomb but knows it won’t be possible. He whacks Stanislav across the chest as hard as he possibly can and the champion takes a backwards tumble into his corner.

Kenny Freeman makes the blind tag.

Or so he thinks.

Freeman hops onto the top rope and leaps off.

He’s caught in mid-air!

POWERBOMB!

Phillips exits to his corner while Joe Fontaine has enough left in him to slither over and make the tag to FLAMBERGE. The upcoming challenger jets into the ring… he connects with an axe kick and then snatches Kenny Freeman by the neck.

Marie Antoinette!

FLAMBERGE stares DIRECTLY at The Russian Bear while he applies the hold and falls to the mat.

Ivan Stanislav is furious as he bursts back into the ring, this time moving extremely fast for a man of his size-

WHAM!

Nick Stuart: Sid Phillips literally THREW his ENTIRE body at Ivan!

Both men fall out through the top and middle rope in a brutal looking spot, where each man meets the cement floor at high impact. Sid, who eats the floor with his mouth and Ivan, who does land on his back but it immediately looks like the air has been crushed completely out of him.

Randall Schwartz is the next to enter the ring but he, too, is taken out by Joe Fontaine. Joe throws his body high and cross body blocks both of them over the ropes, landing to the right of the big men.

Meanwhile, Kenny Freeman is passing TF out.

The entire time FLAMBO has the hold locked in, his eyes don’t drift away from where Ivan is lying.

Timo raises Freeman’s arm.

It falls.

Arm raised again.

It falls.

Thrice?

100%.

It’s over.

DING DING DING

Pleasant was going to enter the ring and risk the DQ finish but it was too late.

Vince Howard: The winners of this match… FLAMBERGE, JOE FONTAINE and SID PHILLIPS… THE GLUEMINATI!

Nick Stuart: If this is going to happen at Colossus, we’re going to have a new champion!

Richard Parker: FLAMBO won’t have his glue with him.

Nick Stuart: Ivan won’t have his army.

Fontaine eventually works his way back into the ring and has his hand raised beside FLAMBERGE. However, Sid Phillips is DOA on the outside so Joe spends only a second before he slips out and jogs over to see if Sid is okay.

It takes a moment but Phillips gives a thumbs up and Joe breathes a sigh of relief. Nevertheless, the serious and intense Universal challenger merely marches up to the two men and stoically waits for them to make their way up the ramp.

Across the floor, a red faced Ivan Stanislav rests against the apron. He hasn’t taken his eyes off FLAMBERGE… until the Glue Men reach the curtain.

The evil Owl Queen has been defeated, her dreaded Hootin’ Army has scattered to the winds, and you, androgynous person of undetermined age, have just put out the fire. This is to be your last night in the blissful Wild. You have used your rounds of ammo across time and space and faced insurmountable odds. But now is the time for rest.

Or so you think. From above you, a flute begins to play. You try to ignore it at first, but something about the tune is haunting. You look up at the tallest tree in the Wild and on one of the branches…

Anna Daniels: Oh. You think it’s over, huh?

…is the one who set you out on this quest in the first place. She stops playing her bizarre flute thing and points to the biggest mountain in the Wild.

Wait, why is the Moon colliding with the mountain?

Anna Daniels (V/O): Load up your rifle, slap on your plot armor, and call the dogs.

The mountain explodes in pure white light that begins to spread and devour the Wild. You and your doggo of undetermined breed start to run away from it, frightened of what’s coming. You go a couple of yards while readying your trusty Blood Diamond-boosted AA Zapper before you hear a hissing chatter that vaguely sounds like French?

KABOOM!

Anna Daniels (V/O): Because it’s one thing to be a hunter.

The lizard alien in his vending machine spaceship throws a glue bomb, leaving your aim stuck in place. He laughs as a nearby bear from a certain Soviet country snarls at also being stuck in the goo. The native flying pigs are going insane. But nothing compares to what is flying overhead. It casts a shadow overhead. You dare yourself to look, but all you can see is fire.

Anna Daniels (V/O): But becoming the Ace is a whole new story.

Fire and black feathers rain down as the scene fades into some very important words.

Anna Daniels’ Owl Hunt
Phenomenal Winged Apparition DLC
Coming December 25
Preorder Available

Backstage in a conference room, the atmosphere is festive. There is a large banner on the back wall that says “IT’S A BOY!” and a large backdrop across the rest of the wall with sparkly silver sequins and a photo of Elvis. Scott Hunter is standing near a table covered with a sparkly gold tablecloth and a large cake that looks like his very handsome face. Craig Massey is standing nearby, none too impressed.

Come to think of it, the atmosphere is not actually all that festive.

Scott is dressed in what he calls his “party pants”, but they’re slightly acid-washed and just blue jeans, along with an unbuttoned white collared shirt that shows off his muscles like some sort of Chippendale dancer. Craig has a sharp pair of slacks on and a nice blue dress shirt. Scott has a slightly askew, pointed hat on his head and one of those party whistles that extend when you blow. Keep your mind out of the gutter.

Scott Hunter: Craig, this is great! Look how many people have shown up to my celebration!

Craig looks around. There is nobody else in the room.

Scott Hunter: Once again I have done something that no other human being has done. I am UNDEFEATED in November! That means I am officially the November Heavyweight Champion, and that is in the record books forever and ever so don’t be dumb.

