TROPICAL TURMOIL 2024 – NIGHT ONE

The scene begins with a swooping view over the city. A tropical paradise, filled with beautiful beaches, palm trees, and an archaic charm. One could almost be convinced that this place wasn’t choking on its own corruption.

Almost.

A closer look shows us something different. Thieves, drug dealers, pimps, fraudsters, and all other manners of scum threaten to strangle the life out of this town. Only a few people seem capable of turning the tide; they’re gathered in the briefing room of the police precinct house.

The chief stands at the front of the room, world-weary and exhausted. She’s not old, but she’s definitely Too Old For This Shit.

She addresses the group of detectives in front of her, a ragtag assortment of by-the-book types and loose cannons. Not as many as she’d like, not nearly enough for the task at hand..but they’re the only ones she can trust.

She explains the situation, but the chalkboard behind her makes it clear as day. Criminals have choked the life out of the city. The names and faces depicted represent leaders in the organizations. The ones who have the mayor, the city council, and most of the force in their pockets. The ones who have bled the city dry and cause ordinary citizens to cower in fear.

The Bear.

The Green Dragon.

The Cowboy.

And at the top of the list, The Kingpin.

In the back, a blonde detective stares at the most prominent face on the board with such intensity that he can’t even hear the chief’s instructions. His doesn’t care about his assignment; he knows exactly who he’s going after.

For too long, the Kingpin has devoured so much of this city; what started as ambition turned to greed, and now gluttony. Too much has been taken, too many friends have been lost.

One way or the other, this ends tonight.

Meanwhile…

A luxury yacht lies still in the ocean, an island of opulence disconnected from the threat building on the land.

A man lies still on the upper deck of that yacht, soaking up the sun and idly eating snacks from a bowl at his side. Not a care in the world.

Don’t you believe it. This man’s mind is always on business.

A breeze picks up, accompanied by the whumpa-whumpa-whumpa of a small helicopter. It touches down on the yacht’s landing pad, and a lanky man in a well-tailored suit exits from the passenger door. (The pilot stays inside; he is not allowed to set foot on the yacht.)

The new arrival climbs the ladder to the sundeck, then leans down and whispers something in his associate’s ear. He gives a very slight nod, then pushes himself to his feet. The two men have a brief conversation that can’t be heard over the helicopter

Something the other man says changes our protagonist’s demeanor. He straightens his posture, cracks his neck, and removes his sunglasses. Rage burns in his eyes.

He built an empire from nothing, and not a soul on earth would take that from him. Certainly not some idealistic whelp and his precious “laws”–those same laws that kept him in the dirt for years, until he was too strong to be held down.

Time to remove this thorn from his side, once and for all.

Kick Axe, “Nothin’s Gonna Stand In Our Way.”

Out on the mean streets, a pair of…enterprising gentlemen…in red track suits set up a pop-up storefront of questionable legality. The one with the goofy mustache barks at the pedestrians, while the one with the goofy smile presents the wares for their approval.

The shopkeeper whose store they’re blocking does not approve, and storms out to let them know. She demands that they leave immediately, then calls for assistance from a nearby beat cop. The officer asks to see permits from the entrepreneurs; they supply the necessary paperwork, which looks suspiciously like a small wad of cash. Everything appears in order, so the officer starts to leave, only for the shopkeeper to start berating him. His tone with her is much less polite, and the two salesmen laugh at the harsh treatment she receives.

A waitress starts her first shift at a dive bar downtown. Her bright, colorful hair is good at drawing attention, but there’s only one person whose attention she wants. The Green Dragon; the man she was sent here to bring down.

He sits at the bar, a freshly-ordered glass of whiskey in front of him. He swirls it around and watches it roll down the sides of the glass, but never brings it to his lips. Our waitress approaches him, but she is rudely brushed away.

The bartender attends to his duties, but keeps an eye on the situation with the occasional glance. There was a time when he would have been involved. There was a time when he would have grabbed the Dragon by the lapels of his green blazer and thrown him through the wall. That was a long time ago, though. Trouble is a young man’s game, and he wasn’t interested in playing anymore.

The thing about that game…you don’t get to decide when it’s over…

For all the dirt and grime that covers the city, it doesn’t seem to extend to the beach. The waters are pristine; the sands are bright. Hundreds of people dot the surface, but one stands out among them: an enormous man who has taken over the entire weightlifting area. If he is a bodybuilder, then he has built his body into some kind of horrifying meat brick. He has loaded so many plates onto the barbell that it bends from the strain when he bench presses it.

Some distance away, a street preacher walks back and forth with a placard reading “ONLY IN GOD IS THERE STRENGTH.” He spends a lot of time looking at the muscle man, recognizing him as the Cowboy’s chief enforcer. In between his failed attempts to proselytize, he surreptitiously reports in on a microphone concealed under his robes.

A high-speed chase through the city, with several cruisers following a bright red Ferrari. The Ferrari’s driver–the Kingpin’s top lieutenant–makes a series of deft maneuvers, leaving his pursuers spun out in the ditch or choking on his dust. He lets out a huge laugh…but it’s cut short when the car receives a sudden jolt. He soon loses control; as his car turns and skids along the highway, he can see the lone car that stayed in the chase. The only driver that could keep up with him.

The blonde detective, staring him down with fury and determination. He will get answers. He will get justice.

A cigarette boat tears through the ocean, piloted by a mustachioed man in a mesh tank top. He cackles as the boat skims across the water, barely reacting to the cresting waves around him. The gentleman rides next to him, doing his best to look reserved, but clearly excited for the action to come. The Kingpin, dressed in a teal suit with no shirt, perches on the nose of the boat. Such a thing should not be possible, given the speed and surface. Yet he maintains his position, as if the rules of science simply don’t apply.

Physics be damned. He will not be moved.

The woman goes back into her shop, still staring holes into the hucksters that intrude on her property. One of them turns around and makes a face at her through the window. Much like the cop earlier, nobody has made any move to help.

Seething, she grabs a broom and snaps the head off it, then heads for the door. This won’t be the first mess she’s had to clear up on her own.

It’s been an hour, and he still stares at his glass of whiskey. Watching the flow, smelling the bouquet, teasing his lips but never drinking. He holds it up and stares as the light shines through. What’s he hoping to find? It doesn’t matter, because that’s when the waitress bumps him from behind, causing him to drop the glass and spill the drink.

Like a slow fuse burning, he turns to face her, his lip curling into a snarl. She gives an apologetic grin, but there’s something about her that he finds disingenuous.

Maybe it’s the taser.

With a lightning-fast strike, he knocks it out of her hand. She deftly snatches up a beer bottle and smashes it over his head; he does the same with the now-empty whiskey glass.

The bartender grabs both of them and tosses them out the door, where no doubt the brawl continues. A few of the other patrons watch the spectacle, but turn their eyes back to their own drinks as soon as the old man’s baleful glare. The bartender nods to himself, then returns to his position.

A pair of eyes, shaded by a hat, follow him.

Sunset on the beach. The perfect time and place for a showdown.

Several cars converge in the same area, all flashing lights and wailing sirens. Officers pile out of the vehicles, led by the detective.

The noise draws the attention of the prophet, who nods slightly and reaches for his gun. Before he can draw, he is enveloped by a massive shadow…that is somehow cast by a remarkably short man.

The Enforcer looks up at the preacher’s sign, sneers, and puts his mighty, meaty hands upon the other man.

IF THAT IS TRUE, THEN I WILL LIFT YOUR GOD.

Off in the distance, a motor cuts through the air like a buzzsaw, and a craft rapidly approaches the shore. The Kingpin, still secure in his position, lifts something large and heavy and lines his eye up with the reticle. There will be no mercy, no remorse, when he arrives.

A woman with a broken broom handle chases a pair of miscreants down the boardwalk. One seems more concerned with escape and protection of their remaining merchandise, but the other finally turns and faces his assailant. This has gone on long enough…and besides, he knows how his boss deals with failure.

The Green Dragon and his Technicolor adversary are still brawling wildly. While he has the skill advantage, she clears him on sheer tenacity. They form a tornado of violence that threatens to tear up this beachside city.

The musclehead monster hoists the preacher up by his lapels. He spreads the Word by bringing his placard down hard on the enforcer’s head. It’s true what they say; the Lord helps those that help themselves. Though judging by how the Enforcer reacts–i.e., not at all–the Lord might want to hurry up with that help.

Not too far away, the bartender pushes the last few patrons out into the night. Closing time has come very early. Just as the last grumbling drunkard makes their exit, the bathroom door swings open. A monster of a man in a black cowboy hat steps through the door, his boots landing heavy on the hardwood floor. The bartender gives a heavy sigh, and locks the door.

The detective stalks toward the beach, paying no heed to the shouts of his compatriots or the screams of the scattering sunbathers. His eyes focus on the approaching watercraft, which looks to be heading straight at him. It’s not far from the beach now; there’s no possible way for the pilot to avoid grounding it.

Not that he was trying to. He’s simply lining hup the shot.

The Kingpin fires. A rocket shoots from his device, heading straight toward the detective.

It only misses by a foot, instead sailing over his shoulder and toward the group of cars behind him. The detective doesn’t miss a step, driven forward by rage even as everyone behind him scurries for cover.

The squad car explodes, sending a giant fireball rocketing into the sky.

Nobody looks at it.

So cool.

The cigarette boat launches itself out of the water, riding a considerable distance onto the sand. Only now does the Kingpin abandon is position, tumbling forward off the front before rolling up to his feet and easily sidestepping the conveyance as it passes. He levels his eyes at his enemy, his nemesis, and drops the rocket launcher into the sand. He removes his teal suit jacket, baring his chest and all the scars it carries to the world. Finally, he pulls a gun from his waistband and throws it down.

They could only resolve this one way–with bare hands.

The detective follows suit. His own jacket is discarded, then his service revolver. Finally, he grabs the badge from his pocket and tosses it aside.

This was never about the law.

Chaos erupts all around, but neither man notices. They only have eyes for each other, even as the rest of the world burns down. Their hate demands a sacrifice.

It will only cost them everything.

PRIME.

TROPICAL TURMOIL.

NIGHT ONE.

Nothin’s gonna stand in our way…not tonight!

Portugal.

POP! POP! POP-OP-OP-OP! 

The fireworks explode.

Lisbon.

POP! POP! POP-OP-OP-OP! 

More fireworks.

Estádio da Luz.

POP! POP! POP! POP! POP-OP-OP-OP-OP-OP!

All the fireworks.

Show. Me. Your. SIGNS!

NATE COLTON É A CADELAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD BETTER BRING HIS WOLVERINE CLOWN MASK
I WAS HAPPIER WHEN I THOUGHT BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD WAS RETIRING. NOW I HAVE TO WATCH STUPID CLAY BYRD WRESTLE HIM. WITH HIS DUMB STUPID HAT. HE DESERVED TO LOSE AT ICONIC 2021.
I’M HERE FOR SLIGHTLY GAY COWBOY REPRESENTATION
STRONK IF YOU LOVE JESUS
WHY IS DAYTONA DIAMONDS SO TALL AND PLAIN?
EYE LERNT 2 REED FRUM TEH FRED DICK BUK KLUB
CLAY BYRD HAS AN ECONOMICS DEGREE
LET THE WORLD YEEHAW
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD / HATS FOR THE HAT MAN

Nick Stuart: Well folks, Tropical Turmoil 2024 is officially underway!

Richard Parker: Here we go!

Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to TROPICAAALLLLL TURRRRRMMOILLLLL!!!! Introducing first, standing five feet and ten inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and sixty pounds! From Los Angeles, California and representing The Red Army: KEEEENNYYYYY FREEEEEEEMMMAAAANNNNNNN!!!!

“Soviet National Anthem (Trap Remix)” by Michah Ray blares over the soundsystem as the stadium is bathed in familiar crimson lighting. Kenny Freeman steps out from backstage with a confident grin on his face, with Randall Schwartz next to him. Together, the Masters of the Moscowverse make their way down to the ring, with Kenny deftly hopping up onto the apron while Randall runs around the ringside area, pumping the crowd up.

They’re excited. But they’re not pumped up for Comrade Kenny.

Randall seems unaware of this though, and cheers all the same while Kenny pulls on the ropes and stretches.

The lights then dim inside of the Estádio da Luz. A siren echoes throughout the arena like a trumpet heralding the end times.

What’s up, danger? (Danger)
What’s up, danger? (Danger)

Then, “What’s Up Danger” by Black Caviar and Blackway plays throughout the Estádio da Luz.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, representing KING. She stands at five feet and ten inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and thirty-five pounds. Hailing from San Diego, California… she is THE SECOND COMING! ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSE!

Two thousand on thermometers
Two thousand surroundin’ us
Travel two thousand kilometers to hang out with us
What’s up, danger? (Danger)
What’s up, danger? (Danger)

Rose emerges from the backstage area and the spotlight lands on her. She stands there, focused and determined, wearing a pair of black pants with ROSE painted on the sides in purple and a black sports bra.

Ayy, didn’t know they doubted us
Makes it that more marvelous
Sign ’em up, ’cause ominous vibes and I get synonymous
What’s up, danger?
Ayy, don’t be a stranger

She struts down the ramp, confident in herself, even as the fans yell at her. She blocks them out as she reaches the halfway mark of the entrance ramp before she explodes into a run and slides under the bottom rope. As she reaches the middle of the ring, she hops up to her feet and sprints to the opposite set of ropes before placing her right foot on the middle rope and her left foot on the bottom. She extends her right arm high as she screams into the void.

‘Cause I like high chances that I might lose (lose)
I like it all on the edge just like you, ayy
I like tall buildings so I can leap off of ’em
I go hard wit’ it no matter how dark it is

She moves around the ring, shaking her head, stoic.

I’m insane but on my toes
I could keep the world balanced on my nose
I had a slumber party wit’ all my foes
Now I wear them like a badge of honor on my clothes

Rose reaches one of the corners and climbs up to the second turnbuckle, slamming her fist into her chest and raising both arms.

If I’m crazy, I’m on my own
If I’m waitin’, it’s on my throne
If I sound lazy, just ignore my tone
‘Cause I’m always gonna answer when you call my phone

She hops off the middle turnbuckle, moves to the opposite set of ropes, and glares out at the fans.

Like, what’s up, danger?
Like, what’s up, danger?
Don’t-don’t be a stranger
What’s up, danger?

The music then fades.

Kenny and Randall stand on the outside and speak to one another, before fist bumping each other. Then, Kenny climbs into the ring and Tropical Turmoil, Night One, is underway!

DING DING

Kenny and Rose circle in the ring for a moment, before Kenny actually offers his hand to Rose for a handshake. Rose stares at the hand carefully for a moment, before offering her hand. Kenny, instead, pulls his hand away.

Kenny laughs.

Randall laughs.

Rose doesn’t laugh.

Instead, she peels back and swings at Kenny instead. K-Free is able to see it just in time though and barely blocks the right, he blocks a left, Rose kicks at him but he catches it. He makes a motion to gloat, but the enzuigiri by Rose nearly knocks him over. Kenny staggers towards the ropes and shakes his head, while Rose kips up, grabs his arm, and spins him around.

Nick Staurt: I’m thinking Kenny is being a little too confident in this match. Rose is on a hot streak after all.

Richard Parker: Yeah but when you have Randall Schwartz in your corner, do you really have anything to worry about?

Rose shoots Kenny into the ropes. She leapfrogs him as he runs under her. He bounces back and throws a lariat, but she hits the mat instead and he dashes over her. He stops on a dime and turns around. Rose pops up.

Nick Stuart: What?!

Kenny doesn’t swing for the fences. No flashy moves. No fancy comeback.

Richard Parker: AAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

But a poke in the eyes sure does the job. Rose turns around and grabs her eyes, while Ashley Barlow admonishes Kenny, who offers his hand to shake. Ashley points a finger in his face and yells at him.

As Rose nears the edge of the ring, Randall is there to reach out and try to grab her ankle. She manages to see it, and instead stomps on Randall’s hand. The Entertainer squeals loudly as the crowd pops. Kenny shoves past Ashley and charges Rose, who ducks and backdrops him up and over the ropes, and dumps him down on top of Schwartz.

The Portuguese crowd loves it!

RAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Rose doesn’t play to the crowd. She doesn’t even seem to accept their adulation. She’s just focused on the match. She stands in the middle of the ring, still blinking her eyes a bit from the poke. From backstage, Alexei Ruslan rushes down with his hand on his hat, helping up Kenny and nearly shoving him into the ring. He then admonishes Randall for getting his hand stomped.

Kenny drags himself up and glares at Rose. She smirks and offers her hand to him. For a second, Kenny thinks about shaking it, then he knows better and shakes his head.

Together, they lock up in the middle of the ring. Kenny snakes around into a hammerlock and pushes Rose into the ropes, she bounces backwards and takes a forearm into the small of her back. Kenny whips her around, scoops her up, and slams her hard into the mat. He follows up with one elbow drop, then a second, then a third and he hooks her leg.

1….

Kickout by Rose!

Nick Stuart: It’s gonna take a lot more than that to put down Rose!