Craig Massey: Would it be dumb to point out that it was also your very first win in PRIME?

Scott sticks a very angry finger in Craig’s face.

Scott Hunter: You’ll watch your tone if you know what’s good for you, Craiglet! I have chewed off a person’s fingers for less, and one slightly overweight sea lion named ‘Bobby Dean’, but I still say he deserved it on account of his dumb face and how bad he smelled. Now, do you know what other amazing feat I accomplished this week??

Craig Massey: I have a good feeling I’m about to find out.

Scott smiles proudly.

Scott Hunter: I was just in Germany yesterday celebrating American Thanksgiving with my Germanian friends, and I was able to fly all the way to Memphis in time for tonight’s show. Don’t you think that is impressive?? It happened just like I said it happened, and that is a peer-reviewed fact of life. I’d like to see Brandon Youngblood do something like that with his dumb bald head and offensive back hair.

Scott leans into the camera and whispers.

Scott Hunter: Actually Brandon Youngblood I am just joking about that. I only said it for effect. You are very handsome and talented and also don’t hurt me.

Scott straightens back up.

Scott Hunter: My magical travel feat wasn’t easy, either. I put on my blue suede shoes and I boarded the plane, touched down in the land of the delta blues in the middle of the pouring rain.

A flash of recognition crosses Craig’s face and his eyes narrow.

Scott Hunter: I was walking in Memphis. I was walking with my feet six feet off of Beale. Walking in Memphis. But do I really feel the way I feel?

Scott looks wistfully into the distance. Then, he snaps back and points at Craig again.

Scott Hunter: The answer is yes! I feel exactly the way I feel, which I feel is a feeling that feels natural to someone who feels the way I feel today after such a successful few weeks. You feel me?

Craig makes a ‘waving it off’ motion.

Craig Massey: First of all, those are definitely song lyrics. And second of all, it’s not impressive that you flew in a plane from Germany to Tennessee. They literally fly those planes a thousand times a day. And third, I am very proud of you for getting your first win in PRIME, but this is all going a bit overboard. It’s time to move on and get back to work.

Scott Hunter: What does that even mean?? Get back to work? I can’t get back to work right now! This is a party! Do you even see that sign back there? It’s a boy! How can we work when it’s a boy?!

Craig rubs his temples vigorously.

Craig Massey: Listen, we’ve been treading dangerously close to ‘I’m not getting paid enough for this’ territory again. I said I’d help you, said I would train you and make sure you improved your in-ring skills, but you also have a role in this. He expects regular updates.

Scott Hunter: He? Who is he?

Craig Massey: You know who he is.

Scott Hunter: Do I? Do I know who he is? Are you absolutely sure I know who he is??

Craig Massey: (sneering) YES. I’m absolutely sure you know who he is.

Scott Hunter: Well, do YOU know who he is?

Craig stares at him and suddenly wishes there was a window in this room from which he could leap to his death.

Scott chuckles and places a hand on Craig’s shoulder.

Scott Hunter: I know who he is. I just wanted to see if you’d say who he is. There are people in this building who are watching every second of this, I am pretty sure. And that would be the sort of privileged information that gets a man killed if it were to fall into the wrong hands. Fortunately, you did not say his name because I would have had to kill you.

Scott glares into Craig’s eyes, trying his best to look intimidating, although Craig recognizes it as the same face Scott makes when the nice gentleman at the food truck by his house tells him they are out of churros. Craig just starts shaking his head.

Scott Hunter: Don’t worry, I will not do anything rash. After all, my very good close and personal friend Lindsay Troy has entrusted me with this, the holiest of spots on the show, a little something we like to call ‘the pre-main event event’, which is also a slogan that is on t-shirts I am selling on Temu. Right after we are done here, there is a big match between Cecilwood Farthingstone and Coral Almondine, I think.

Craig Massey: Cecilworth Farthington and Coral Avalon.

Scott Hunter: I’m pretty sure it’s Cecilwood Farthingstone and Coral Almondine.

Craig Massey: It definitely is not.

Scott Hunter: Well, agree to disagree. Either way, only a person who is undefeated in November like I am could possibly be trusted with such a lofty position and also, I am very important whether you believe it or not, so probably shut up. Now, with our festivities concluded, I will now go join my brothers and sister in Vae Victis and feast mine eyes upon the main event.

Craig stares at him for a moment, then just turns and walks away.

Scott Hunter: (blows his party whistle) It’s a boy, indeed.

We then cut to ringside.

An eerie quiet comes over the FedEx Forum.

Nick Stuart: Main event time, for a shot to join Jonathan Christopher Hall in the main event of night one of Colossus.

Richard Parker: Honestly, we should just give the match to Farthington. If we have a second straight Colossus main with an eGG Bandit in it, I might quit, and no one wants that.

Nick Stuart: I can think of a few people backstage who might have a party if that happened.

Richard Parker: But not you, right Nick?

Beat.

Richard Parker: Right?

Nick Stuart: Of course not me, you big galoot.

The lights suddenly die.

Welcome to darkness.

Enjoy your stay.

When Monster Siren’s “Real Me” cues up, the fans get on their feet as the smoke billows out from behind the entryway. Even when the first man out is the new Captain of the eGG Bandits because we sent Jiles to the gallows and everyone’s real cool (COOL, if you will) about it, the cheering continues as the Crownless King himself emerges in silhouette through the fog and the floodlights.