Kenny pulls her up and hits Rose with a european uppercut…

Richard Parker: Hey, I was just wondering, Nick, do you use “a” or “an” before a word like “European?”

Nick Stuart: What? Why are you thinking about this right now?

Richard Parker: I don’t know. I just started thinking about it. Probably because we’re in Europe?

Nick Stuart: *sighs* Well, “An” is used before words which begin with a vowel sound, specifically. “European” begins with a vowel letter, but has a consonant sound, so “a” is applicable.

Richard Parker: Good to know!

…then, Kenny shoots her into the ropes and nails a jumping back elbow. Rose falls to the mat and grabs the back of her head, kicking her legs and rolling onto her stomach. Kenny plants his foot in the small of her back and pushes her into the mat, while grabbing both of her arms and yanking back into a standing surfboard.

Alexei and Randall cheer happily. Randall then tries to start a clap going in the arena.

It fails.

Barlow is in position to see if Rose submits, but she just roars in pain instead and shakes her head. Trapped on the mat, with Kenny’s weight bearing down on her, there’s nowhere for her to go. Kenny laughs and leans forward and wrenches back, tugging hard at Rose’s wrists and sending fire burning through her shoulders. She arches her back, screaming loudly as sweat pours down her brow.

Barlow checks again and she bellows with frustration in the negative.

After another moment, Kenny leans forward again to wrench back on her arms. Despite the pain, Rose takes the opportunity to buck her body and knock Kenny slightly off balance. The weight disparity isn’t enough for Kenny to keep her planted. The pain is tremendous though, but Kenny’s momentary hiccup frees one of her arms. She shoves at the mat and rolls over onto her back, freeing her other arm in the process. Kenny leaps for a kneedrop…

…but Rose isn’t there!

He slams his knee against the mat and rolls onto his back, while Rose slowly pulls herself up with help from the ropes. Ruslan hurls Russian words her way, which he gets a withering glare in response. Rose rights herself, shaking her head and working the kinks out of her arms and back.

Kenny rolls out of the ring while Schwartz and Ruslan give him a pep talk. This might help Kenny, but it also gives Rose a chance to get her bearings. After The Red Army Huddle breaks up outside, Kenny climbs up onto the apron and points at Rose. He pantomimes breaking her in half, and climbs back in. Rose is all business.

They go to lock up once more, but Rose instead feigns into a sudden slap to his face. Kenny is staggered as she hits him with a left, then a right. Kenny comes to, and he actually responds with a right of his own. The two start to slug it out in the middle of the ring as the crowd’s reaction builds louder and louder.

Nick Stuart: Lefts and rights going at it here folks!!

Richard Parker: Esquerdas e direitas, de fato!!!

Nick Stuart: I didn’t know you spoke Portuguese Richard?

Richard Parker: Neither did I!

Kenny starts to wane though, taking two punches to his one. When he realizes that he’s not going to make it, he hauls off with a kick, but Rose catches it. She spins him into a Dragon Screw and sends him tumbling to the mat. She grips his leg and yanks back into a single leg boston crab.

Barlow checks on Kenny. He screams in agony, now in a precarious position like his opponent not very long ago. He shakes his head and Barlow checks on Rose. Ruslan hops onto the far apron and yells at Barlow, who turns to face him. Randall slithers halfway into the ring and grabs Kenny’s arms, and slowly pulls him towards the ropes. Rose looks back and sees what’s going on. She breaks the hold and rushes towards Randall, who slides back down to the floor and lays in a fetal position. Barlow turns around and approaches Kenny, and Rose, seeing red indeed, rushes the apron and throws a forearm directly into Ruslan’s chest.

Alexei flies off the apron and lands, back first, onto the barrier on the floor! He slides down the barrier and rolls onto his side. The fans themselves grab his crimson tie and yank it around one of the legs of the barrier and tie him to it. Still, he’s not moving.

Richard Parker: DISQUALIFY THE FANS!!

Rose lifts Kenny and sends him into the ropes once more. On his return, she springboards off the middle rope, twists and flies back, and cross bodies him. He falls onto his back and heaves, Ashley with the count.

1…

…2….

KICKOUT by K-Free!

Rose slams his hands on the mat and roars with frustration. She pulls Kenny up and armdrags him down to the mat. She pulls his arm out and drops a leg over it. She starts to pull Kenny up again, but he yanks her forward and she staggers into the corner, sternum first. With the wind knocked out of her, Kenny spins her around, lets out a loud warcry, and…

Nick Stuart: No way!!

…lifts Rose up into a gorilla press!

Richard Parker: You can tell that Kenny has been training with Ivan Stanislav!

K-Free dumps her in the center of the ring and runs to a corner. He leaps up onto the top turnbuckle, turns, and leaps with an elbow drop!

And it hits the mark with thunderous authority. Rose flops in the middle of the ring. Kenny with the cover!

1…

2….

…..KICKOUT by Rose!!

Kenny looks flabbergasted as he rises onto his knees and slaps his hand three times while looking at Barlow.

He looks uncharacteristically angry as he pulls Rose up by her hair. He lifts her into a sudden snap suplex and pins her again.

1…

KICKOUT by Rose again! And quicker this time.

She might not be a fan favorite, but the crowd seems to have decided who they want to stand behind Rose in this bout. Maybe it’s just Kenny Freeman? Maybe it’s memories of the Iron Curtain decades ago? Nonetheless, they start to cheer for her all the same.

It doesn’t seem to do much though.

Freeman lifts her up and sends her into the corner sternum first with authority. She slams into the corner and staggers backwards. He grabs her, spins her, and does the same once more, sending her into the opposite corner sternum first. Again, Rose hits hard with full force! Once more, Kenny grabs her, he motions to the crowd and makes a “1, 2, 3” motion with his fingers, and sends her into the corner again. This time, he follows after her.

Rose gets to the corner. It’s hard to say where she got it from. Was it instinct? Years of learning from one of the best in the business? Luck? But whatever it is, she leaps up onto the middle turnbuckle instead of slamming sternum first.  She flips, and catches the charging K-Free in a cutter!!

Nick Stuart: R2R!!! ROSE TO ROSE!!! OUT OF NOWHERE!!!

By now, Randall Schwartz has managed to untie Alexei from the barrier, but Rose is hooking the leg!

1…

….2….

………………………. 3!!!!!!!!

DING DING DING

WINNER: ROSE

Freeman is too slow kicking out, attempting just after Barlow’s hand slams into the mat for the third time. His comrades aren’t there to help him either, a hair too late scrambling into the ring.

Nick Stuart: What a huge win for Rose!! Here, at Tropical Turmoil, against a veteran Kenny Freeman, and thwarting The Red Army!!!

Richard Parker: I know a 400 pound Russian who isn’t’ going to be happy about this!

Nick Stuart: Who cares! She won, fair and square, against all odds!! Her winning streak continues!!

Rose rolls out of the ring, not reacting to the fans, nor even The Red Army, as they collect themselves in the ring. She just gingerly, yet purposefully, walks back to the backstage area.

And smiles.

Meanwhile, Ruslan stands with his hands on his hips and shakes his head while the Masters of the Moscowverse rise together.

Nick Stuart: What a fantastic opening bout! If this is any sign of what’s to come here tonight folks, buckle your seatbelts!!

Richard Parker: Do they use seatbelts in Europe?

Nick Stuart: ….and with that, folks, let’s check out what’s going on elsewhere!

We cut backstage.

We cut to a staging area in the back. Standing in front of a prominent backdrop featuring the Tropical Turmoil logo is none other than everyone’s favorite rainbow death doll, RIA. Absent is her usual trademark unnerving smirk. In its place is a look that could melt steel. The Lockout Championship is once again strapped around her upper body like a bandolier.

RIA: Just a few minutes… That’s all you got left, Kerry Kuroyama. In just a few minutes, I’m gonna slap the ever living arrogance outta you! In just a few minutes, I’m gonna show anyone with eyes on PRIME why I deserve this championship. In a few minutes, I’m gonna prove that even though I love to brawl, that I can wrestle too.

RIA shifts in place, adjusting the belt around her slightly.

RIA: I’m gonna be honest, Kerry… I’ve been scared leading up to this match. Scared that I am a fraud, that I don’t deserve what I have. Unfortunately for you, I’ve slowly been learning a valuable lesson; I can use that. Fear doesn’t have to be a detriment. I can harness it, use it to my advantage. No anchors, only fuel.

The Psychoberry crosses her arms on her chest, over top of her title. Her eyes narrow and her lip curls up, looking like a guard dog ready to ravage.

RIA: This is your doing. The constant disrespect was one thing. That ruffled my “little feathers”, as one jackass would put it. You had to bring Sid into this, though. On the list of stupid things you could’ve done leading into this match, there might not be a higher item. You made this personal. So I’m gonna repay that. I’m gonna embarrass you by beating you at your own game! All my anger, my fear, my desire… You’re gonna feel every single bit of it pour out through my fists!

As the crowd voices it’s approval, RIA drops her arms. She takes a few steps closer to the camera, expression unchanged.

RIA: I am the first daughter of the ReVival. Might not be the most accomplished or the most deserving, but I’m here. I’m rolling and I don’t plan to let you slow me down. You ain’t a road block, you’re a speed bump! I’ll show you that the old adage “Hard work will beat talent that doesn’t work hard” still rings true. I ain’t talking the physical. You’re obviously a monster there. I mean the mental; that pompous attitude you have towards me. I’m gonna be your adjuster!

She retreats back to the spot she originally started in. The snarl that covered her face fades. Nothing but cold, hard determination.

RIA: This will be a message. Not just to Kuroyama. One for all of PRIME. You wanna step to me? Fine. I’ll fight anyone. I’ll even do so on your terms. But you better be ready and know just who the hell you’re dealing with! You’re the first, Kuroyama. In a few minutes… Time’s up, Kerry-chan.

The camera goes from the amped up RIA back to ringside.

And so do we.

Nick Stuart: Well Richard, this bout promises to be a doozy. For weeks, Kerry Kuroyama has belittled and besmirched the name of RIA as a competitor and as a champion. Now, she has the chance to prove him wrong.

Richard Parker: True. True. I’d say she has about the same odds as Hellen Keller in a game of I Spy.

Nick Stuart: What the hell is wrong with you? You’re tasteless.

Richard Parker: I taste great, Nick!

Despite the open roof set-up, the light within Estádio da Luz seems to fade away as ominous stormclouds billow across the super-sized panoramic PRIMEview hanging over the stage. The sounds of howling winds, rolling thunder, and heavy rainfall accompany scattered flickers of emerald-hued levin.

KRACKA-BOOOOOM!!!

Bolts of LIGHTNING suddenly strike the stage, heralding the opening beats to “Blouses Blue” by Konrad OldMoney and Sleep Steady.

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

A row of fountain pyros, silver and green, interchangeably erupt from pots arranged around the entryway. Two figures emerge through the storm of fire and smoke. The spotlight hits, revealing KERRY KUROYAMA in full emerald and argent regalia, with bro-4-lyfe SCOTT HUNTER at his shoulder. Scott leans in and graciously double-points to the Emerald Apex. Kerry stands at the head of the ramp, arms pumped and knuckles touching overhead, defiantly staring down a loud and openly hostile crowd.

BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Richard Parker: Listen to these ungrateful fans, Nick! They have an opportunity to witness a true professional in action here tonight at this great event, and this is the welcome they give him?

Nick Stuart: I suppose there’s no questioning who the PRIME fans are in favor of here tonight. But given how long he’s waited for this title opportunity before him, I think it’s easy to presume that Kerry Kuroyama does not care!

Kuroyama swaggers confidently down the aisle, looking acrimoniously into the jeering throngs of Euro Faithful. At his flank, Hunter claps him on the back and offers him last minute words of support.

Scott Hunter: Alright, this is it. You can take this. Just remember your training. Her hair is very pretty. Stay on the attack, but watch out that you don’t open yourself up to something unexpected.

Kerry nods and paces down the lengthy aisleway at a steady clip, unphased by both the verbal insults in at least a dozen languages and the various articles of trash hurled upon him from every angle. His eyes find the ring, and the task at hand is clear.

He knows that this is his time.

Scott Hunter: Also remember what I told you before. The best offense is a good defense. Just because she smells like delicious peppermint candies doesn’t mean you should risk sure footing for a killing stroke. I learned that from Batman and he is undefeated in PRIME.

Again, Kerry nods, because this is a true statement. Batman is undefeated in PRIME. And he’s arguably the best of all superheros. Because Batman is a super serious badass. And all of his villains are CLOWNS.

The Pacific Blitzkrieg scales the steel steps and enters through the ropes, with the Atlantic Guerilla Warfare (nickname pending) close behind. Kerry scales a turnbuckle and poses a few times, but Scott seems to be the only one in all of Lisbon actually pulling for him.

BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: The challenger has arrived, and he looks quite confident and determined, but we’ll see if it lasts by the time the champion stands with him in the ring!

Richard Parker: Hope these people are ready to watch a parade get rained on!

Nick Stuart: …it’s only partly cloudy tonight, Rich.

As Kuroyama’s music fades out, so too does the shadow stretching over the arena. The black and green clouds on the screen suddenly seem to dissipate, part, and roll off to either side, revealing a clear blue sky and smiling yellow sun. Appearing then in the wake of the storm, stretched across the entire screen in a wide arch, is a grand RAINBOW.

A band of grim (and groovy) REAPERS have appeared on the stage, standing amidst knee-high smoke and holding instruments. Each has an individually colored mask with glowing eyes, covering the entire color spectrum. Without much delay, they rip right into a live performance of “Time Warp”.

Then the spotlight hits the stage where, standing front and center, a certain Goat Bastard wields the microphone. Not quite Riff Raff, but the hair is definitely on point.

Rezin: ♫ It’s astoundin’…

Time is FLEETIN’…

MADNESS… sure takes its toll!

But listen closely… ♫

Reaper Magenta: ♫ Not for much longer! ♫

Rezin: ♫ I’ve gotta… KEEP CONTROLLLL!!! ♫

The arena explodes into a kaleidoscope of light and color. Wacky waving inflatable tube men rise up on the stage. Pyros, rockets, and sparks of every damb shade of the rainbow explode everywhere!

Rezin: ♫ I RE-MEEEMBER… DOIN’ THE TIIIIME WARP!!

SMOKIIIIIN’… THOSE MOMENTS WHEEEENN…

THE BLACKNESS WOULD HIIIIT ME…

AND THE VOID WOULD COME CAAAALLIN’… ♫

The capacity crowd thunderously sings along to the chorus. Blue and pink confetti rains down from the rafters.

LEEET’S DOOO THE TIIIIME WAAAARP AGAAAAAAAIIINNN!!!

LEEET’S DOOO THE TIIIIME WAAAARP AGAAAAAAAIIINNN!!!

Reaper Cyan: It’s just a jump to the left…

Rezin: AND A STEP TO THE RIII-IIIGHT!!

PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HIPS!!

AND BRING THEM KNEES IN TIII-IIIIGHTS!!

BUT IT’S THE PELVIC THRUUU-UUUST!!

THAT’S REALLY DRIVES YA INSAAY-AAY-AAY-AAY-AANNE!!

LEEET’S DOOO THE TIIIIME WAAAARP AGAAAAAAAIIINNN!!!

LEEET’S DOOO THE TIIIIME WAAAARP AGAAAAAAAIIINNN!!!

Rezin: ARRIGHT, GANG, LISTEN UP! I want ya to give a BIG FUGGIN’ WELCOME to a good friend of mine! She ain’t just punk rock–she’s PUNK LOCK!! YOU know her! I know her! SAY HER NAME WITH ME!! Gimme an R!!

ARR!!

Rezin: Gimme an I!!

EYE!!

Rezin: Gimme an A!!

AYE!!

Rezin: What’s that SMEL–uh-duh–SPELL?!?

RIIIIAAAA!!!

Rezin: ONE MORE TIME!

RIIIIAAAA!!!!

Despite her earlier hardness, RIA bounces out onto the stage, grin a mile wide. She takes the time to bop over to each Reaper, giving a high five to the different masked people. Going over to Rezin, she gives him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek before starting to groove down the ramp.

Nick Stuart: RIA certainly seemed determined earlier, but she’s taking a moment to soak in the adoration from our PRIMEates here in Portugal!

Richard Parker: She better enjoy it while she can! I don’t care how angry or determined she is, Kerry Kuroyama is a stud, the highest level of athlete! If RIA isn’t ready, he’s taking her out!

RIA does, in fact, take in the adoration. She slaps hands and chatters as she dances her way to the ring. Once there, she climbs the turnbuckle and slides the Lockout Championship off over her head, raising it above her head. She makes sure to point back to the stage and motions for the crowd to applaud the effort of her guests.

Afterwards, she hops off the top and into the ring. She does a lap, holding the Lockout Championship above her head with one hand while encouraging more noise with the other. Once the lap is complete, she leads the crowd to sing the chorus one last time.

LEEET’S DOOO THE TIIIIME WAAAARP AGAAAAAAAIIINNN!!!

LEEET’S DOOO THE TIIIIME WAAAARP AGAAAAAAAIIINNN!!!

By the end of the festivities, the camera cuts over to Kuroyama, who is by now absolutely littered with rainbow confetti. He is stewing with bitterness while Scott loyally brushes it aside. Both competitors hang to their corners, but continue staring each other down. Meanwhile, Vince Howard begins making the official introductions.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is for the LOCKOUT CHAMPIONSHIP of PRIME!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!

Vince Howard: Per the agreed upon stipulations, the terms of victory may only be determined by SUBMISSION, COUNT OUT, or DISQUALIFICATION.

DING DING

The bell sounds and immediately it’s the champion who goes on the quick offensive. A few stinging, knife edged chips from RIA has Kerry reeling early. However, by the time she backs him into the turnbuckles, Kerry grabs RIA by her head with both hands, lifts her into the air, and tosses her back first into them!

A grin from Kerry as he grabs hold of the ropes and shoves his boot right into RIA’s neck, choking her! RIA’s legs thrash and kick and stomp, Kerry only buries his foot deeper into her throat! Referee Jimmy Turnbull counts as Kerry holds the illegal choke in place. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FI–

Nick Stuart: Kerry pulls his foot away just before being disqualified! That’s scumbag behavior and you know it, Richard.

Richard Parker: You’ve seen that done a million times before, and you’re just now getting a hard on about it? Your hypocrisy knows no bounds and, quite frankly, I’m concerned that your bias against Kerry Kuroyama is affecting your ability to call this match down the middle.

Nick Stuart: Kiss my ass!

Richard Parker: Relax, psycho. Jesus.

RIA, clutching at her neck, soon finds Kuroyama breathing down it. He sends a STIFF elbow right into RIA’s jaw, and RIA drops like a light!

Normally, Kuroyama would make a cover here, if for no other reason than to dictate the pace to RIA, to establish dominance. But since he can’t do it that way, he does something even more menacing…

He scoops her legs off the mat, folds them into position, and turns Ria over.

Elevated Texas Cloverleaf.

And God damn. God damn God damn God damn it hurts. RIA cries out in pain. She scrambles through her suffering on her elbows towards the ropes, but she can’t pull the anchor on her legs that is Kerry Kuroyama anywhere that way. She’s stuck. She’s fucking stuck!

Her hand lifts in the air.

Is… is RIA…?

Richard Parker: She’s gonna tap!

Nick Stuart: No chance, Richard. No chance.

RIA’s SCREAM echoes through the ring side area.

Richard Parker: You sure about that, bud?

Nick offers no response.

The crowd begs RIA not to do it.

But Nick was right. This early in a match?

You’d be better off killing her. She isn’t gonna fucking tap.

RIA instead lifts herself up as if performing a push up, the temporary forced reposition of Kerry creates just enough imbalance for her to explode forward off her palms, and roll forward – rolling Kerry with her!!

And now it’s RIA’s turn!! With Kerry Prone she locks the ankle with her leg, and locks the chin with her wrists.

Nick Stuart: IT’S HER OWN VERSION OF KERRY’S CASCADIAN CLUTCH, RICHARD!!!

Richard Parker: It looks like crap and nothing like when Kerry does it!

Nick Stuart: The champ is feeling spicy tonight!!!

Richard Parker: You piss me off sometimes. With your word choice.

It’s a good attempt, a strong attempt, but after a few agonizing moments, Kuroyama is able to pull RIA’s hands away from his chin by breaking her interlocked fingers from one another with his own! Kerry pulls away, scrambles to his feet and – Drop toe hold by RIA puts him down!

Senton by RIA!!

Kerry rolls out of the way!

Both competitors reach their feet!

Lariat by Kerry!

RIA ducks it!

She bounces off the ropes, returns towards Kerry!

He leap frogs her, and takes off towards the opposite set of ropes!

RIA bounces off the ropes!

Kerry bounces off the ropes!

HIGH KNEE FROM RIA!!

CRACK!!!

NO!!! A YAKUZA KICK KNOCKS HER FUCKING HEAD OFF!!!

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD!!!

A collective gasp followed by a collective groan from the audience in Lisbon.

Nick Stuart: That might have been the stiffest Yakuza kick in the history of Yakuza kicks. I’ve… never seen anything quite like that happen.

Richard Parker: Stop the match. Stop the fucking match.

Jimmy Turnbull, nothing if not a veteran, does a quick check in with RIA. She’s breathing. She’s… kind of… moving. He lifts up her arm.

It hits the ground.

He lifts it again.

It hits the ground.

He lifts it again.

It hits the ground and we have a new ALIAS champion, folks!

…

WAIT!!!

Jimmy is pointing at her hand. It hovers less than an inch off the mat.

Nick Stuart: YES! SHE’S OKAY!!!

Richard Parker: How freaking STUBBORN is this idiot woman!?

Extremely, Richard.

Fucking extremely.

Kerry finds himself not merely amused by RIA as she begins scratching and clawing towards her feet.

His eyebrows are raised.

Eyes widened.

Lips grinning.

He’s pleasantly surprised.

And he immediately gets back to work, sitting on RIA’s back, draping her arms backward over his knees, and locking in a camel clutch!

Kerry Kuroyama: GIVE UP!!! GIVE UP, RIA!!!

But RIA can’t. Not yet. Not when there’s still an ounce of fight that hasn’t yet been beaten out of her.

But that doesn’t account for the sheer torture her body is being put through here. The lightning strikes of nerve pain shooting up her back and through her neck, back down and back up, wave after endless wave.

She is a shoreline and Kerry Kuroyama is a fucking tidal wave.

With no other option, RIA reaches up and back with her left hand, grasps hold of Kerry’s hair and yanks it.

He leans back further on her back, as if popping a wheelie on a bike!

Still, she does not tap!

After a moment, Kerry relents slightly on the force. Applying a submission can wear on you too, you know.

And in that moment RIA manages to take the eyes of Kerry, causing an instinctive hold break on his end to feel his eyes and make sure they’re still in his sockets!

Nick Stuart: A desperate move on RIA’s end, but one that was brought forth by necessity.

Richard Parker: You have an excuse for any behavior a wrestler displays, Nick. It’s a unique talent, I’ll give you that. No one else does it quite as well or quite as often as you.

Nick Stuart: You talking to a mirror, Richard?

LET’S GO RIA!

clap, clap, clap clap clap

LET’S GO RIA!

clap, clap, clap clap clap

The fans rally around the Alias Champion, and in truth, she needs it. For though the eye rake gave her temporary relief, Kerry offers no quarter. He lays into RIA’s back with boot after vicious boot, up and down the spine.

Kerry looks around at the audience. He notices that every time he stomps her in the back, the crowds vitriol towards him, be it due to their frustration with the direction this match is heading or just their hatred for him in particular, it happens every time.

So juuuuuuuuuust to be a dick?

Kerry steps on her back and walks across her like a damn bridge!!!

This really brings out the birds in Lisbon. Whistles rain down upon Kerry. Kerry likes it.

It means he’s making them feel something.

And for Kerry? He just wants to make them feel it more.

AGAIN he walks across her back like a bridge.

Nick Stuart: What the hell is Kuroyama’s problem?

Richard Parker: Don’t you get it? He’s making an example out of RIA. SHE’S not a real wrestler. And he’s showing that to the whole world, baybay!

More stomps to RIA’s back, until finally, FINALLY,

RIA ROLLS OVER!!!

LEG SCISSORS TO KERRY!

SHE TAKES HIM TO THE GROUND!!

TRANSITIONS UP HIS BODY AND GRABS THE ARM!!!

FUJIWARA ARMBAR!!!

THE ARENA GOES FUCKING BALLISTIC!!!

Nick Stuart: NOT A REAL WRESTLER, HUH, RICHARD!?

Richard Parker: Shup up Nick. Idiot.

Days from now, RIA will watch the tape of this match, and she will get a chance to see what all of those in Lisbon and those at home can see.

Kerry’s face.

It is full of pain and torment.

But in his widened eyes is a look of genuine surprise.

Behold, we have witnessed the birth of Respect. It only weighs an ounce.

But it’s there now.

However, right now, RIA can’t see his face.

She can only hear his cries out in pain.

She pulls on that arm so fucking hard that if Kerry didn’t have all that muscle mass, we’re certain the entirety of his arm would’ve been ripped right off the shoulder.

Kerry, bigger, stronger, and with one arm becoming absolutely more and more compromised by the second, uses his free arm, his good arm, to inch himself towards the ropes.

He grasps it!

Turnbull starts to count RIA off with the five count, but she lets it go immediately. No need. She ain’t that kind of person.

Besides, she has a match to win!

SENTON RIGHT ONTO THE BACK OF KERRY KUROYAMA!!!

ANOTHER SENTON!!!

ANOTHER SENTON!!!

.

RIA jumps onto the middle rope! She springboards backwards!!

SPRINGBOARD STOMP TO KERRY’S HEAD!!!

RIA has that look in her eye!!!

You know, the look where the people who know and love her say, “just get out of her way.”

She climbs to the top turnbuckle. Has a seat!!

ASTROJUNK!!! THE SEATED SENTON FROM THE TOP!!!

Nick Stuart: NO!!! KERRY JUST, and I mean JUST moves out of the way!!

Richard Parker: Kerry Kuroyama is a genius, Nick. Pretending RIA was hurting him lured her right into his trap!!!

Kerry Kuroyama slowly crawls to his feet as RIA rushes to race him to get to hers first.

They both get there around the same time!

RIA CHARGES!!

RIGHT INTO THE SQUALL LINE LARIAT FROM KUROYAMA!!!

Richard Parker: YES!!! LET’S. FREAKING. GOOOOOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: Great move from Kuroyama. Got to hand it to him. Brutal.

Kerry wastes no time. He locks in his signature submission hold. The Cascadian Clutch.

And RIA is now in real trouble.

The crowd cries out for her to find a way out. But her leg trapped in Kerry’s step over makes that a virtual impossibility. She needs her legs to get out of this. All of Kerry’s massive upper body presses against RIA to ensure there’s no room to press the mat with her palms and push up.

There is nothing for her to do.

There is nowhere for her to go.

RIA’s hand raises in the air. She doesn’t WANT to tap. She doesn’t WANT to give into Kerry. This is bigger than her title. She has something to prove!

She just doesn’t know she already has.

But regardless, she has no other option.

Her hand slaps the mat.

She taps.

DING DING DING

Kerry immediately releases the hold on RIA. Lisbon showers him with boos.

He does not care one bit.

Nick Stuart: It’s over. Kerry Kuroyama has just become the Alias Champion.

Richard Parker: Yes he is, Nick. Yes he is! WOOOOO!!!

“Blouses Blue” by Konrad OldMoney and Sleep Steady hits the speakers.

Kerry grins, hands on his hips as he reaches his feet.

Turnbull hands the new champion his title. Vince Howard makes it official.

Vince Howard: Here is youuurrr winner… AAAAAAAAND NEEEEEEW!!! PRIME ALIAS CHAMPION!!! … KERRRRRYYYYYYY KUROOOOOOOOOYAMAAAAAAAAA!!!

We cut away. But just before we do, we see RIA and Kerry make eye contact with one another.

They exchange a nod.

We cut to commercial.

We cut backstage after the Alias title match to see Steve Harrison and Jack Marley standing behind their Merch Table ready for their live commercial.

Jack Marley: We live?

Camera Man: Yes.

Jack Marley: Like right now, mon?

Camera Man: Yes.

Jack Marley: Oh…uh…

Jack freezes as he stares into the camera lens.

Steve Harrison: What Jack is trying to say is that everyone in the arena should be running out here right now to buy some amazing PRIME Merchandise!

Jack slowly nods as he begins to unfreeze from his mistake.

Jack Marley: Exactly! Sorry about that but I was so excited because of our new T Shirt that I lost my train of thought.

The Vendor King just shrugs as if he has nothing to do with this and watches as Jack pulls a box out from below the merch table.

Jack Marley: And OH BOY do we have a doozy for you tonight. I am thrilled to be able to put my favorite…

Jack pulls a shirt from the box.

Jack Marley: …PENGUIN AND THE BOSSES FAVORITE DONKEY…

Harrison gives Jack an annoyed side eye at the mention of the Donkey. Jack stops talking as he notices it and gives him the thumbs up.

Jack Marley: Ahem…anyway. We got the Penguin. We got the Donkey. We got Christ, PLAYING POKER FOR YOUR SINS!

Jack of course does not get the irony at all in that statement. Steve gives him a confused look and just shrugs.

Jack Marley: We have a limited stock, first come, first served!

Harrison continues to look on but suddenly he has a beer in his hand.

Steve Harrison: So Jack, how much are we talking about? This amazing shirt should at least go for 50 Euros!

Jack Marley: I am not sure who the hero you are talking about is but the greatest hero in PRIME has to be Don Winters and I don’t think price should matter when we are talking about such a kind man and his flock.

Harrison takes a huge gulp of his beer. He stares at Jack and you can tell that one look is saying ‘this is the guy who I am relying on now, how fucking far have I fallen.’ Jack ignores Steve’s look because yea, you have to rely on him because you have fallen and are a complete mess.

Jack Marley: This shirt has it all, Steve.

Steve Harrison: Let me get something straight for the people in the arena and at home. Do you have to beat Christ at Poker to get to Heaven?

Jack Marley: Um…

Steve Harrison: How about if you get a Straight?

Jack Marley: Heaven!

Harrison chuckles to himself.

Steve Harrison: Well, what about a Full House?

Jack Marley: Heaven!

Steve Harrison: OK, OK, I got one…what about a pair of (winks to the camera) Jacks?

Jack Marley: Oh—that’s double heaven!

Steve Harrison: And the best part of it all is that it is a Parody shirt which means we don’t owe anyone anything and cannot be sued!

Jack Marley: Is that really the best thing, mon?

Harrison cheers his beer towards the face of Jack. Jack ducks and shakes his head.

Steve Harrison: Saúde!

Jack Marley: Who in the hell keeps giving you beers?

Suddenly, a man clad in white steps in front of the camera, an ornate wooden box tucked delicately under one arm. His voice is warm and familiar and Jack Marley immediately smiles.

Don Winters: Say boys, good to see you’re working that sales grind! (Turns and notices the camera.) Oh shucks! I’ve gotten into your shot, haven’t I? I’m so sorry.

Jack waves and Harrison rolls his eyes as he takes another sip of his beer.

Jack Marley: IT’S DON!

Steve Harrison: BURP!

Don Winters: [smiling] You’re shooting a commercial here yeah? (Jack nods vigorously.) You know it’s lacking a little professionalism. (Don stares at Steve.) Are you serious about this, Stefan?

Harrison’s eyebrow raises and he looks at Don. He blinks a few times and then takes another sip of his beer.

Steve Harrison: I believe in letting my employees express themselves and as you can see…that might not be the best idea. I am super cereal though, Don (very sarcastic, duh). I am as serious as you are about going on a dinner date with Lowell and reminiscing about the good old days.

Jack Marley: Boss, Don is a god fearing man I don’t think he would purposely talk down to you.

Steve Harrison: Us.

Jack Marley: Us.

Don Winters: Purposely? No. [He pauses, and pats the ornate wooden box still tucked neatly under his arm.] Speaking of Lowell, have either of you seen him this evening?

Steve Harrison: I am pretty sure he is in the bathroom injecting himself with horse semen. But if you find him and STRONK please give STRONK my regards and that I miss Mongo.

Don Winters: [Looking through both men, he smiles widely.] Wonderful! [He laughs uncomfortably.] It’s been a pleasure seeing you boys, once again keep up the good work. I’ve got to go find an old friend.

Don walks off from Steve and Jack. Jack waves at him as he leaves with a smile. Harrison gives him another cheer with his once again full beer.

Steve Harrison: Heh, he didn’t even notice the shirt.

Jack Marley: Oh yea…[looks at camera] come buy our new shirt and everything else we have. We have shirts, food, and miscellaneous items of your favorite PRIME wrestlers.

Steve Harrison: No sunglasses today. [He laughs] That’s for tomorrow. Now wrap this up before LT comes screaming about a commercial taking more time then Coral took banging Vickie Hall.

Jack nods.

Jack Marley: One last thing, I hope everyone supports the Fred Dick Book Club. Are You My Mother is one of my favorite pieces of literature. As I sign off I want to ask you all, are you my mother?

Harrison smacks Jack in the back of the head as the commercial ends. Was that even a fucking commercial? Well it surely was something.

PRIME Five Star Champion Don Winters breezed down the corridors with purpose, laced tight wrestling boots thudding along concrete as he did. He briefly considered Steve Harrison’s suggestion that Lowell was in the bathroom doing something, something, but the thought vanished as quickly as it had entered. Winters clutched the wooden box in both hands as he paced the maze through the back of Estadio de Luz, twisting through corners and ninety degree turns only a man fixated on a single purpose could.

Unbeknownst to The Revelator, Lowell had been watching the broadcast and saw Winters speaking with Harrison and Marley. He knew he was needed and the resentment he had built up against old ‘Donny Wintz’ was slowly starting to dissipate. Someone needed him. Not just anybody, but Don Winters. Someone who remembered Lowell when he was a younger, just as sexy, but slightly better looking man.