For the first time in a while, he was in his full and proper regalia.

The big fur cloak with the lion’s heads on the shoulders hasn’t been seen since UltraViolence. It’s the one provided to him with love and care by the Natsukawa family he married into. When the guitars pick up and the house lights come back on, Coral Avalon stands there as calmly as the crowd roars for him.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is your MAIN EVENT OF THE EVENING, scheduled for one fall! Making his way to the ring, currently residing in Seattle, Washington! He weighs in at two hundred and fourteen pounds! REPRESENTING THE EGG BANDITS! HE IS THE CROWNLESS KING! CORAAAAAALLLLL AVALOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!!!

The Crownless King walks, and the Captain follows. Well, at an ever increasing distance from Avalon, of course. Avalon climbs up onto the apron and stands on the second rope, flashing the Crownless Kingdom’s symbol with his hands.

Nick Stuart: A rematch from Tropical Turmoil. The last time these two men met, it was a war.

Richard Parker: And in the end, what happened? Same thing that happens to everyone else who tries to cross the finish line! Strangulation! Asphyxiation! …I can’t think of any other words that describe the same thing.

Nick Stuart: Be that as it may… I think the stakes here are somehow even higher than they were in San Diego, Richard. Again, the victor secures his spot in the main event of night one of Colossus with a shot at the Universal Championship at next year’s Culture Shock on the line!

Richard Parker: All set dressing for the ascension of Mr. Finish Line!

As Bobby Dean, Captain of the Ship, First of His Name, Long May He Reign claps and cheers his fellow Bandit on, Avalon steps over the top rope from his perch and lands in the ring. The cloak comes off, and the Crownless King finds a corner to stand and await his opponent.

I Don’t Know How But They Found Me. “Choke.”

Boos cascade all the way from Arkansas.

Nick Stuart: Farthington would be getting booed regardless, but I can’t help but think this reaction is magnified because of that guy.

Following Farthington out of the back is Joe Fontaine, the turncoat.

Nick Stuart: The Financier is trying to play headgames with Avalon here bringing out Fontaine and only Fontaine with him.

Richard Parker: Well, he has a lot of room in there. Have you seen his fore…

Nick Stuart: I’m gonna stop you there, Rich. Putting a moratorium on head-size jokes about Coral tonight.

Richard Parker: But I have so many!

Nick Stuart: I’ll tell Chick Grillbreast your favorite food is carbs.

Richard Parker: Fine! Fine! I’ll behave!

Farthington marches to the ring, wicked grin on his face, while Joe walks with completely unearned swagger behind him.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, hailing from Buckinghamshire, England, and weighing in at 187 pounds, he is the PRIME Five Star Champion, the Financier of the Glue Factory, and the runner up in this year’s Murder Rumble… he is MISTER FINISH LINE… CEEEEEECILLLLWORRRRTHHH FAAAAAAAARTHINGTONNNNNNNNNNNN!!!

Without taking his hands out of his pocket, the Financier slides into the ring, and no sooner does he pop up than…

Nick Stuart: RHONGOMYNIAD…

Richard Parker: …NO!

The “no!” was not for Richard’s pro-Glue, anti-eGG homerism. No, you see, Cecilworth was ready this time. He pops his hands out of his hoodie, and dodging ever-so-slightly, he catches Coral’s foot, quickly placing it on his shoulder and dropping to his knees with a jerk, catching his leg in a modified Ace crusher and starting Coral’s hamstring off in the yellow.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: Coral grimacing, I don’t think he expected that Farthington would expect his opening volley this time out.

Richard Parker: Look, I know you goody-two-shoes all love to find reasons to hate the Glueminati, but Cecilworth didn’t get here through instinct and reaction. He’s smart! S-M-R-T!

Nick Stuart: Nice Simpsons reference, but I wouldn’t make too many of those. Disney is always watching.

Richard Parker: Simpsons ref… yeah, that’s TOTALLY what that was. Yup.

Coral holds the back of his leg as he rolls out of the ring to keep the onslaught from Farthington from continuing. Bobby heads over to where he is to offer some words of advice, but he is dumbstruck, because Bobby Dean is a man of few words, even with his mouth unoccupied by fried chicken. The Financier sheds his hoodie, throws it to Vince Howard on the outside, and slides out of the ring to stalk Coral and continue his shark-smelling-blood pursuit. He goes to grab the Crownless King, but Bobby Dean shows he might have a brain cell active.

Richard Parker: Get that tubby goon outta here!

Nick Stuart: Bobby Dean showing shocking empathy and awareness, coming between Avalon and Farthington, but he’s gotta be careful not to get the eGG King disqualified!

Richard Parker: DO SOMETHING, JOE!

Almost like he heard Rich, Joe shuffles over to join the fracas. This raises Coral’s ire, as he tries to lunge at his former pupil. Bobby stands between them, not wanting to risk the newest Bandit’s status in the tournament over a silly disqualification, but this draws a shove from Fontaine. Tensions among all four men spill over until finally, Elvis Nixon has enough.

Elvis Nixon: YOU! (pointing at Bobby) and YOU! (pointing at Joe) OUTTA HERE!