“Heya, Donny.”

The words emanate from behind the Five Star Champion, who quickly turns to locate the source, though deep down he already knows. The voice is unmistakable—a mix of drug-induced hoarseness and a wheezy whine.

Lowell Dot Com stands there, grinning a repulsive smile, his yellowed, plaque-caked teeth on full display.

Lowell Dot Com: Heard you were looking for me, old buddy. Seems you’ve been getting dragged on Jabber about your hair. I dunno why. Looks great. New conditioner? Trying that red light therapy gimmick? I thought about it, but as you can see, my coif is pretty spectacular. No need, really. Maybe one day when my youth begins to fade.

Don’s brow furrows as he glimpses the monstrosity atop Lowell’s head—a poorly fitted, fried, mod-style helmet of what looks to be synthetic hair, slightly askew, with the middle part falling on a nonsensical part of his scalp.

Lowell Dot Com: And about the legal letter you sent: look, I get it, bapa. You’re under a lot of stress. You probably had someone in your ear, a so-called friend perhaps, maybe a business manager that felt threatened, that doesn’t want you diversifying your portfolio and splitting your time with an old friend. I’ve given it a lot of thought… and I forgive you, Wintz. Anyway, what’d you wanna see me about?

Don Winters: [sighing deeply]. Hello Lowell, you look.. well, you’re here and that’s the main thing I guess. But uh [Winters pats the box tucked under his arm] I need a little favor before the match tonight. I know you’re STRONK’s manager, and I know this is probably going to be very difficult for you to acquiesce to, but I need you to cut STRONK’s hair.

Lowell blinks. Winters opens the ornate wooden chest toward Lowell and a faint soft glow emanates. Lowell’s eyes go wide, Winters smiles in return.

Don Winters: I have a theory that STRONK is Samson reborn from the biblical legend, and I need you to play Delilah for me. There’s nobody he trusts more than you Lowell, and for this task there’s no one I trust more. [Winters’ smiling is just as unsettling as Lowell’s, but in a completely different way.] These are the Holy Hair Shears of Santiago de Compostela and I believe that by cutting STRONK’s hair with these blessed shears, we can weaken him just enough. So, Lowell, old friend, what do you say?

Lowell Dot Com: Well, I fail to see how any of this benefits me. But then again, I’ve been told friends do stuff for friends sometimes and don’t expect anything in return. And because I don’t believe in any of that Jesus shit about Samson or whatever… and because it’ll make you happy, Wintz… I’ll do it.

Lowell reaches for the box but pauses, his hand hovering just above it. He locks eyes with Winters, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Lowell Dot Com: …On one condition… I want one small thing from you. One small thing… and I will do this favor for you, my good friend, and expect nothing in return, like the truly selfless man I am.

Winters has no idea what’s coming next, but he knows it’s going to either aggravate him greatly or creep him out and send an unnerving chill down his spine. In all likelihood, it’ll accomplish both.

Don Winters: [sighing] What is it?

Lowell Dot Com: A lock… of your hair.

The Revelator sets the box down on a nearby utility cart and sighs deeply. He carefully removes the Holy Hair Shears of Santiago de Compostela from its hundreds of years old chest and slips the handle through his thumb and forefinger. Lowell is basically salivating as he watches Winters carefully clip a small bit of hair from the front of his coif. Squeezing the bits of auburn mane, he reluctantly passes the lock to Lowell who accepts them almost a little too happily.

Don Winters: Do we have an understanding, Lowell?

Holding the tuft of hair in the palm of his outstretched hand, Lowell gazes at it with an expression that defies words—an intoxicating mix of exhilaration, surprise, and pure joy. He feels like a kid tearing open a long-desired present on Christmas morning, barely able to contain his excitement.

Lowell Dot Com: [nodding] Oh yeah, Donny, it’s a deal! I’ll get you a piece of STRONK Daddy’s flowy mane. I hope you realize what this means to me. I still think you’re gonna lose, but this cements our friendship. It’s real. We’re bonded now, forever and always.

Don rests the box on an adjacent table and begins to walk away. He stops momentarily, but doesn’t turn back around.

Don Winters: Just remember, I need all of it. He better be walking to that ring with every last hair on his head shorn clean.

As the Five Star Champion vanishes down the hallway, an uneasy feeling envelops the Shillin’ Villain. He knows he must find a way to discreetly snip a piece of hair from his client’s head. What if STRONK catches him? What will be his reaction?

To calm his nerves and bolster his resolve, Lowell comes to the realization that he’ll need some performance enhancers for this job… and sets off toward the closest bathroom.

And we cut elsewhere.

The scene slowly fades in on tattooed hands, hands tattooed with the Evil Eye, preparing to play a guitar. The hand on the neck is close to the camera and blurry, while the hand on the body is in focus. The scene is grainy, black and white. The fingers begin to strum “The Ghost of John”, creating a haunting, folksy melancholy with a Southern, Americana twang. The scene fades to a tire factory in a sped-up timelapse, smoke billowing from pipes as workers scurry in and out of the factory, like ants into an industrial anthill. The scene fades again, this time to a close-up of a strong jawline covered in stubble, the wisp of a full beard and mustache coming in. The lips smile a toothy smile, a rolled joint in between the lips, lit and exhaling smoke.

Stetson King: [in a low, crooning, but not unpleasant voice] Wouldn’t it be chilly with no skin oooonnnn…

The white glow of the lit joint comes to life before reducing to an ember as more smoke is exhaled from the mouth.

Stetson King: So, this is PRIME country, eh? A buncha BONE-A-FIDE athletes wagin’ war on one a-nuther each an’ erryday. Hells bells and thanks for the shine, we in the land of blood and honey, ain’t we?

The teeth, pristine except for a single gold fang at the front, beem as the mouth chimneys out more smoke, the haunting melody of “The Ghost of John” playing softly in the background.

Stetson King: Let me tell ya, brothers and sisters, I been walked in the valley of progress for soooo…long… and I done seen the bones…of what industry can promise. I know the wasteland like a preacher knows his flock, a momma knows her boys, and a daddy…knows his temper.

The scene fades back to the time-lapsed factory. As days and nights move on, less and less smoke billows. Fewer and fewer workers come in and out of the factory. The cars in the parking lot become newer and newer…and fewer and fewer. Over time, holes begin to appear in the fences. They are fixed, at first, brand new early on, patchwork later, and eventually the holes get left. The scene fades back to the smiling mouth with a significantly smaller jay.

Stetson King: [with a snicker] But say hallelujah family, and praise whatever god or unnatural dealmaker you prefer, because I have found the PROF-PHU-SEEEED lands and have been allowed to pass through these gates made-uh gold…and canvas…and leather…and flesh. Ole Stetson King, yours truly and thank ya kindly, has made his way to the planet of the PRIMEates, the land uh OPP-OR-TOO-NI-TEEEE! Yessir and praised be to those that allow us to breath, speak ya truly. But…ole Stetson just gotta wonder…how long can a good thing last? As ole Bobby Frost said, nothin’ gold can stay, and even a king like me knows that erry-damn-thing…

Another massive exhale of smoke.

Stetson King: [with a long pause] has a dyin’ time…

The scene cuts back to the factory. The parking lot is empty. Smoke no longer billows out of the chimneys. The ants have all left the hill to find a new queen. The windows break and are not repaired. The metal gates sag, sink, and fall into the earth. As gravity takes its toll, parts of the building begin to collapse in on itself. The earth rots, the grass browns, and the trees fade. The titan of industry becomes a relic of greed…and a ghost of industry. The scene fades back to the mouth, the toothy smile, and the dying roach.

Stetson King: Kings and peasants, preachers and weed eaters alike, as the good book uh Eccleeeseee-ASSTES says…[the smile fades as Stetson pauses] and the dust returns to the Earth as it was…

Stetson spits out his roach.

Stetson King: And the spirit returns…to whomever it made its final deal to.

“The Ghost of John” is played louder as the camera zooms back. Stetson King sits at the doorstep of the previously seen factory, sitting on an old steel chair, likely a relic of an uncomfortable breakroom. He wears a bright white duster and a black hat, items that would be black and white even if the picture wasn’t all blacks, whites, and grays. His dark eyes peer into the camera, past it, into the viewers.

Stetson King: These are the end times. I am the Ghost of Industry, and I come here to return the rotten dust…

Stetson slaps the guitar, the music abruptly ending. He howls with laughter suddenly. As abruptly as the laughter begins, it also stops.

Stetson King: …to the rotten Earth.

He begins to play the song again, looking away from the camera and humming along.

Stetson King: [crooning] Long white bones with the skin all goooooone.

Cut to ringside.

Nick Stuart: Well, we’re getting hyped for a HUGE rematch from PWA-1.

Richard Parker: PWA? That feels like a decade and 100 pounds ago.

Nick Stuart: Well, I can attest to the time…

The arena goes pitch black.

Nick Stuart: Brandon Youngblood and Clay Byrd. These two ripped each other apart last time these two titans of professional wrestling collided at PWA-1.

Richard Parker: This is PRIME! This is HOME! Youngblood would rather die than lose to this big, dumb, idiot, sad, cowboy.

Spotlights begin to swirl around the dark arena as people pull out their phones. One by one the spotlights trickle to the stands in the center of the arena. Just underneath the second set of seats the spotlights settle in. The camera sets at the bottom of the aisle way, behind the spotlights the silhouette of The Behemoth.

“None the Wiser” by Caned by Nod.

The Monster from Plainview storms into the lights and throws two horns into the Portuguese night. He roars, they roar back, and a ring of fireworks shoots off from the roof of the stadium. Clay Byrd slaps hands with a line of fans as he steps down the aisle. The spotlights follow him all the way down the ramp.

Richard Parker: He walks so slow.

Nick Stuart: I think he’s coming this way.

Richard Parker: shh… he walks so slow.

Byrd finally gets to the bottom of the first deck and begins his walk to the ring. He spins once, just to take it in, before walking up the stairs, wiping both feet, and stepping through the ropes. He heads to the far ropes, plants a boot on the middle turnbuckle and leans his weight on the top as he throws another set of horns up.

The arena lights go down for a second time.

Nick Stuart: This bout, it’s a late arrival onto Tropical Turmoil. And when last these two faced off, many thought it was about brand loyalty. Two Wrestlers of the Year, locking proverbial horns. The truth is…

Richard Parker: The truth is it was a fight between two absolute savages, and we loved every second of it. It was about the battle. The fight. You think Clay Byrd was in that ring to support some garbage backwater hole that did nothing but treat him like trash?

Nick Stuart: Byrd has surely made his opinions on his former employer well known–

Richard Parker: And let me make my opinions on his former employer well known as well…Rest in Piss, trash.

Nick Stuart: Rather outspoken–

Richard Parker: I don’t care. You know how much I love Cecilworth Farthington? You know how awful it was, how much the entire WORLD suffered as he plied his craftsmanship, his pure artistry, in a septic tank? It’s like having Beethoven play the opening act to Papa Roach and thinking they’re better because they have some ‘absolute banger’. They mistreated my boy, Nick. They made the entire world sour. The Dreaded Laramie of professional wrestling.

Nick Stuart: As vociferous as you are in this matter, we would be remiss not to point out, from a wrestling standpoint, while Ivan Stanislav secured convincing victory that night, it was these two men, Youngblood and Byrd, that gave what was arguably the most spirited contest that night.

Richard Parker: And if it would’ve been Byrd and Stanislav, or Youngblood and Stanislav, or…hell…CANCER JILES and Stanislav…it would’ve been better. Hell, if it was Conor Fuse and Stanislav…at least in all those cases, it wouldn’t have been anywhere near as much of a mismatch.

The inside of Estádio da Luz darkens. The shift in ambiance has the fans rising to their feet. They are ready for The Battlecry. The hallmark that has made up the doctrine of The Soul of PRIME.

A soft wind.

The voice that arrives is different, exuding a threatening sentiment.

THEY
ARE NO LONGER
YOUR PEOPLE
TO SAVE

Then, a vicious, primal roar from some beast fit only for the depths of Hell. It is feral. Unrelenting.

It’s then that Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH surges throughout the stadium, and as it does, the ramp and the video wall underneath the PRIMEView glow a stark red before turning black. No white backdrops. The Diamond is gone. In it’s place, a new logo, a powerful tower, the sharpness cutting behind it creating a Y.

The Tower of Babel, prominent and surging.

The PRIMEView comes alive with the PRIMETron of Brandon Youngblood. Across it is a variable who’s who in the sport of professional wrestling, countless who have walked the hallowed halls of PRIME, and in them, a staggering constant; they all wilt before raw, unbridled physicality and domination. Suplexes. Strikes. Spinebusters. The highlight reels of catching and destroying would be challengers. The championships won. The accolades minted.

Nick Stuart: This…is a departure from what we have grown accustomed to with Youngblood over the past two years.

Richard Parker: Adapt or perish? Or do the same thing over and over again and expect different results?

Nick Stuart: Many would gladly take the overall results Brandon Youngblood has had over the years–

Richard Parker: And even with you saying that, we both know that he’s not satisfied. Most thought he was about to walk away.

Nick Stuart: Rumors spread, but to be clear, there was never official confirmation. All the same, it leads us to this moment. This battle. Byrd and Youngblood 2.

Sets of red and white laser lights from on high and below cut through the air, and then, he arrives. This is something evolved. Different. Brandon Youngblood’s attire is much the same, save the replacing of the old Diamond with his new crest, as well as a red compression sleeve over his left arm. He is in no hurry, stalking his way onto the ramp, his eyes forward and focused. His expression is stoic. Stone. Reaching the point before the descent, he stops, surveying the crowd at his flank. His arms fold across his chest, his head high up and his chin pointing forward, right toward the man who demanded the smoke.

From both sides, the loud bang and blinding white of pyro explodes in powerful bursts.

Richard Parker: He’s…

Nick Stuart: Youngblood is coming off a major setback. In Eckbolsheim, France, he had the opportunity to win the Universal Championship for an unprecedented third time. And in truth, he looked well on his way, physically dominating Jonathan-Christopher Hall. However, in controversial fashion–

Richard Parker: Matter of opinion–

Nick Stuart: He would go on to lose that contest, thanks to direct interference by Reed Young. This only seems to have punctuated a rather unfortunate first half of 2024 for the Hall of Famer. The return of Jason Snow and the mystery of who played Right Next Door To Hell, costing him against future Intense Champion Daytona Diamonds. Sage Pontiff and Paxton Ray managing to get him and Dabney Doubleday disqualified in a tag team bout. Runner up in War Games. He defeated Hayes Hanlon, a major victory by any metric.

Richard Parker: Age gets most. Some age like wine. And grow back their limbs.

As the smoke bellows, he slowly paces forward, the stadium lights now back on in full. Once to the stadium floor, he stops, staring upward toward Clay Byrd. After a few tense moments, Brandon walks to the steps, making his way up them, his dominion whole on the ring apron. Not once does he take his eyes off The Behemoth. At the halfway point, he steps between the ropes, taking the center of the ring.

Vince Howard: His opponent…hailing from Bandera, Texas by way of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada… weighing in at two-hundred sixty pounds… he is…THE TOOOOOOOOWER! OOOOOOOF! BAAAAAAAAAAAABEL! BRAAAAAAAANDON! YOUNGBLOOOOOOOOOD!

Impossible to read is Youngblood as he holds court, and as he glowers at The Monster From Plainview, his head tilts to its side.

Nick Stuart: The tension is palpable, Rich. These two men don’t have the animosity that our main event has, but there’s weight to this match. The air is thick.

Richard Parker: OF course it’s thick, Nick, we’re in Lisbon in the summer!

Nick Stuart: Folks, my broadcast partner.

Byrd and Youngblood get up in each other’s grills. The Cowboy Colossus snorts through his nose as he stares into the eyes of the Tower of Babel. Youngblood does not flinch, but instead, he forms a sneer on his face. It’s time.

Ring the damn bell.

DING DING

The two men jaw-jack at each other, inaudible to anyone else but Elvis Nixon. Youngblood is ANIMATED, and Byrd just nods before he takes a step back. His retreat is momentary before he turns around and wrests the Tower into a HARD collar-and-elbow tie-up.

Nick Stuart: Folks, there may not be animosity between these two, but that tie-up shows both these men are not in it for a sporting exhibition. This is going to be a struggle.

Despite giving up three inches and thirty pounds, Youngblood is not cowed. He’s driving up from his legs, keeping Byrd from imposing his will despite shedding pounds from his normal ReVival fighting weight. The stalemate goes on for 90 seconds before the Cowboy Colossus breaks, turns his head, and spits.

Nick Stuart: And the Tower of Babel remains unfazed!

Richard Parker: Of course not! Youngblood is the anchor of the ReVival! The Scrambler of eGGs! The Solvent of Glue! THE SLAYER OF THE ANGLO LUCHADOR! TWICE!