The crowd ROARS at the ejections. Joe looks shocked while Bobby just shrugs and pulls a PBJ from his tights and starts eating it.

Richard Parker: Does he always have something on him to eat?

Nick Stuart: I mean, I could ask you if you always have your glam gimp getup in case someone makes a Solid Gold Rock ‘n Roll reference.

Richard Parker: Are you comparing the majesty of the Forge Cycle Trilogy to a peanut butter sandwich?

Nick Stuart: I’m just saying!

As Joe and Bobby shuttle up the ramp, Coral and Cecilworth slide back into the ring, the former still rubbing the back of his leg. They circle each other, unsure of who will strike next, and Cecilworth knows Coral isn’t looking for an in to wrangle him with the collar and elbow. The King makes his move and lunges with a European uppercut that barely misses the Financier, who grabs it on the backswing and tries to wrangle it into an armbar. Coral feels this immediately and launches his free elbow back and with extra sauce on it to try and catch Cecilworth with blunt force. In dodging it, Farthington loses his grip on Avalon’s other arm and loses his balance, stumbling back. Coral snarls, stamps his foot on the canvas, and charges in with another shot at the Rhongomyniad, which this time causes Mr. Finish Line to drop to the canvas and roll out of the ring, hyperventilating.

Richard Parker: I see having to hang around with Jiles is finally getting to Avalon! He looks pissed!

Nick Stuart: Uh, do you think he has other reasons to be angry right now, especially with the Five Star Champion?

Richard Parker: Professional jealousy?

Nick Stuart: I’ll give you a hint, Rich, he was just thrown out of the ringside area.

Richard Parker: Oh, THAT, pfft, he should get over it! That betrayal was like, what, three years ago?

Nick Stuart: More like six months.

Richard Parker: Months, years, time flies. It only felt like yesterday when Hoyt Williams was Universal Champion and everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

Avalon rubs his hamstring again, still feeling the effects of the thigh stunner, and then bails out to chase Farthington, who darts into a sprint when he feels the King bearing down on him. He turns the corner and slides into the ring on the hard cam side, with Coral giving chase. As Inoue Doi’s favorite bullying victim slides in on his stomach, Head Glue Man double taps him with the bottom of his boot, shooting around and pointing to his forehead.

Except he didn’t notice Avalon had popped right immediately after he’d swiveled his back to him.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think Cecilworth is going to enjoy what happens next.

Richard Parker: LINDZ! IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, DRUG TEST CORAL AVALON RIGHT NOW! GIVE HIM THE OL’ CHARCUTERIE AREOLAS TEST!

Nick Stuart: Number one, we don’t mention Teddy Palmer anymore, and two, Coral’s fired up and why wouldn’t he be! He has a chance to get revenge on the man who corrupted his pupil AND secure a spot in the main event of night one of Colossus!

Farthington turns around with a gulp and staggers back but not quickly enough before catching a swift but stiff European uppercut from Avalon. The Financier stumbles back before instinctively hitting the deck again and bailing from the ring. This time, Coral remains inside, still looking perturbed but having learned a valuable lesson about taking bait laid out on a glue trap. Farthington looks around in harried fashion before getting a look of epiphany on his face and diving under the ring skirt.

Nick Stuart: What’s he doing now?

Richard Parker: Probably getting himself a bite at the Nando’s underneath the ring.

Nick Stuart: The Nan… what the hell are you on about, Richard?

Richard Parker: You know, ever since we de-Hansoned the underneath of the ring and got rid of the KFC there, it was replaced by a Nando’s on the Glueminati’s request. Don’t you know anything, Nick?

Nick Stuart: Folks, ignorance is bliss.

Coral shakes his head and starts stomping on the canvas, presumably as a warning that whatever Cecilworth is doing underneath the ring is only delaying the inevitable. The skirt flies open on one side, getting both Coral’s and Elvis Nixon’s attention, but as they look over, it’s just a chair that Cecilworth presumably had slid under as a distraction. Farthington takes the moment’s confusion to leap roll out the other side, leap into the ring, and roll Avalon up…

ONE!

But with Nixon also out of position, the school boy only nets a one count.

Avalon pops to his feet with his nose and face scrunched and lunges for Farthington, who deftly circles behind him and corrals him for an O’Connor roll…

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout!

Nick Stuart: The Five Star Champion is crafty, Rich, but I don’t think Coral’s disposition here is doing him any favors.

Richard Parker: I mean, he should have known that Cecilworth Farthington is better than him in every way, shape, and form possible. Remember Tropical Turmoil?

Nick Stuart: I would call into question your assessment of the two wrestlers’ talents, but I don’t think Coral forgets that show either. Which could be the reason why his urgency might be on par with his anger here. The longer this goes, the more it favors Farthington with encyclopedic wrestling knowledge!

Coral rolls over and slams the mat before himself rolling out of the ring to regroup. Cecilworth laughs at him from the ring, but doesn’t give chase.

Nick Stuart: This might be good for Coral. More here is on the line than revenge. The slot in the main event at Colossus night one, and let’s not forget the bounty on Farthington and the Five Star Championship.

Richard Parker: You negative Nancy, always bringing up what Cecilworth can lose here. But what about Coral, huh? He could lose, uh…

Nick Stuart: It’s not that deep, Richard.

Richard Parker: He could lose something else out of this! Maybe, uh, that gaudy coat?

Farthington laughs and jogs in place while Nixon slowly starts working the count. He gets to about two before Avalon hops back onto the apron, rolls his neck, and steps through the ropes. Farthington says something to him, inaudible over the crowd noise, and Coral’s nostrils flare again. He lunges forward with a huge knife-edge chop, but Cecilworth bats it away and low-kicks the hamstring he assaulted at match’s beginning. Avalon hops back slightly, holding the back of his leg.

Nick Stuart: Coral is usually not this unfocused. I think the fact he still hasn’t avenged the Winds turning on him and lost everything at Tropical Turmoil is throwing him off his gameplan.

Richard Parker: Are you sure it’s that? Are you sure it’s not Cancer Jiles mumbling in his ear 24/7 or whatever smells are wafting off Bobby Dean today?

Nick Stuart: Look, I don’t like the Bandits either, but facts are facts. Coral Avalon’s year, professionally at least, hasn’t been the same since ReVival 29, and even if he escaped that eggy trajectory, he’d still have circled this match on his calendar and worked to make sure he was there when Farthington made it this far.

The noise dies down a little. Once again, The Financier beckons to Avalon.

Cecilworth Farthington: Are you done this charade? We going to wrestle like men?

Coral Avalon: Shut up.

Avalon swings wildly at Farthington, who dodges histrionically, rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He raises his hand calling for a Greco-Roman knuckle lock.

Nick Stuart: I’m not sure Farthington wants to calm Avalon down here. He’s been masterful at baiting him this entire match.

Richard Parker: Look, I’m not going to question the man who earned the name Mr. Finish Line on strategy. If I had to say anything, he’s counting on Coral to do something rash here.

Nick Stuart: Richard Parker, dropping analysis?

Richard Parker: Oh, you want me to play the hits? Okay. Eggs bad, Glue good. There? Happy?

Coral tentatively reaches up and grabs Farthington’s hand, interlocking the knuckles. No sooner do their hands lock up than Avalon throws a kick at Farthington, who catches it, expecting it all the way.

Richard Parker: See? I told…

Farthington mouths the word “predictable,” but Avalon is anything but here. He flashes a wry grin, pulls violently with his interlocked hand, jerking the Financier close to him and.

Nick Stuart: CORAL BAITED THE FIVE STAR CHAMPION’S ATTEMPT AT BAIT!

Richard Parker: Not fair! He pulled that dirty trick AND made me look foolish! I WANT A REFUND!

Coral rubs his head while Cecilworth drops to the mat holding his forehead like it was just smashed by someone’s much larger forehead. Richard’s not allowed to make head-size jokes, but nothing says the match narrator can’t. Rather than going for a cover, The Crownless King lays a couple of uncharacteristic but effective boots to the torso and neck areas of the Financier before dragging him to his feet. He grabs a hold of a rear waistlock, and…

BOOM

German suplex. No bridge. He’s not ready to even try to end this match yet, as referenced by the steely grip on the waistlock, as he drags Lord Cecilworth to his feet again only to throw him back.

BOOM

German suplex number two. And the grip cinches in harder.

BOOM

A third suplex. BOOM. A fourth. BOOM. A fifth. He finally relinquishes his hold with Farthington laying in a crumpled heap on the mat and himself hyperventilating with his eyes flared wide open, a wide smile on his face.

Richard Parker: Avalon’s lost it! He’s gone full Bandit!

Nick Stuart: I doubt that, Richard. This is called catharsis, but he can’t lose sight of the finish line here, not against Mr. Finish Line.

Instead of going for the pin, Coral flips Farthington over HARD into a bulldog choke. The panic sets into the Five Star Champion’s eyes. Coral wrenches back on his foe’s neck so hard that Farthington’s eyes seemingly start bugging out of his head.

Nick Stuart: Here’s where that anger can work to his advantage! Look at the grip he’s got on that choke!

Richard Parker: I think Nixon’s gotta get in there to see if it’s a legal sleeper. You can’t be too careful about the rules when it comes to a Lord, you know.

Cecilworth flails, but it is not without productivity as he is able to change position enough to get his feet on the ropes. Nixon starts his count.

ONE!

Avalon uncharacteristically and momentarily increases intensity until he hears…

TWO!

Suddenly, a wave of realization washes over his face like the lake from whence Arthur claimed Excalibur. He shakes his head and realizes so much more is at stake than revenge here. He releases his grip on Farthington before Nixon can get to three, pops to his feet, and composes himself. He notices the Five Star Champion catching his breath and yanks him up to his feet by his shorthairs, whipping him around, and then placing him upside down on his shoulders.

Nick Stuart: BEACH BREAK!

He covers instinctively…

ONE!

TWO!

But Farthington kicks out!

Nick Stuart: Gotta think Avalon is gearing up for the Armaments. He’s got victory in his grasp.

Richard Parker: Look, we don’t talk about the snot-nosed little brat who was the only guy to beat Farthington in a PRIME ring anymore, and that was in his first match after 39 other guys had their shots at him. He might need real armaments to take him out.

Nick Stuart: The Financier is elite, maybe the most talented wrestler in PRIME, but he’s not invincible.

Richard Parker: Not until I had him this Mario Star at least. I’ll die before I see another eGG Bandit get his mitts on the Universal Championship!