Byrd regroups and beckons for Youngblood to come in for another. The Diamond fakes out lunging in to meet The Monster from Plainview, but at the last second hits him with the dropstep and goes behind for a rear waistlock.

Nick Stuart: Youngblood with the catlike agility! He cut weight for this match, and it shows early on.

Byrd wriggles and tries to overpower Youngblood to get free, but the first Universal Champion of the ReVival has his fingers locked tight. The Tower lifts the Colossus off his feet a few inches before Vae Victis’ most massive non-feline member throws a big elbow behind him to stop Youngblood’s upward thrust. The former Champ does not break his fingers and tries to lift again, but the Monster is even quicker with his back elbow. Youngblood dodges the second one, thinks better of his strategy, and releases the grip, stepping back. Byrd quickly turns around, and they are back to fighting stance across the ring from each other to the roar of Estadio de Luz.

Nick Stuart: Shots have not been fired yet, but this match feels intense already.

Richard Parker: No, that’s tomorrow night.

Nick Stuart: *sigh*

Youngblood looks to lock up with Byrd again, but the massive cowboy gets a wild look in his eyes and crudely bats away the Tower’s hand. While Youngblood is stunned, Byrd launches in with three big clubbering arm strikes, like overhand punches. The Canadian-turned-Texan shirks back, but the Texas native follows up with a HUGE body attack that sends the Tower careening onto the bottom two ropes as a mixed reaction of cheers and whistles rises up from the Portuguese faithful.

Nick Stuart: Aaaaaand business has just picked up.

Richard Parker: Leave it to the hayseed to turn a wrestling match into a bar brawl.

Nick Stuart: Hey, styles make fights, Richard.

Byrd puts boots to Youngblood as he covers up in the corner with his guard up. Byrd steps back and beckons at Youngblood to “get the fuck up.” As soon as the Diamond does…

CRACK

Nick Stuart: BIIIIG chop from the Cowboy Colossus.

Richard Parker: They heard that all the way in Brazil.

Youngblood stumbles out of the corner ever so slightly, but he goes tumbling to the canvas as Byrd grabs him by the scruff of his neck and shoves him, causing him to tumble. The behemoth wrangler drops back, hits the ropes, charges, and hits a MASSIVE leg drop over the back of the Diamond’s neck. He rolls him over and covers…

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout!

Byrd rises to his feet, but he’s tripped up as Youngblood tries to pick the ankle from his back. A short stumble, but the Colossus stomps the fallen Tower in his belly and lifts him back up to his feet. He winds up his right arm all the way back and throws the biggest haymaker this side of the Pecos. Youngblood holds his face but doesn’t go down. The Monster from Plainview grabs him and throws him into the corner chest first. As the Diamond stumbles back, Byrd scoops him up by his back and hits him with a back suplex. He follows up with another cover…

ONE!

TWO!

Youngblood kicks out again.

Nick Stuart: The Cowboy Colossus really taking it to Youngblood here. Maybe slimming down was not the right call for a match against one of the meanest bruisers out there.

Richard Parker: Are you body-shaming, Nick?

Nick Stuart: Absolutely not, why would I ever…

Richard Parker: Good, because my DoorDash just arrived with arroz con mariscos and I’m STARVING.

Byrd gives Youngblood no quarter, mounting him and landing a series of punches. The Diamond covers up the best he can, but Byrd methodically lands blow after blow at his upper body before getting tired and appeals to the crowd who starts whistling at him a little bit louder. Byrd grabs Youngblood as he’s rising and lifts him up into vertical suplex position. He holds the Diamond there for a few seconds before crashing him down to the canvas. He makes a cover…

ONE!

TWO!

Youngblood kicks out again, frustration visible on the Cowboy’s face.

Nick Stuart: Clay Byrd mad that he hasn’t finished Youngblood yet, but I can tell you, it’s going to take a lot more than that to take out the first Universal Champion of the ReVival.

Richard Parker: Makes sense, the Dallas Cowboys think they’ve won the Super Bowl after starting out 3-0 against teams that end up having the top three picks in the draft.

Nick Stuart: I didn’t take you for a football fan, Rich.

Richard Parker: I’m not, just most of the PRIME roster hates the Cowboys, I get it through osmosis.

Byrd picks Youngblood up and does the throat slash gesture before bouncing off the ropes. He charges in…

Nick Stuart: TEXAS LARIAT…

Richard Parker: …NO!

Youngblood dropsteps behind Byrd AGAIN, this time seamlessly locking his fingers around the massive Texan’s waist, using his momentum to lift him off the ground, lifting him off his feet into the air, and slamming him, belly first, onto the canvas in an Olympic-style takedown to the roar of the crowd.

Nick Stuart: DON’T COUNT OUT THE LAST DIAMOND YET.

Youngblood pops to his feet, arms outstretched to the roar of the crowd, roaring back primally. He doesn’t linger in the moment. Instead, he drops down into a three-point stance, waiting for the Cowboy Colossus to shake the cobwebs out of being shock-countered. Before he gets to his feet, the Tower of Babel wrangles him by his head and shoulders and drives him down to the canvas, seamlessly segueing into a gator roll, disorienting the big man with each roll across the canvas. Youngblood releases after rolling Byrd six times. The Cowboy Colossus is slow to get up, and Mr. FAFO takes advantage with a rolling front cradle. Byrd fights through enough to keep Youngblood from pinning him, but the two-time Uni is able shift his weight, roll Byrd onto his ass, and lifts him up into vertical suplex position that finishes with a strong toss. Youngblood pounds the mat and roars again.

Nick Stuart: Youngblood really shifting his focus here. Showing off some amateur bona fides here.

Richard Parker: He’s treating Clay Byrd the way I imagine Clay Byrd treats pigs at his farm. Delicious but not as delicious as the pork in my rice dish here.

Nick Stuart: STOP EATING AT THE BROADCAST DESK.

Byrd pounds the mat from his back in frustration while Youngblood sizes him up and snatches his leg. He turns him over with the leg draped over his neck.

Nick Stuart: Stretch muffler! What technique by the former Universal Champion here!

Byrd’s eyes go wide as he reaches desperately reaches for the ropes. He inches closer and closer, but Youngblood keeps dragging him back. Finally, he gets his fingertips on the ropes, and Nixon tells Youngblood to break the submission. He ignores the first warning, but breaks at three.

Nick Stuart: I think Byrd was expecting a slugfest here. He didn’t count on Youngblood leaning in on what brought him to the dance.

Richard Parker: Well, of course not, he’s Texan, only rivaled by Philadelphians for their lack of perception.

Nick Stuart: Youngblood grew up there.

Richard Parker: Yeah, but he was born in Canada. It’s genetic.

Youngblood again in crouching position, ready to attack, with a smile on his face. Byrd approaches him on spaghetti legs, and Youngblood snatches him quickly, throwing him back with a seatbelt toss. Byrd pops up and charges in, slower this time, but Youngblood drops low, grabs him in a fireman’s carry, and dumps him over to his side. Byrd up again, but before he can get his bearings…

Nick Stuart: DOUBLE LEG BY YOUNGBLOOD! He’s really got Byrd on rollerskates!

Youngblood rips Byrd to his feet, nestles his head under Byrd’s armpit, and it’s a northern lights suplex for a pin attempt…

ONE!

TWO!

But the Colossus kicks out.

Suplex Daddy gets up and drags Byrd to his feet, slipping behind. He locks in with a rear waistlock and tries a German, but Byrd dead weights. Youngblood tries again, but this time, the Colossus throws back a blind elbow that hits the mark. Youngblood keeps the fingers locked, but Byrd’s second elbow causes him to break his grip. Byrd turns around and…

Nick Stuart: BIG RIGHT HAND FROM THE COWBOY COLOSSUS! Youngblood is staggered!

Richard Parker: TEST HIM FOR GRASS-FED BEEF!!!

Byrd grabs him and puts his head between his legs. He pulls on the waist of Youngblood’s singlet and drops back.

Nick Stuart: TEXAS DEATH CERTIFICATE!

He covers…

ONE!

TWO!!!

….

……

……..

Youngblood kicks out

Byrd picks Youngblood up, but the Diamond fights back, shoving the Colossus away. Before he can follow up, Byrd delivers a strong kick to his gut.

Nick Stuart: Oh my, Byrd not messing around here… POWERBOMB!

Richard Parker: Not many people can do that to Youngblood, that’s for sure.

Byrd covers.

ONE!

TWO!

…………

…………….

……………….

Youngblood kicks out again. Byrd pops to his feet, raises his arm, and rotates his wrist.

Nick Stuart: Uh oh, Richard. I think I know what this means.

Richard Parker: Last call at the roadhouse?

Nick Stuart: …in a way, you could describe it as such.

Byrd waits for Youngblood to get to his feet, and he does, slowly. Byrd beckons for him to turn around, and as he does, he charges in…

Nick Stuart: TEXAS LARIAT…

Richard Parker: …NO!

The Tower ducks, and the Behemoth runs chest first into the ropes. Using the momentum to his advantage, Youngblood grabs him quick and drops him on his head and neck with a HUGE German suplex, all impact, no bridge. He pops up and catches a staggered Byrd with a half-hatch suplex that he floats over into a pin…

ONE!

TWO!

…..

……………..

But Byrd kicks out.

Youngblood wastes NO time, wrangling Byrd into the calf killer.

Nick Stuart: Youngblood taking the leg out from the Monster from Plainview!

Richard Parker: Usually it’s Byrd who’s killing calves!

Youngblood wrenches back like a man possessed, squeezing back, as Byrd’s eyes grow wide and his mouth agape. Squirming and inching to the ropes, the Cowboy Colossus is struggling with each moment in the hold.

Nick Stuart: I’m not sure Byrd is the submitting type here! But he might save the rest of his career if he does.

Richard Parker: Please, if his IQ were cash, it wouldn’t be able to buy you a bean burrito at Taco Bell.

One last gasp and Byrd…

…

……..

…reaches the ropes! Again, Youngblood takes his time breaking the hold, but he doesn’t exhaust the five count. He shakes his head and gets back into fighting stance, waiting for Byrd to hobble to his feet. He does and slides in for a dropstep.

Nick Stuart: German suplex? Or maybe a Bloodplex?

Youngblood lifts Byrd up, twisting around like he’s going for the Bloodplex, but mid air, Byrd breaks the clasp on Youngblood’s hands. The Colossus drops to the canvas and rolls away while Youngblood in his shock looks on. Byrd takes the opportunity to charge in for another shot at the Texas Lariat, but..

Nick Stuart: YOUNGBLOOD DUCKS!

Richard Parker: HOLY CRAAAA…

Nick Stuart: I don’t know how Youngblood is so agile this far into the match! HE just picked the ankle in one fluid motion!

The Diamond locks Byrd into a heel hook. The Cowboy Colossus SCREAMS out in pain, shooting his arms out to try and flail to the ropes. Youngblood wrenches back, but Byrd doesn’t tap. He swings his arm to the ropes…

….

……………..

………………………………

…………………………………………………

…and he hooks it in. Youngblood is shocked.

Nick Stuart: In all that bang-bang action, Youngblood couldn’t position him in the middle of the ring! But that heel hook looked brutal!

Both men have sweat dripping off them. Youngblood slams the mat in frustration as he gets up, while Byrd favors his leg while he rises. Youngblood lunges for him, but the Colossus out of pure instinct moves out of the way. Youngblood turns around and walks right into a giant right haymaker. The Colossus shakes out the cobwebs and then bounces back.

Richard Parker: Oh no.

Nick Stuart: …TEXAS LARIAT! HE GOT ALL OF IT!

Byrd covers…

ONE!

TWO!

……………

………………………..

………………………………….

……………………………………………….

THREE!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Your winner, CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAY BYRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRD!!

Nick Stuart: What a hard-fought match, but it ends the same way it did at PWA-1. Clay Byrd victorious.

Richard Parker: I still want him tested for brisket or whatever other performance enhancing meats they have there.

Both men are spent on the canvas. Byrd rises to his feet first, holding his leg momentarily, still feeling the effects of the heel hook. Youngblood rises more slowly, frustration on his face. He shakes his head and then looks over to the Cowboy Colossus.

Nick Stuart: I wonder what’s going through the Diamond’s head here?

We soon find out. He goes over to Byrd with a stern look on his face. He tilts his neck to look up at the Behemoth and pauses for a beat before…

…extending his hand.

Nick Stuart: Now there’s a true competitor!

Richard Parker: But will that hayseed accept?

Byrd pauses for a second before accepting.

RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

Youngblood raises Byrd’s hand as both men are sucking air.

The camera cuts from the ring where Clay Byrd and Brandon Youngblood waged war to backstage. A quiet hallway focused on a single locker room door with a placard that reads one name:

Jason Snow.

RAAAAHHHHHH!!!

Heavy footfalls are heard from stage right, but no one seems to be coming onto the screen. It’s almost as if that person is pacing. There are steps, but they stop and restart. Finally…

Voice: Fuck it.

Onto the screen steps The Anglo Luchador.

RRRRRAAAHHHHHH!!!

Richard Parker: There he is! He’s come to finish the job!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think pacing and stammering are signs of a guilty party.

The Luchador raises his fist to knock on the locker room door until something… someone, more accurately, catches his attention. The camera swivels to find coming in from stage left someone else dressed exactly like The Anglo Luchador, only a little taller, a little stockier.

The Luchador’s eyes grow wide. His fist turns into a pointing hand that he aims directly at his doppelganger.

TAL: YOU!

“DOPPELGANGER TAL:” Oh shit…I mean…Finally!  Here we are!  Face to face! Hermano y Hermano.  Put that finger away!  You’re liable to poke someone’s eye out with that thing.

The TAL Doppelganger waves off TAL’s hand and dramatically turns away before spinning back towards him again.

“DOPPELGANGER TAL”: It’s like looking into a mirror, ain’t it?  What? You don’t recognize me? How could you? You probably didn’t even know I existed.  Well, surprise! It is I….your long lost twin brother….The Spanglo Luchadore!!!

The “Spanglo Luchadore” lets the reveal hang in the air for a moment, allowing the news to sink in.

“DOPPELGANGER TAL”: Your mommy and daddy didn’t tell you, did they? Well, I got the full story.  Real National Enquirer type to stuff here.  It was until recently that I discovered our shared genetical pool.  My whole identity was shaken to its core.  Your parents, TAL, they had TWINS!  One they kept, the ugly one, probably out of pity, and raised him in a loving, stable home, that would be you, and the other? Well, the other one, also known as ME, they just threw away into a pee filled toilet in a New Jersey Turnpike public restroom.  They didn’t even have the decency to flush before tossing me in there!  Luckily, a member of the cleaning staff took pity on me, took me in, started to raise me until, six months later, she was murdered by a man who had only four fingers…..and a thumb!  They never caught that man. So, I was placed in a foster home headed by swingers.  Until I was eight, I thought fish bowls were for car keys.  During their “parties”, they would crank up the music to try and hide their freaky sexcapades. I can’t listen to KC and the Sunshine Band or see an upside down pineapple without getting all traumatized and shit. At some point someone squealed and I was moved to another foster family, they were nice, they didn’t even let me know about the dogfighting ring in the—-

Steam begins billowing out of the Luchador’s nose.

TAL: Shut the fuck up.

The Doppel-dor gulps before clearing his throat.

TAL: I’m going to give you a three-second head start.

“DOPPELGANGER TAL”: Or is it I, who’s giving you a three second head start?

The Doppelganger mimics an explosion from his mind.

“DOPPELGANGER TAL”: Did that trippy shit just blow your fucking mind?

TAL: No, but my fist is going to blow yours all on the floor here

“DOPPELGANGER TAL”: Fine, brother.  But this shit between us?  You ain’t heard the last of THE SPANGLO LUCHADORE!!!!

TAL: One.  T—

On one and half the Doppelganger slowly backs away and then runs. The Luchador sighs and shakes his head.

TAL: At least we got that on camera.

He turns towards the door and goes to knock, but his holds his fist back from the surface at the last possible second.

TAL: On second thought, let him be mad. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

He walks off. We cut elsewhere.

We cut to Rob Williams backstage sitting in a bathtub. Yes, the arena has bathtubs, don’t you know anything about the Portuguese? It’s a well-known fact that they love their baths. Every large stadium in Portugal (they have more than you’d think) is outfitted with bathtubs. Anyways, here sits Rob in a bubble bath, a cigarette that’s three-quarters ash dangling loosely from his pursed lips. In one hand he has a bottle of Nyquil and in the other, he’s holding the promotional flyer for Tropical Turmoil. Through a single, squinted eye he stares intensely at the picture for the upcoming match.

STRONK VS. DON WINTERS (C)

Rob Williams: That should’ve fucking been me.

Ash drops on Rob’s chest, to which he mumbles something completely unremarkable. There is definitely more than Nyquil in this bottle.

On the ledge of the bathtub is a toaster. It sits there ominously, looming mere inches from the water.

Rob looks into the great beyond, addressing… nobody?

Rob Williams: Fucking hell, man. I’ve fallen off scaffolds and been blown up and shot meth in my neck. I mean, my god, I’m drinking fucking Nyquil, cause you know, sober.