Coral throws another kick to the head of a still-prone Cecilworth, then sits him up while still dazed. Just as Nick predicted, it’s Armament time. In particular, number six. Secace.

He rebounds off the rope and gets a head of steam, leaping into the back of Farthington’s neck like a heat-seeking missile. Except his aim isn’t true. Farthington isn’t dead enough for his Spidey sense to stop working. He tucks and rolls to his left, and as Avalon slides head-first into the oblivion of the canvas, he leaps and corrals Coral into an Oklahoma roll…

ONE!

TWO!

Avalon kicks out!

Mr. Finish Line takes a step back and sizes up his opponent, who’s shaking off the shock of missing an Armament and eating canvas. He rises to all fours, and that’s when the Financier strikes.

OR at least tries to.

Nick Stuart: Farthington misses the free kick! And now Coral shoots up!

Richard Parker: If I were horribly biased like you, Nick, I’d be saying that Coral is getting a boost of adrenaline, but objectively I can say, he’s on egg-based PEDs now.

Nick Stuart: Coral barely likes Bobby Dean let alone Jiles. Why would he buy into their tricks?

Richard Parker: Because I said so, Nick.

Before Farthington can turn around, Coral grasps him from behind in a rear waistlock. German suplex! He bridges…

ONE!

TWO!

The Five Star Champion kicks out.

Avalon slams the mat while Farthington holds the back of his neck after the suplex. Coral stalks Cecilworth until he gets up then charges in with a shortened version of the Rhongomyniad, but again, the Champ ducks, leaving Coral hung up on the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Even more damage to that leg! Coral might need to win this quick or else Farthington will take that leg apart.

Richard Parker: And he’s not even known for his leg submissions! Farthington has options now.

Farthington deftly spins around and Pele-kicks the top rope where Avalon’s leg is caught up. The Crumbless King falls to the canvas, holding his leg while he tumbles. Mr. Finish Line sizes him up, grabs the bum leg, and…

Nick Stuart: Spinning toe hold! Farthington reaching into his bag of tricks to put Coral’s mobility even further into question.

Richard Parker: Tricks? Are you saying that Cecilworth’s tactics are less than legal when he’s facing off against an eGG Bandit?

Nick Stuart: How many times do I have to explain both idioms to you and that Coral is in the group against his will?

Richard Parker: I will be cold and in the ground before I cede any territory to anyone associated with Cancer Jiles.

Coral flails his arms into the air while Cecilworth continually torques on the hamstring with each revolution. He inches towards the ropes gingerly, as only one of his hamstrings currently is able to generate push without sending shockwaves of pain through his leg and back, but he finally reaches and grabs the bottom rope. Farthington takes his time before breaking, but once again, even a devil of his stature knows getting disqualified when the Almasy and a shot at Ivan or even his Gluey French pal on the line would not be good for business.

The Financier hits the deck and rolls out of the ring, making sure to drag the King just enough so he can grab him with his legs astraddle the ringpost on the outside. Farthington grabs the good leg first.

Nick Stuart: The Financier has to know he can’t win the match out here.

Richard Parker: Yeah, but that ring-assisted figure four is going to go a long way in making sure he can win it in the ring. Once again, you fail to see the genius in the Glueminati. This is why they’d never take you as a member.

Nick Stuart: I’m never joining a shady group again. I was a member of the Stonecutters in mid-90s.

Richard Parker: Wait… really?

Nick Stuart: No, Rich, it’s a Simpsons reference. You made one earlier!

Richard Parker: Yeah, uh, right, I did.

Cecilworth goes to grab the other leg to lock in that ringpost figure four, but he made the mistake of grabbing the strong leg first, one that Coral could move pretty easily. He sits up jerks his leg back and bangs the Financier’s head into the ringpost, dazing him pretty good.

 Nick Stuart: No matter what, you cannot count out the Crownless King until he’s pinned or submitted.

Richard Parker: Is this one of those “never count out Touchdown Tom” things?

Nick Stuart: Wait, how do you not recognize Simpsons references but know about something a niche Twitter microcelebrity came up with?

Richard Parker: I am full of surprises, Nick. And gas too.

Nick Stuart: I know. You’re not allowed to order barbecue baked beans anymore.

With Farthington’s bell rung on the outside, Avalon punches his bad hamstring to try and get some DIY pain relief, ascends the ropes, turns around with his back facing the outside, and…

Nick Stuart: URIHARA MOONSAULT! AND IT CONNECTS!

Richard Parker: The eggs have gone to his brain! He should know you can’t win it on the outside!

Nick Stuart: I’m going to ignore the gap in logic there and just say that he’s up and throwing Cecilworth back into the ring! Cover…

ONE!

TWO!

But the Financier kicks out. Coral pulls him up to his feet and wrests him into a half-nelson from behind, looking to hit one of his signatures, a backbreaker from that setup. However, Farthington shifts his weight as Avalon lifts him into the air, pivoting out of his grip and into an armdrag that sends the Crownless King flying across the ring.

Nick Stuart: It’s amazing how the tenor of this match has shifted from cat-and-mouse to punishment to two men having counters for each other and keeping them from gaining a prolonged advantage.

Richard Parker: Yeah, I’m getting bored. When will Cecilworth start pulling away? I really don’t need to see the eGGheads celebrating at all.

Nick Stuart: You really are one of a kind, Rich.

Coral shakily rises to his feet and is greeted immediately by Cecilworth charging at him, leading with a knee right to his gut. The kitchen sink send Coral doubling over the hard way onto his back. He swiftly gets up, but Farthington scoots behind him before he can get his wits about him and locks in an octopus hold.

Nick Stuart: Deliberate choice there by Farthington. He knows the leg is teetering, but look at the smirk on his face! It’s almost as if he wants Coral to know that he doesn’t need to target one body part to win this match.

Richard Parker: See, I knew that all along. I just didn’t say it because I assumed everyone knew it. But now I know you’re just being unfair to the Glue Guys.

Nick Stuart: Hey, how many different slanderous insults have you used about The Anglo Luchador and his family in the last two years?

Richard Parker: That’s neither here nor there, and you know it.

Cecilworth wrenches back hard on the arm with his other clasped around Coral’s neck. Avalon susses out around him with his free arm, almost flailing, but he’s inching closer and closer to the ropes with every swipe. Finally, he gets to the top rope, with Farthington again taking his sweet time breaking.

Nick Stuart: I’d say Farthington should be careful here, but it’s almost like he knows Nixon won’t disqualify him in a match of such magnitude for such minor infractions. You almost have to respect how deftly he knows his boundaries.

Richard Parker: Duh! Why do you think I pull for the bad guys?

Nick Stuart: So you admit it?

Richard Parker: Uh, I mean, uh, Simpsons reference? Eat pant?

Nick Stuart: Folks…

Farthington takes a second to reload and for Avalon to clear distance from the ropes before charging in, wrapping around his back to go for a crucifix pin. However, Coral blocks his attempt at backwards leverage, and instead pops his hips and plants him with a big Samoan drop counter. Coral takes a minute to catch his breath before following up. He intercepts Cecilworth as he’s rising to his feet, and with one pop of the hips and a snap to his back…

Nick Stuart: Saito suplex! He covers…

ONE!

TWO!

Farthington avoids a mandated rubber match with Avalon sometime in early 2024 by the skin of his teeth. Coral rises and waits for Cecilworth to rise to his feet. He clasps one arm around the waist and grabs the other one that he uses as a ripcord. He expects to hit a Spanish fly off the dosey-do, but Farthington has other plans.

Nick Stuart: Holy moly! Farthington just sidestepped Coral on the side where he was having his arm held! You have to have a skeleton made of gelatin to be able to fit through that opening!

Richard Parker: Or be made of something pliable? Like glue?

Nick Stuart: That doesn’t make any sense, Richard, but neither does the method of how Farthington just snaked into that hammerlock! Coral looks like he’s in a world of hurt.

The Financier holds the hammerlock only for a moment enough to keep the King in shock enough that he can go for the maneuver he’s really aiming for.

Malice in Wonderland.

The elbow strike sends Avalon stumbling forward. As he turns around in shambles, Farthington is there to cradle him and then…

Nick Stuart: Worthless! Worthless!

Richard Parker: I know Avalon’s worthless, I’m just glad you’ve come around.

Nick Stuart: No, Rich! That’s what that move is called!

Richard Parker: Oh, I knew that.

After landing the fisherman’s buster, Farthington drags Avalon to his feet, points to the sky, and shakes his head. He clasps his arm around the King’s throat, looking to lock in his signature Tarp choke. However, Avalon realizes this, and he’s not cooked yet. He drives back, crashing Farthington, back-first, into the turnbuckle. The Financier breaks the hold, and both men are at a reset point.

Nick Stuart: It’s incredible how much neither man wants to give into exhaustion or pain. When a spot in the Almasy finals is on the line, you see these wrestlers unlock superhuman stores of energy and resolve.

Richard Parker: It’s true for Farthington. Again, I would rather bathe in battery acid than say anything complimentary about an eGG Bandit, but yeah, I’m sure Coral’s tough, yadda yadda.

Farthington makes his way over to Avalon and lays a chop across his chest. Coral answers with a harsh mid-kick to the thigh. It looks like a good, old-fashioned, mid-aughts indie strike exchange is brewing, but Avalon sees Farthington wind up for another chop, shakes his head and mouths “Nah, not today,” and throws up his forearms to block the chop, immediately following with three rapid dead-leg mid-kicks in succession. Farthington hops around on one leg exaggeratedly for a moment.

Nick Stuart: It’s the battle between two one-legged men in an ass-kicking contest!

Richard Parker: Isn’t that a little insensitive to the Financier, don’t you think?

Nick Stuart: But not Coral?

Richard Parker: eGG Bandits don’t deserve rights, Nicholas.

Coral grabs Cecilworth with purpose and nails him with the ripcord Spanish fly he was trying to hit earlier. He covers…

ONE!

TWO!

TH…

NO!

Farthington kicks out with a little less juice than he had before.

Coral slams the mat and rises to his feet, taking Cecilworth with him. He grabs the Financier by the arm and attempts to whip him into the corner, but instead, Cecilworth reverses it and sends Coral running chest first into the turnbuckle. Coral takes it head on, slamming his chest against the top pad, staggering backwards. Farthington almost on instinct jumps down on all fours, causing Avalon to trip and fall, landing hard on the back of his head on the way down.