So there isn’t anything else in the Nyquil?

Rob Williams: All this shit and you’re going to take me with a fucking tumor? What a goddamn joke.

The flyer floats into the bathtub water.

Rob Williams: A god damned joke.

Suddenly a loud pop emits from the toaster. S’mores pop tarts, Robs favorite. Phew. What a relief he wasn’t trying to kill himself backstage at a PPV. He chugs the last of the NyQuil and tosses it out of the tub before grabbing a pop tart.

Rob Williams: Oh well, we had a good run. I’ll see about you (finger guns to the ceiling) after I finish these sweet, sweet pastries.

His attention has moved from the great wide open to a noose hanging from the rafters above.

Rob Williams: [mouth full of pop tart] How thin the veil of order in our world is. We can’t print more money because it will devalue the dollar. We have to have laws to keep people from running a mock. We have to be at work at a time. Time. It’s all a fugazi. It’s all so poorly held together and for who? For what? What the fuck says we have to do all of this? We decide to prop up this world. We’re told if we don’t pay our taxes and file our timesheets that it will all devolve into chaos.

Rob laughs, projecting pop tart through the air.

Rob Williams: Chaos? God is chaos and we were made in her image. I came into this world violently and I intend to go out the same.

Water drips from a naked, but censored, Rob Williams as his climbs from the tub. Ever so carefully he climbs the chair he has positioned next to the noose and slips his head through.

Rob Williams: No more alarms.

Sean O’Neill appears from off screen and walks through the room. Rob’s eyes follow him. O’Neill looks around, somehow completely missing Rob and the pop tart crumbs or the noose, but he does a quick double take as his eyeliner passes over the screen before leaving.

Boy, if that isn’t a perfect commentary.

Rob tries to push the chair, but gives a bit too much and slips from the noose, knocking the toaster into the tub. He chokes on the last bit of pop tart in his mouth. Instantly his gag reflexes take over and the contents of his stomach empty into the tub. He vomits to that point where there is nothing left and it’s just painful dry heaves.

Completely exhausted and likely really fucked up, Rob sits on the cold cement floor, soaking wet and wearing his own favorite pastry. Assessing the chaos surrounding him, Rob begins to laugh.

Rob Williams: Ah, jesus fuck me. Can’t even do this right. I should’ve been a cowboy.

From the dark corners of the room comes a whisper.

The Father: You’re right, Robert. Chaos is the natural order of things. You need to restore order.

Rob Williams: At this point I don’t even know if you’re fucking real, man.

The Father: What is real? What does it matter? You know I am right.

Rob crawls on his hands and knees to his cigarettes, plucking one from the pack and biting onto it. The spark on his Zippo’s flint flickers a few times before it takes. Likely due to all the humidity,

Rob Williams: So what? I’m a fucking dead man walking.

The Father: So let’s cause a little chaos before the sun sets.

A chuckle escapes Rob’s lips with little plumes of smoke following it as he pulls himself up. Once again he looks in the mirror. Whose reflection does he see?

It doesn’t matter.

Rob Williams: Burn the fucking ships.

Cut to ringside.

Nick Stuart: Only two matches left for this evening. Still to come, FLAMBERGE verses Nate Colton but up next what may prove to be Five Star Champion most difficult challenge.

Richard Parker: I’m not the type to doubt the Revelator but STRONK Godson is a gargantuan hunk of PRIME Beef.

Nick Stuart: Gargantuan indeed. Big word for you, Richard, I’m impressed.

Richard Parker: Thanks, Stuart, I found it on the internet.

“PRIME MEAT” BEAST OF THE DEEP” by Drilly Nelson cranks out over the speakers in the Estádio da Luz. The people rise to see the seemingly impossible, the Beast from the Deep himself, STRONK Godson.

The lights flicker and flash in beat with the music as the STRONKEST MAN ALIVE lumbers out through the entrance tunnel like some Chthonic entity summoned from the dreamless abyss. As he stomps his way into the light the crowd comes alive.

Nick Stuart: Have you ever seen anything like STRONK Godson?

Richard Parker: I have never, in my life, seen anything like STRONK Daddy. My sources tell me that STRONK’s skin is so thick and impenetrable, mosquitoes die on contact. They tell me his bones are so dense they qualify as lead and can’t be scanned with an MRI. Nick, they tell me his jaw is so powerful they’ve been debating renaming the Jaws of Life the Jaws of STRONK Godson.

Slinking between the flashing lights in the shadow of STRONK Godson is his manager, Lowell Dot Com. While STRONK is the image of physical power, Lowell is a thin, anemic looking man with a jittery, nervous demeanor. Sweat can clearly be seen glistening across his pale skin as he aggressively chews a wad of gum. He’s holding a very, very soft towel that was once white but is now stained yellow brown with his sweat.

STRONK Daddy reaches the ring and examines it the same way a young puppy might examine a new gate. He turns, staring down at Lowell before returning his attention to the ring with a determined expression.

Lowell seems to be giving his brutish “client” a few parting words before directing him into the ring. STRONK obliges, reaching with a massive arm to grip the ropes firmly. Defying the laws of logic, the Godson, pulls himself straight up onto the ring apron. No hops, no jumping, no bending of the knees. He’s just managed to straight pull his body up.

Even Vince Howard is shocked by the sight of it. He stares at STRONK as the Godson planks over the top rope. Again, it doesn’t really make sense, it’s like a bad edit where STRONK has been copy and pasted over the top rope. But he did it. It just happened. Howard manages to pick his jaw up off the ground as Lowell slithers into the ring, wide eyed and awkwardly rubbing his chest.

Vince Howard: The Challenger – weighing in at 307.1 pounds. Hailing from the wilds of Minnesota, allegedly, he is the STRONKest Man Alive, the Beast from the Deep, the Human Brick Shit House.. STROOOOONK GOOOOOOODSOOOOON!

The crowd cheers the human block of muscle as he poses in the ring with so much power, the first five rows ear drums pop. Lowell staggers around the ring, using the ropes to steady himself.

Nick Stuart: STRONK looks ready for a fight but I’m not sure about his manager.

Richard Parker: Lowell? He’s fine, he’s probably just suffering from the results of his Lisbon coffee. Tore me up earlier today so I empathize with the man.

Nick Stuart: Well if it’s the results of coffee, I wager he put something else in it.

Richard Parker: Just cause he looks like a strung out meth addict don’t be so judgemental, Stuart! Lowell is a legend in this business!

Nick Stuart: …is he?

Richard Parker: He paid me a 40% off Coupon to Sizzler to say that.

The Estádio de Luz falls into darkness, and several thousand cell phones immediately shoot into the air, giving the massive stadium some semblance of light in little rectangular packages. A spotlight shines down on four church members who begin signing the hymnal “Quão Grande és Tu.” The crowd begins singing along, waving their phones rhythmically back and forth, swaying to the sound.

The video screen becomes backlit and a series of words come up one by one:

ESTÁDIO

DE

SUA

PALAVRA

E

LUZ

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

The choir quiets as the lights shift. Crimson and white strobes pulse through the stadium as the sound system kicks into Primal Scream’s legendary “Movin’ On Up.” Another loud cheer goes through the crowd as they sing along to the first verse.

I was blind, but now I see
You made a believer out of me
I was blind, but now I see
You made a believer out of me

The video screen shows multiple words once again as the song continues playing, working its way to the big chorus.

THE FALLEN ANGEL
PRESTER DON
THE REVELATOR
FATHER
FIVE
STAR

Images of the Five Star champion flash across the screen. Delivering the Absolution to Crash Jackson, the Canonized to Anna Daniels and Hallelujah to Rob Williams on top of the cross at War Games. It finishes with him standing above Williams, holding the title high.

I’m movin’ on up now
Gettin’ out of the darkness
My light shines on, my light shines on
My light shines on

As the camera cuts away from the video screen and to a wider shot of the arena, the lights dim again and a single spotlight is trained on the entrance. Don Winters stands there with the belt strapped around his midsection, dressed resplendent in a white suit, crimson shirt and roman collar. His arms are spread wide in the crucifix position and the crowd is already chanting.

FATHER FIVE STAR! (clapclap clapclapclap) FATHER FIVE STAR!

Vince Howard: AND HIS OPPONENT – WEIGHING IN AT TWO-HUNDRED FIFTY-FOUR POUNDS. HAILING FROM DETROIT, MICHIGAN, HE IS THE REIGNING AND DEFENDING PRIME FIVE STAR CHAMPION – THE REVELATOR DOOOOOOOOOOOOON WIIIIIIIIIIIINTERRRRRRRRS!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

I was lost, now I’m found
I believe in you, I’ve got no bounds
I was lost, now I’m found
I believe in you, I’ve got no bounds

The Five Star champion slowly takes his time walking down the aisle, making sure to give high fives and hand slaps to fans along the way while never once breaking his gaze on STRONK Godson who stands in the ring muscular, vascular and missing about an inch of hair somewhere on his head.

I was lost, now I’m found
I believe in you, I’ve got no bounds
I was lost, now I’m found
I believe in you, I’ve got no bounds

Winters climbs the ring steps and effortlessly vaults the top rope. He moves to the center of the ring and stomps, claps and throws his arms out in the crucifix once more, eliciting more cheers and chants as white and crimson pyrotechnics erupt from the corner posts. From there he unstraps the Five Star title belt from his waist and hands it over to referee Ashley Barlow, who is refereeing her third straight match with Winters as champion.

The Revelator returns to his corner and begins to slowly undress, first the suit jacket comes off, followed by unbuttoning the cuffs of his undershirt. Lowell is heard at ringside making slight protestations, and as he does, Winters begins buttoning his cuffs again.

After both Lowell and the referee complain, Winters removes the dress shirt, and rips the pants away in a flourish. He trains his eye on STRONK, waiting for the bell.

Ashley Barlow calls for the bell as the Five Star Title Match begins!

DING DING

Don Winters moves to the center of the ring, his eyes trained on STRONK with a broad, welcoming smile on his face. He waves the STRONK Daddy toward him, beckoning him toward the center of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Is Don Winters challenging STRONK Godson, notorious for his near mythic level of strength, to a test of strength?

Richard Parker: My sources have told me that there is no strength in our mortal world that can match the power of faith, Stuart.

Nick Stuart: Did he pay you to say that?

Richard Parker: No, I just thought it sounded poetic.

STRONK is only too happy to oblige, stepping toe to toe with the Revelator as he looks up into the Five Star Champion’s face. Don lifts both of his hands above his head and smiles even more broadly as confidence born from his God given right to be Five Star Champion pours out of Winters.

Nick Stuart: While Don has the height advantage here by about four inches, Godson has a fifty pound advantage.

Richard Parker: And don’t forget.. Oh what’s his name again? You know, the wormy guy on the outside?

Nick Stuart: Lowell Dot Com? Is that who you’re referring to?

Richard Parker: Yeah! That guy!

Godson looks at both hands and shrugs, interlocking his fingers with Winters. Don immediately flexes and twists his arms trying to apply pressure to STRONK but the Human Brick Shit House’s arms do not move. The fingers do not relent. Godson cocks his head to the side as he stares in confusion at Winters who might as well be trying to bend steel rebar.

Nick Stuart: Uh oh. Looks like our Five Star Champion is having a bit of trouble with STRONK.

Richard Parker: Kick him in the dick! That’s viable advice for either man.

Growing frustrated, Don calls for a time out. Godson releases his grip on his hands. Don takes a step back re-evaluating the situation. Shaking out his hands, Don is encouraged by the Lisbon faithful to once again lock up with the Beast from the Deep.

Nick Stuart: Well it’s not every day you actually see the time out request honored.

Richard Parker: Nobody ever claimed that STRONK Godson was a smart man. When you’re as strong as God’s Brick Shit House, you don’t need to be smart, Stuart.

Don shoots Lowell a pointed look, unfortunately Dot Com is currently staring, unblinking, at the ring post with a horrified look on his face. The sweat stained towel hangs out of his mouth.

Nick Stuart: Do you ever get the impression that Lowell might be on drugs?

Richard Parker: Shush! Don’t start ugly rumors about your co-workers!

Shaking his head Don turns back toward STRONK who is waiting patiently with his hands still in the air for Winters to return. Winters quickly slaps both sides of his chest before looking his fingers up with STRONK again.

Nick Stuart: I’m just saying does Lowell look.. Off to you?

Richard Parker: He’s fine, I’ve definitely seen him way worse.

The Five Star Champion continues to struggle against the Godson however after some very aggressive pumping of his legs it seems Don is actually managing to push his opponent’s arms down! Even STRONK has a look of surprise and confusion as the Revelator manages to bring his arms to his waist. Winters finishes by twisting STRONK’s wrists, applying pressure all the way up Godson’s arms! The sensation adds further confusion to Godson, his brow furrowing as he cocks his head to the side.

Richard Parker: Holy shit he’s doing it..

Nick Stuart: I wouldn’t have believed it if someone told me but it looks like Don Winters is actually getting the better of STRONK Godson!

The crowd is behind Don. They’re cheering him, they’re losing their minds over this epic show of strength from Don Winters, the Five Star Champion, the Revelator, Prester Don, the Fallen Angel. People are on their feet, truly, TRULY God has blessed this humble Father Don. The cheering continues even as Don’s face drains of color. People start to take notice, however, when his face drains pale white.

Nick Stuart: Wait.. wait I think something is happening.

Richard Parker: Yep. And unless Don suddenly realized he needs to take the Browns to the Super Bowl, I think the answer is STRONK Godson.

Though he’s doing his best to hide it, pain is clearly coursing through his body. His legs start to shake as his knees begin to buckle. Where once a confident smile was proudly displayed there now was a clenching grimace. On the outside Lowell seems to snap from his day terrors and begins to slap the ring apron. Though he appears to hurt his hand more than generate any real noise.

Nick Stuart: Lowell seems like kind of a creep, I’m not going to lie.

Richard Parker: He’s not a creep, he’s a caring and thoughtful friend, manager and mentor to STRONK Godson! It’s probably just the allergies here in Lisbon, I hear Portugal can produce drug like side effects if you stay here too long!

Nick Stuart: ..okay, whatever you say.

STRONK Godson, the challenger for the Five Star Championship and Beast of the Deep, corrects the posture of his neck and tightens his interwoven fingers. Don’s fingers go from white to purple as Godson locks the Revelator’s arms. The crowd’s support for Don bottoms out as they watch in awe of the PRIME Beef’s power. Forced up on the tips of his feet, Don knows what is coming and is quietly pleading with STRONK not to.

Unfortunately for Don, he’s already used up a small amount of compassion STRONK had for priests with his earlier request for a time out. Instead STRONK offers an apology and hoists the Five Star Champion into the air using both of his locked in hands. Don can’t hold it in anymore and releases an agonized scream.

Nick Stuart: The display of power!

Richard Parker: He’s gonna blow out Don Winter’s shoulder blades holding him up there like that!

Nick Stuart: How much you want to bed Don is regretting his decision to challenge STRONK to the test of strength?!

OOOOOOOOOoooooooooo..eeeeeeeee!

It’s the noise of the crowd reacting in mixed horror and excitement. Don is left to hang out in the air for about five seconds before STRONK releases the grip, dropping Winters across his shoulders!

Nick Stuart: Could we see it already!? The Squat Rack Breaker?!

The Five Star Champion recognizes the danger he is in and immediately wiggles off the STRONKest man alive’s wide shoulders. He quickly dashes to the ropes, driving into them to gain additional momentum before flying at the Godson. Moving with surprising speed, STRONK spins on his heel though he doesn’t cover up. Instead Don runs full force into STRONK, driving his shoulder into his challenger’s chest.

Richard Parker: Normally those shoulder blocks would take down lesser men but STRONK Godson is a cut above the rest, physically I mean.

Nick Stuart: Don is going to probably have to change his game plan up here because I don’t think he’s going to be able to match power with power.

STRONK is unmoved by the collision, leaving Don to once again give Lowell an intensely accusatory glare. STRONK pounds his own chest and challenges the Five Star Champion to try again. Winters obliges building even more momentum with the ropes before he crashes into the Human Brick Shit House..

Nick Stuart: Once again no effect!

Richard Parker: Pray harder, Daddy Don!

LETS GO WINTERS, WE WANT STRONK chants break out but you know, in Portuguese.

Despite a shoulder block that would easily take down most competitors in PRIME, STRONK Godson remains unmoved. He smiles at Don, or at least it looks like he might be smiling beneath that massive beard. A look of flustered frustration momentarily flashes on Winter’s face before he takes a breath. He smiles at STRONK and nods, flashing a thumbs up at the Godson before taking back to the ropes.

Instead of a shoulder block, Don comes in with a low dropkick hitting STRONK’s left knee cap! Godson staggers back, his eyes wide with surprise. Don doesn’t stop there as he’s back up to his feet.

CRACK!

He connects flesh on flesh with a knife edge chop. It’s hard to tell if it hurts STRONK but it does force him back another step.

CRACK!

Another chop from Don striking with experienced precision where the previous had landed. This forces Godson into the ropes causing referee Ashley Barlow to step in between the two. Don smiles and bows, his hands held up while stepping away from STRONK.