Nick Stuart: Dirty pool by the Financier, but I’ll be damned if that wasn’t brilliant!

Richard Parker: All’s fair in love and war, Nick, and this match has been a war so far. One that I’m still quite worried about.

Nick Stuart: I could tell you that Coral’s not really an eGG Bandit in his heart, but that’s not going to dissuade you, is it?

Richard Parker: Absolutely not.

Farthington pops to his feet, cracks his neck, and shouts something unintelligible to most, although some in the front row will say after the show they thought he said “FUCK HIS HEAD!” It makes sense, because he picks Avalon up, locks his hands through the legs, and drops him with a vicious Gotch-style piledriver. He covers…

ONE!

TWO!

In that moment, children in the floor seats hold their breath. Deb Warenstein and the Pink Posse clutch their handbags close to their chests. Mega Job is blissfully unaware because they’re never aware of anything, to be quite honest. Gavin Yum is furiously posting the scaredy-face emoji on the company’s Jabber platform as frequently as the Vickie Hall-rate limit filter will allow him. Dogs are whimpering, and they don’t know why. Cancer Jiles… eh, no one cares what he’s doing right now. They all fear Elvis Nixon’s hand hitting the canvas a third time.

But…

…it…

…doesn’t.

Avalon kicks out at the last possible second.

Nick Stuart: Avalon kicked out, but it’s clear the attrition is piling up.

Richard Parker: And the piledriver didn’t take any inches off his fivehead either.

Nick Stuart: Richard, didn’t you agree on a moratorium?!!

Richard Parker: SORRY! It was RIGHT THERE. Jeez, I can only resist the siren’s call for so long.

Farthington shouts something inaudible over the crowd roaring at Nixon before turning back to Avalon. He grabs him in a front facelock and looks as if he’s going to hook the leg again to try Worthless one more time. Before the Five Star Champion can lift him up, Coral breaks free and in an adrenaline-fueled burst, shuffles behind the Financier, and…

Nick Stuart: HALF-NELSON BACKBREAKER! I don’t know where he got the burst from, but Coral Avalon is not done yet!

Richard Parker: NO!!!! No eGG Bandits! NOOOO!!

Farthington pops up, but Avalon is there to meet him. Butterfly suplex! Belly-to-belly suplex! Farthington keeps making the mistake of getting up, and Avalon keeps putting him back down with signature moves, this time, the tilt-a-whirl backbreaker. With the crowd at fever pitch, sensing the reluctant Bandit but always-fan favorite is ready to dispose of the leader of the Glueminati for the first time outside of the Murder Rumble, Avalon makes his move.

Nick Stuart: Gotta be Armament time for the Crownless King!

Richard Parker: Wait, that’s not one of his Armaments, is it?

Nick Stuart: No, it looks like… what?

Coral is indeed not going for an Armament. Instead, he grabs Cecilworth by the side and lifts him up. It’s clear what he’s going for. The Galatine Driver, the signature maneuver of his ne’er-do-well friend and the man Farthington stabbed in the back because he wouldn’t learn copyright law fast enough for his liking. Clear what he was going for because he would not complete the move.

See, when other humans betray you, it stings, but you learn a valuable lesson. Be careful with your trust. Don’t place it in young, opportunistic dipshits like Joe Fontaine and Sid Phillips. Trust yourself and the people who’ve been with you the whole way.

When your body betrays you, well, that’s a different story.

Nick Stuart: NOOO! HIS LEG GAVE OUT!

Richard Parker: PRAISE HOYT! PRAISE HOYT!

Both men crash to the canvas, but it’s clear who has taken the worst of it. Farthington shakes his head vigorously to clear out the cobwebs and rolls over to throw an elbow at Coral, who is holding the leg he initially damaged at the beginning of the match. He tries to get his hands up in defense, but he can’t pull them away from his leg fast enough. It’s one, two, then three strikes and Coral was out enough for the Arm Collector to go to work.

Article 50.

Coral Avalon knows as soon as it’s locked in that even though the Five Star Champion didn’t work his arm to get the submission, if he lingered in it too long, he’d have a bum arm to go with a bad wheel. His leg hurts too much to fight anyway. Revenge would have to wait. The Crown would elude him again. Cancer Jiles would just have to deal with it.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

Nick Stuart: HEARTBREAK!

Richard Parker: Speak for yourself, Nick!

Nick Stuart: I am! And also for a large majority of the sellout crowd here at the FedEx Forum in Memphis, Tennessee!

Vince Howard: Your winner, by submission, securing his spot in the main event of night one of Colossus, CEEEEECILWORRRRTH… FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARTHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGTOOOOOOOOONNNNN!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

The crowd is not happy as the Financier rises to his feet, arm raised by Elvis Nixon. He’s beaten up and sore, because Coral Avalon did not go down without a fight. But Avalon did go down eventually.

Nick Stuart: And that seals it! The main event of night one of Colossus will be Jonathan-Christopher Hall taking on Cecilworth Farthington! As with the first Almasy, no one will claim the Five Star Bounty. And the Glueminati continues to exert its stranglehold on PRIME!

Richard Parker: audibly sniffling I know, isn’t it lovely?

The FedEx Forum looks on as Cecilworth Farthington takes one step closer to the ring he wants more than anything.

Immortality.

FADE.

TO.

BLACK.