Nick Stuart: Don Winters bringing in the heavy lumber as he cuts STRONK back into the ropes!

Richard Parker: PRIME has a lot of strikers but when it comes to chops, there are few, pound for pound, who hit harder.

Sadly STRONK isn’t feeling quite as adhering to good sportsmanship as dear daddy Don. Shoving past Barlow, STRONK smashes through Don Winters with a savage clothesline! This act is met with boos from the crowd though Godson doesn’t seem to notice or care.

Nick Stuart: The fans don’t agree with STRONKS actions here.

Richard Parker: So what? What’s more important, winning or having the fans at your back?

Nick Stuart: Some might argue having the fans at your back helps you win.

Richard Parker: Idiots might argue that, absolutely.

Don crashes to the ground as STRONK reaches down and grabs Don by his hair. He hoists the Five Star Champion to his feet before flattening him with another monstrous clothesline. Lowell seems to be screaming something from ringside but it sounds mostly like a made up language.

STRONK hooks Don’s leg as Barlow quickly drops to count!

One!

Kickout!

Nick Stuart: STRONK Godson picks up the first pinfall attempt drawing first blood on the Five Star Champion!

Richard Parker: Yeah well it’s not the first pinfall attempt that matters, it’s the last one that does. STRONK’s gonna have to do better than a one count to win this thing.

Don quickly throws his shoulder up before firing a few elbows to the side of the Godson’s head. It’s enough to push the thicc boi away allowing Winters to scramble out of his reach. STRONK shakes off the elbows and stands back up stiffly, as though he were more machine than man.

Nick Stuart: The wily veteran, Don is quick to lay on some quick offensive to buy himself some breathing room.

Richard Parker: I wonder what hurts more, Godson’s head or Winters’ elbow?

Winters gives Lowell one last disgusted glare before taking in a deep breath, his focus back on the 5’9’’ living tank standing across the ring from him. Realizing his plan had failed, either due to a mistake on his part or more likely, a failing by Lowell, the Revelator re-evaluates the situation. He’s cheered on by the crowd who are still mostly on his side in this contest.

The Five Star Champion moves toward STRONK once again, both men slowly circling in the center of the ring. Godson is the first to make a move, swinging both of his arms forward to try and grapple Don. He catches air as Winters quickly dips beneath his arms and slips behind the Beast from the Deep, securing his arms around STRONK’s waist.

Nick Stuart: Winters using his technical knowledge to try and out wrestle STRONK.

Richard Parker: How do you out wrestle a man who’s so strong he can fold time and space with his hands?

Spreading his legs and dropping his center of gravity down, STRONK is able to block Don’s suplex attempt. Winters doesn’t give up, however, driving his knee into Godson’s oblique. The STRONKest Man Alive grunts in discomfort as he grabs both of Don’s wrists with his hands. Using his superior power he rips Don’s hands apart before pulling the Five Star Champion over his shoulder in a kind of improved Judo throw.

Nick Stuart: The Five Star Champion might have just made a lethal mistake, Parker!

Richard Parker: Getting within arms reach of STRONK Godson is a lethal mistake, Stuart.

Don hits the mat but rolls up to his feet, moving to the ropes before flying back at STRONK!, jumping and connecting with a Spinning Heel Kick!

Once again STRONK’s superior power works to his favor as he absorbs the kick and quickly captures Winter’s leg and upper torso. Swinging Don like a small child he repositions him into a powerbomb position! In desperation Don begins to fire fists onto the top of STRONK’s head however it is all in vain.

Nick Stuart: What started as an attack by Don Winters as turned into a powerbomb by big King Stallion!

Richard Parker: What did I say earlier? You can’t out wrestle a man as powerful as STRONK Godson!

STRONK smashes the body of Don Winter’s down in the center of the ring with thunderous force. The Five Star Champion looks a bit like a ragdoll, his body going limp as he bounces slightly from the impact. Referee Ashley Barlow nearly loses her balance as the ring shakes violently.

STRONK covers.

One!

Two!

Kickout!

Nick Stuart: Another kick out by Winters! If you’re keeping score at home folks, that’s two pinfall attempts by STRONK and none by the Five Star Champion.

Richard Parker: This is not looking very New Testament for Father Don, Parker. Right now things are looking very Old Testament, very biblical in the bad way.

It’s just a two count but the look on Don’s face tells the story of a man in great pain. On the outside Lowell appears stressed as he watches STRONK slowly destroying Winters. He’s taken to sitting on the ring steps, his head resting on the side of the apron.

Yanking Don up by his tights, Godson hoists the Revelator above his head before dropping him back down to the canvas with a Gorilla Press Slam! Once again Winters finds himself on his back staring up at the lights. Big King Stallion moves as fast as his body will allow him into the ropes and then proceeds to casually walk over Don Winters. The first foot descends onto Don’s hip. The second footfall finds a new home in the Revelator’s gut. The third and final devastating step crashes down across Winter’s chest.

Richard Parker: HE’S DONE A STOAUH SQUISH!

Nick Stuart: Thank you, Richard, I had no idea how to pronounce that.

Once he has cleared Don he turns and once again drops for a pinfall attempt.

One!

Two!

Thre-KICKOUT!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: This place is coming unglued! The fans are practically leaping out of their seats right now!

Richard Parker: I know! It’s really annoying!

The fans in Lisbon are on their feet as Don Winters manages to roll his shoulder up before Ashley Barlow can slap the mat a third time. Lowell slithers up the ring steps and hangs on the ropes, his head dipping in as he tries to muster the strength to argue the speed of the count. Still, it’s enough to grab Barlow’s attention as she marches over and demands he get down off the apron. Barlow’s approach seems to suddenly put Dot Com in retreat as he recoils back down the steps.

Nick Stuart: Somebody get that creep out of here!

STRONK grabs Don by the scruff of his neck, hoisting him up to his feet before placing his hands on either side of the Five Star Champions head.

Richard Parker: Nick! Quick! How long do you think it will take STRONK to pop Don’s head like a pimple?!

Nick Stuart: Don’t be gross, Parker! STRONK wouldn’t do that… would he?

Richard Parker: It’s literally in his wrestler profile on the PRIME website, Nick. Ever seen a hippopotamus eat watermelon?

Feeling the pressure, Winters’ eyes go wide as he realizes the danger he finds himself in. He grabs both of STRONK’s hands but it’s like trying to pry apart two hydraulic clamps. Don’s face starts to turn red as the Belgian Blue in the shape of a human continues to turn up the pressure.

Richard Parker: It’s happening! He’s gonna do a Kingpin!

Nick Stuart: He wouldn’t! He couldn’t! Ashley Barlow would stop it before it came to that!

Don’s eyes begin to flutter as the fight is slowly being squeezed out of him. Barlow checks to see if he wants to submit but the Five Star Champion refuses.

Nick Stuart: Don’s fading with all that pressure crushing his skull, cutting off blood flow to his brain!

Richard Parker: I bet Winters can hear his skull cracking over the roar of the crowd! What a way to go!

All the fighting spirit in the world can’t help you if you are having a stroke. Not a fun stroke, a Ron Paul style stroke. That’s what Don Winters is potentially about to experience, unless STRONK literally crushes his head on live TV.

Nick Stuart: PRIME is never going to be able to come back to Portugal if STRONK murders a man in the middle of the ring, Parker!

Richard Parker: Don’t tell me that, plead your case to Ashley Barlow! Tell her to stop the match!

Fading, Don Winters’ goes limp in the vice grip of STRONK Godson. Ashley Barlow raises his arm as the crowd in Lisbon hold their breath.

ONE!

The arm falls and the entire crowd calls it out.

TWO!

Lisbon joins Ashley on the call. Some sound excited, others fearful.

THREE!

NO!

Richard Parker: HOW!?

Nick Stuart: I’ll tell you how, FIGHTING SPIRIT, Richard! You can’t quantify Fighting Spirit, Parker, you can’t measure it in pounds or pints of blood! It’s a man’s soul refusing to give in!

Richard Parker: Okay, calm down Socrates.

Before the Five Star Champion’s arm can drop below the elbow it stops. Don’s eyes flash open as a new look of determination fills his nearly purple face. The shaking starts in his feet, moving up to his knees and then up to his torso. Struggling with all his might, Winters’ arms begin to shake however this time, instead of trying to pry those damned STRONK hands away he reaches up, grabbing the back of STRONK’s head. Confusion floods the Godson’s face just before Winter’s smashes the back of his head into his nose. In turn STRONK releases Don’s head.

Nick Stuart: He’s broken free!

Richard Parker: And just like that the Five Star Champion is back in this fight!

Pawing at his face, Godson shuffles back. He blinks, eyes crossing as he tries to look at the place on his face where the Priest Man had just smashed his head. As STRONK tries to figure out what just happened, Don drags himself toward the corner coping with the surge of blood flooding back into his head.

Satisfied that he wasn’t actually feeling pain but more of a sinus issue, STRONK returns his attention to where he left Don. Only he’s not there anymore. His brow furrowed, the Beast from the Deep begins to scan the ring for the Priest Man, locating him in the corner. Seeing his opponent in a weakened state STRONK charges forward looking to send a kick right into the back of Winter’s head.

Rolling out of the way, Don just barely misses having his head crushed into the turnbuckle. Instead STRONK plants his left foot firmly into the middle turnbuckle. The Five Star Champion sends a stiff kick into the inside of the Godson’s thigh before dropping an elbow across the left knee!

Nick Stuart: Don is chipping away at STRONK’s left leg!

Richard Parker: He spent the first portion of this match dicking around trying to over power STRONK Godson, now he’s got to adapt to something that might actually work. But is it already too late? He’s taken a hell of a beating so far.

The Beast from the Deep staggers back, favoring his left leg as he starts to feel something uncommon in this, his adult life. He doesn’t have time to think about it though as the champion charges forward. Don feigns a high velocity lariat causing STRONK to hold his chest out to catch the arm. This leaves King Stallion once again surprised when Don drops into a shoulder block to his left shin and knee.

Nick Stuart: People can sometimes get caught up in Don’s charisma and forget he’s one of the most experienced, technically savvy veterans on the roster.

Richard Parker: He wouldn’t have become Five Star Champion without it. But STRONK Godson is beyond Earthly strength, Stuart. It might be beyond Don’s experience.

Nick Stuart: It could be. It could very well be.

Godson’s left leg is taken out from beneath him however he is able to hobble on one leg. Something like pain flares up in his left leg but he brushes it off. His brain commands his left leg back to the ground and it dutifully agrees. This order, however well intended, results in only suffering for STRONK Godson as Don returns with a Sliding Lariat to that left knee.

Nick Stuart: Timber!

Richard Parker: Unbelievable! I just can’t believe it!

This time STRONK lets out a loud, guttural roar, one of both pain but also complete and utter outrage that this could happen. Not the knee part, that pain passes, instead the world has decided to turn on STRONK. It’s rapidly changing from a vertical view to a horizontal view as gravity shifts from being beneath his feet to somehow being behind him. And somehow the lights are in front of him.

Nick Stuart: He got STRONK Godson down! He managed to cut the big man down! Can he capitalize?!

Richard Parker: Where the hell is Lowell!? This can’t be happening!

A small proverbial chink in the armor has opened up in STRONK Godson and Don Winters’ is experienced enough to see it. Slick with sweat and with Godson’s handprints on either side of his face, Don’s looking worn down but no less determined as he grabs the left leg of the challenger, kicking aggressively at the back of Godson’s leg.

Nick Stuart: For Don Winters the entire world has just become that left leg of STRONK Godson.

Richard Parker: A one legged Godson is still at least twice as dangerous as the average three legged person!

Nick Stuart: That’s tr-.. Wait what?

While it might be a small weakness, STRONK’s left leg is not weak. With incredible power he kicks Winters into the nearby corner with enough force to rattle the buckles. As he climbs back up to his feet Don launches himself forward hitting a High Running Knee Strike across the Beast from the Deep’s jaw!

Nick Stuart: The Gospel! Don Winters hit right on target!

Richard Parker: WHERE IS LOWELL?!

Both men collapse but it’s Don who is quick to hook his opponent’s leg as Barlow drops into pinning position!

ONE!

T-

STRONK Godson doesn’t just kick out. He fully pushes Don up off his chest and back up into a standing position. He quickly snatches that left leg of STRONK and flips his body over applying a Half Crab!

Nick Stuart: He’s got the Half Crab cinched in deep! I can’t believe he’s got the Beast from the Deep trapped in a Half Crab!

Richard Parker: There is some sick irony to this!

Don adjusts his arms and wrenches that left leg of STRONK with every ounce of his being. Godson’s face once again appears confused as he finds himself in yet a new position and that annoying feeling spreading like lightning up and down his left leg. He tries to simply power out of the situation he is in but miraculously it doesn’t work. He tries yet again and still Don Winters stubbornly holds onto the leg.

Nick Stuart: Don refuses to yield! He’s somehow figured out a way past STRONK’s incredible strength and is keeping him locked in the half crab!

Richard Parker: This is.. This is unbelievable! Oh Christ, the people down in Wintersport are going to be yacking about this for the next ten years!

The annoying feeling is starting to become something more. The lightning seems to be catching different parts of his leg on fire. Not quite an itch, something more. STRONK wrestles with these feelings as Don screams for Barlow to check if Godson wants to give up.

The crowd in Lisbon is on the edge of their seats. Some are chanting for Winters, a larger and you’d expect group is screaming for STRONK to break free. Lowell is staring into the ring with tears in his eyes and a worried expression, his pupils wide as dish plates as he chews on his stained sweat rag.

Richard Parker: There’s that little freak! Where the hell have you been!

Nick Stuart: Someone really needs to get that creep away from the ring, he looks like he’s about to throw up..

Realizing that he can not break the hold despite his best efforts STRONK looks toward the ropes and grits his teeth. Then, with terrifying power, he lifts his body with his hands, including Don on his back, and begins to make his way toward the ropes.

Nick Stuart: STRONK once again showing his pure power as he’s crawling toward the ropes while supporting Don Winter’s weight!

Richard Parker: Looks like strength CAN get you out of just about any situation.

And he does it. STRONK grabs the ropes causing Ashley Barlow to begin the five count. Winters immediately breaks the hold, sweat dripping from his body due to the amount of effort it took on his part to hold STRONK in the half crab. He looks spent, he looks exhausted but more than either of those he looks disappointed that he wasn’t able to finish off his challenger.

THIS IS AWESOME! THIS IS AWESOME!

Nick Stuart: The fans are eating this title match up!

Richard Parker: Lisbon needs to raise their standards, this is great but awesome? I don’t know.

The PRIME faithful cheer on both men as they stagger to either side of the ring. Don, leaning in the far corner keeping his eyes on STRONK who is currently leaning against the opposite corner keeping weight off his left leg.

It’s Don who’s the first to act, launching himself toward STRONK. Godson lumbers out of the corner toward Don though he’s considerably slower. Winters feigns another lariat before he once again drops into the shoulder block for the knee.

Nick Stuart: Don going back to the attack on the left leg!

Richard Parker: If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right Stuart?

This time STRONK is ready for him. Lifting the leg, Don dives harmlessly beneath the leg before crashing into the turnbuckle behind the challenger. Stunned, Don warbles out of the corner only to fall into the waiting arms of STRONK Godson.

Nick Stuart: Well.. looks like it just broke.

Richard Parker: STRONK Godson, tactical genius!

Lifting Don up with considerable ease, even on one leg, STRONK executes a Back Body Driver. One of those real unsafe ones where Don lands on his neck. The crowd let out a collective, uncomfortable gasp as Don’s body crumbles.

A broad smile is probably beneath the savage beard of Godson as he gets back up on his one good leg. Hopping over to Don’s lifeless body, STRONK yanks the Revelator back up and once again drops him into an even more unsafe Back Body Driver, this time Don lands on his neck, folded neatly in half.

The public execution of Don Winters is finalized with a third and decidedly career shortening Back Body Driver where Don lands on the crown of his head. It’s the kind of sicko shit that will probably be shown in five years to explain why Don can’t use his hands anymore. But for now, maybe just a concussion?

Nick Stuart: Somebody check on Don Winters, he might be dead!

Richard Parker: If he’s not, somebody wake him up and don’t let him fall back asleep!

Don bolts up, completely no-selling the Back Body Driver that STRONK Godson had just laid him down with.

Nick Stuart: WHAT ARE WE SEEING?!

Richard Parker: COOL MOVE, KID, CAN’T WAIT TO NO-SELL IT!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Don beats his chest, points to the sky and charges in at STRONK Godson.

CLUNK!

STRONK headbutts Don’s soul into the astral plane. Another collective groan from the crowd as we enter head trauma city.

Nick Stuart: OH NO!

Richard Parker: Hahaha- wow. That was incredible!

Winters keeps his arms raised in defense however it’s clear by his jerky movement he’s completely out of it. His eyes stare off into the distance and his jaw is slack but through sheer will, he’s still on his feet.

Nick Stuart: Folks, I know Don is still standing but I don’t think there are any lights on upstairs.

Richard Parker: He had a good run as Five Star Champion but I think we’re in the end game, Stuart.

It almost seems like STRONK is being gentle with Don, the way he scoops him up and hoists him up onto his shoulders. The Five Star Champion cries out in panic and alarm, realizing that STRONK has placed him on his shoulders but it’s too late.

Nick Stuart: SQUAT RACK BREAKER!

Richard Parker: And you know what’s next, right?

Nick Stuart: The Loop Hold I imagine.

Richard Parker: The Loop Hold Indeed!

Once again Don’s ravaged body is dropped to the mat. He instinctively curls into the fetal position, protecting his ribs and abdomen. Lowell looks on from the side with a sad expression, as though he’s regretful of what his client is about to do to poor Don Winters.

Limping around Winters, STRONK carefully zeroes in on his target. Stepping behind him, STRONK reaches his tree trunk arms around Winters’ neck, tightening his grip as he attempts a simple but brutal choke sleeper!

Nick Stuart: STRONK is going for it, the LOOP HOLD!

It happens so quickly that Godson isn’t even aware that he’s lost Don Winters. The slippery Revelator drops out of STRONK’s grip and uses his momentum to grab the challenger’s left leg, rolling forward as he does so.

Richard Parker: He’s slipped free! That slippery bible salesman found a loophole out of the Loop Hold!

Nick Stuart: Never count out the fighting spirit of Don Winters!

Once again gravity betrays STRONK as Don rolls him down to the mat and applies the single leg crab once again! This time Don crosses the leg across his body, torquing the body to the side. To add more misery to Godson’s situation, Winter’s drives his knee into the small of his back.

Nick Stuart: He’s back to the Single Leg Crab! He’s got in locked in!

Richard Parker: It’s locked in tighter than a nuns pus-

Nick Stuart: PARKER!

Again Godson struggles and twists against Don to no avail. And so once again he has no choice but to try and reach the ropes. Relying on the raw strength of his arms, STRONK drags himself inch by inch toward the edge of the ring, grime determination on both men’s faces.

Nick Stuart: The power of STRONK Godson is something to witness in real life!

Richard Parker: They’re a different breed up in the unknown regions of Minnesota!

That annoying fire in his leg explodes into pain. There aren’t any two ways about it, STRONK knows he’s in trouble. His determination becomes shaken by uncertainty that he is indeed big enough to defeat Don Winters.

Nick Stuart: Don’s shaking, I don’t know how much longer he can keep the power of STRONK down!

Richard Parker: It’s a moot point, STRONK is about to grab the ropes and Don will be forced to break the hold.

Reaching out STRONK’s fingertips are inches away from the turnbuckle..

Winters twists his body and drops one of his legs across STRONK’s left knee causing the big man to cry out in pain and alarm. Pulling the challenger back to the center of the ring Don Winters once again applies a Single Leg Crab, pulling with all his might as he arches STRONK’s back.

Nick Stuart: Heps got him back in the center of the ring! How the hell does Don Winters find the strength!?

Richard Parker: Maybe.. Maybe he really IS ordained by God?!

STRONK’s physical strength, once a seemingly inexhaustible invulnerability, begins to fade along with his struggling. The Five Star Champion is operating purely on instinct, purely on his Fighting Spirit as he desperately claws and rips at PRIME Beef’s thick left leg. Roaring and trashing, STRONK Godson seems completely out of options yet he refuses to give in.

The thrashing slowly turns into flailing. Then failing turns into subdued struggling. STRONK seems to be fading as pain wracked his body.

Nick Stuart: HOW MUCH MORE CAN STRONK TAKE?!

Richard Parker: And how much more can Don Winters dish out!?

Referee Ashley Barlow signals for the bell ending the match!

DING DING DING DING!

Nick Stuart: What the hell?! What the hell just happened?

Richard Parker: I didn’t see or hear STRONK submit, damn it! You’re right, Stuart, WHAT THE HELL!?

The camera focuses on a formerly white sweat towel stained with Lowell moisture.

Nick Stuart: ..wait.. Did Lowell..

Richard Parker: No, there’s no god damn way..

Don Winters releases STRONK’s leg and collapses onto his knees. He smiles for a moment, a look of relief on his face before crumbling to the canvas. Confusion reigns at ringside as Ashley Barlow points toward a white rag sitting just inside the ring.

Vince Howard climbs into the ring with the Five Star Championship, conferring with referee Ashley Barlow.

Vince Howard: STRONK Godson’s manager, Lowell Dot Com, has thrown in the towel for his client therefore your winner.. AND STILL FIVE STAR CHAMPION – THE REVELATOR DOOOOOOOOOOOOON WIIIIIIIIIIIINTERRRRRRRRS!

Hanging through the ropes, tears running down his face, is Lowell. He looks strung out, he looks miserable, he looks guilty but most of all he looks worried. His frail body snakes its way into the ring and over to STRONK Godson who is just starting to stir, hands clutching at his left leg. It’s difficult to tell if Lowell’s concern is genuine or drug induced, focused on STRONK the person or just his body.

Nick Stuart: Don Winters manages to hold onto his Five Star Championship after the toughest test of his title reign thus far!

Richard Parker: It should be noted that Don broke Lowell, STRONK never submitted!

“Movin’ On Up.” hits the speakers of the Estádio da Luz as the crowd explode into cheers for the Revelator. Beaten, bruised but unbowed, Don pulls himself up and accepts his Five Star Championship. He tries to celebrate but the wear and tear from the match causes him to nearly collapse again.

We cut to commercial.

Coming hot off the heels of the commercial break (commercials for Pay-Per-View events, PRIME be RAKING in dat scrilla scrilla yo, HAHAHA yes making and baking them clams, stacking them papers, shaving off some parmesan, eating them chalupas, throwing dat bologna lunch meat at weird german convict men through the bars of their ceil door in the basement of the arena connected to the world through a system of transport tubes wait what?), the PRIME backstage camera follows in front of a rather sweaty and sore Brandon Youngblood, a chyron appearing in the bottom right corner stating ‘Taped During The 5 Star Championship Match’. The straps of his singlet are pulled down, his hands on his hips as he walks forward. A few simple nods of the head. Deep breaths. He reaches for the compression sleeve, tugging it off, throwing it over his shoulder. His eyes are looking through the camera crew acting as pace car. Perhaps he is on his way to be interviewed after his match with Clay Byrd? Angelica Brooks had sent a message on social media that she was going to be interviewing her friend after the conclusion of his contest after weeks of radio silence.

And while Angie has the ability to stop most in their tracks with her amazing style and natural beauty, she isn’t the reason the Tower of Babel stops, his eyes fixing to his left, peering, glowering. Soon, it is clear why he has paused; walking into the picture is a man he has known for practically his entire professional wrestling career. A once rival, then friend, and now…well…there’s a lot that has changed in a year.

After all, there is the little bit of the issue of Banditry.

And alfredo.

And a casual conversation that ended up tasting like the salted rim of a Miller Lite Margarita from a septic tank mash and boiler.

Also known as Philadelphia.

Golden tickets by way of COOLympus.

Ha.

The Crownless King, Coral Avalon, in the flesh. This pair, with history dating back near twenty years, brought together. Nobody would’ve had this on their Bingo card three years ago. Youngblood was retired and enjoying a life of red and white checkered clothes and a body best described as a keg. Avalon was plying his trade as consummate wrestler away from any of the perceived major North American based promotions. Yet here they were, one having cemented his place in the pantheon of the sport as one of its true elites, the other on the precipice of accomplishing his life’s goal.

Coral Avalon: So, Brandon…

Coral Avalon looks the same as he has for the last few shows, dapper in his blue waistcoat. Tonight, he’s just here for media purposes. Tomorrow’s the big show. He looks Brandon Youngblood up and down.

Coral Avalon: …You look like you got in a fight with a cowboy. He still hit as hard as he did when I met him in Japan? Just curious.

Ever the conversationalist, Youngblood merely stares back at him for a moment, a blank expression painting his face. He wipes the sweat from his eyes with the palm of his hand. Then, the faintest of smiles.

Brandon Youngblood: I hate cowboys. Nothing going to change that.

A gob of spit flies out of his mouth, done off to the side. It’s after that this that Brandon looks the challenger of the Universal Championship up and down.

Brandon Youngblood: No carton?

A snort.

Brandon Youngblood: Don’t see him to the sides. Too vain to try from the back. Too chickenshit to try from the front.

Coral Avalon: Relax, I don’t even think Jiles knows we’re doing a show tonight. I heard a rumor that if he got booked for Night One of a big show, he wouldn’t show up out of spite. Pretty sure you could say anything about him and his stupid noodle haircut right now and he’d be none the wiser.

He smiles.

Brandon does not.

Brandon Youngblood: Not going to lie. Seeing you…pisses me off.

Coral’s smile does not falter.

Coral Avalon: I can think of a myriad reasons for that. You’re probably still wondering why I’m still with the circus.

A step forward from The Dream Killer.

Brandon Youngblood: I’m pissed because we both know who you should be facing for the Universal Championship tomorrow night.

Coral Avalon: Damn right, I do. I’m looking at him.

A nod of acknowledgement. A bigger grin spreads across Brandon’s face.

Brandon Youngblood: Six months to accomplish your life’s work. Six months. You’re looking at him? That’s a lot of pressure. Pressure on your shoulders. And be thankful…

He tilts his head.

Brandon Youngblood: Because if it was me? I got no problem fighting you straight up and making it so everything you’ve worked for your entire life in this sport goes unfulfilled. All due respect. Because we both know what this sport means to you. What it means to both of us.

For whatever reason, Avalon is allowing Youngblood to continue.

Brandon Youngblood: Where we started from…young. All the promise in the world. You setting the standard, blazing the trail, a wrestler’s wrestler. Me…waiting to come in, to make a mark. So much shit in front of us. And after it all…they’re all gone…and it’s just the two of us…the only ones left.

Coral Avalon: Pretty much. Been a long and crazy road for both of us. Last time we met in the ring, I was coming off that mess in New York with Lowell and Cain. Then you put me in the earth and I didn’t get back in the ring for a year after that.

He laughed.

Coral Avalon: Good times.

His laugh fades into a small smile.

Coral Avalon: Not saying that I want to even the slate or anything, I’m not one to hold a grudge over something that happened so long ago. Just that… one day, before I leave here to go be a father? I’d like to go one more time with you. In an ideal world, it’d be to see if you can pry another belt off of me.

Brandon Youngblood: Nice thought.

A nod of affirmation.

Brandon Youngblood: But we don’t need the belt for that.

Ooooooooh…

Brandon Youngblood: That stupid little bastard…he never should’ve beaten Farthington. And turns out…Sykes was checked out the moment he got his hands on the title. After everything that happened there…that we had to waste our damn time and energy on…

Another bit of spit.

Brandon Youngblood: Kid is on the run of his life. Jacked up with Reed. And no matter what that piece of shit wants to say…

He snarls.

Brandon Youngblood: He killed Action! He had the future of promotion of the future, and he pissed it all away. And for what? Wonder what shithole Paul Levine and Sean Cylear and Chris Mezz and Clyde Fox are all in. He stole the Universal Championship from me. But he…stole your goddamn career.

He steps forward, his glower intense.

Brandon Youngblood: That son of a bitch pushed short cuts in your lap to try and market you like you were nothing more than a product. He stole the momentum from you. Narcissism? Piece of shit ruined your career for A LONG TIME because he was so obsessed with what he saw in the mirror that he couldn’t do well enough alone. And him, and his cunt of a daughter…and his worthless, talentless cuck of a son in law…they all want to do it again.

A finger practically jabbing the challenger in the chest.

Brandon Youngblood: But not just you. They want to take your career…your legacy…your dream…your life’s work…in front of your family…and your wife. They want to ruin it all and look in your daughter’s eyes and say “your bland ole daddy just didn’t have enough in him to ever get that crown he wanted…that in a world of big ideas…daddy is just too fucking small”–

As Youngblood talks, a third individual happens to walk in view. This individual has been seen in and around PRIME for the past year, a broadly-built professional wrestler in an ash gray suit and a gaudy golden mask. He’s known as the Fabulous Gold Mask, and he’s also known as Fabby, and right now, he’s…

…carrying a carton of coffee with him.

That’s right, tonight, the coveted role of Glueminati Gopher goes to Fabby. Applause!

He’s trying very hard to remain inconspicuous and invisible to the Hall of Famer Youngblood and a possible Hall of Famer Avalon as he walks by, but… well. “Gaudy” and “inconspicuous” are two great tastes that don’t actually taste great together.

Instantly, both Youngblood and Avalon’s eyes fall on Fabby, and Fabby freezes like a deer among lions.

Coral Avalon: Hold that thought, Brandon.

Coral steps in Fabby’s path.

Coral Avalon: Hey, “Fabby”. What’s with the coffee?

The Fabulous Gold Mask would like to communicate the situation with Coral, that he’d lost a game of straws with the rest of the Glueminati despite the fact that Cecilworth clearly drew a longer straw than he did, but everyone decided that Fabby had lost and thus it was his turn to get the coffee.

For the record, it was also his turn for the last twenty-seven times someone had to get coffee.

Coral turns to look at Youngblood.

Coral Avalon: You know, you’re right to be angry at Reed Young, especially after what he did to you last month. But, he did give me an opportunity that I wouldn’t have gotten otherwise, and… I can’t really hate him for that, even if I had to fix everything he broke long after I left.

He keeps his gaze on Youngblood as he gestures to Fabby.

Coral Avalon: At least I could fix what was broken. I can’t really say the same about this guy.

Fabby maintains his silence, because he’s not really one for talking, but his grip tightens just a bit on the carton of coffee he’s carrying. For the first time, Youngblood is occupying the same space as Fabby. Breathing the same air. Another wad of spit, this time, coming close to his shoes.

Brandon Youngblood: I know who you are. And after what you…get the fuck out here. Now.

Is the wonderful Fabulous Gold Mask following instructions? If he is or isn’t, who gives a shit? The humans are talking. No time for filth.

Brandon Youngblood: Reed gave you your chance. Harvard Avalon gave me mine. Reed just gave me money because he thought he could buy my soul. They’re going to do everything they can to take this from you. Don’t let them. Coral? Take your crown.

Brandon steps away, shoulder checking Fabby in the process. That coffee? It’s splattered all over his suit. Over his slacks. On the floor. Coffee pee pee pants. Youngblood just looks at him, giving him the opening to go ahead and do something about it. Does Fabby?

The fuck you think?

And before departing, a parting shot.

Brandon Youngblood: Thy Kingdom Come.

Coral watches him leave, then turns to Fabby and shakes his head.

Coral Avalon: Well, I’m not cleaning that up.

He turns and leaves in the opposite direction, leaving Fabby to stand there covered in coffee and shame and the knowledge that he’d have to clean this up and that he might be late with the coffee.

Tropical Turmoil, however, is going to move on without watching him clean the mess.

Backstage. Argyle position.

Techs. Production teams.

Black dress shirt. ‘Stache.

Ahead of the night’s main event combatants, Hayes Hanlon strolls through the Argyle position, nonchalant as the team races around preparing entrances. A small smirk behind his upper-lipholstery, he peers behind the curtain. To the crowd, to the ring.

To ringside.

To Nick and Richard’s desk.

He tumbles a thought back and forth in his head, and a glint flashes in his dark eyes.

Hayes Hanlon: [quietly to himself] Maybe Lisbon could use a little extra commentary for this one…

Confidently, the Event Horizon saunters toward the curtain, ready for his broadcasting debut.

Until he’s stopped dead in his tracks by the tight grip of a big paw on his shoulder.

Wade Elliott: Now just where’d’ya think yer goin’?

Hayes braces as he turns to see the steely blue eyes of PRIME’s Bad Dog. With a quick breath through the nose, his cocky demeanor returns.

Hayes Hanlon: Oh, y’know, thought I’d join Nick and Richard for this one. It’s a big night for my dude, FLAMBO an’ all, and I don’t have much else going on…

Wade Elliott: ‘Xactly! That’s the whole damn point!

Hayes Hanlon: Sorry, what’s the “whole damn point”?

Wade Elliott: Yer benched, kid. An’ don’t tell me Lindsay message didn’t git across. You ain’t gettin’ nowhere near that ring t’night.

The Comeback Kid’s face draws cold. Minimal spotlight was a tough pill to swallow, but none at all?

He wouldn’t swallow that one.

Hayes Hanlon: [coldly] Are you gonna stop me?

Wade Elliott: Is that a serious question?

Hanlon pushes a sharp laugh, looking away and shaking his head before turning his gaze back to the Blue Collar Brawler.

Hayes Hanlon: Same old story, isn’t it? Rules for them, and rules for me. But hey, Ivan can stroll down and hop on the mic wheneeeeeever he likes, right? And Jiles can swing on down and be a cartoon character on the mic every other show, right?

Wade Elliott: [interrupting, annoyed, and unimpressed] You know what a contract is, kid?

Hayes Hanlon: Uh, yeah, I know a little bit about…

Wade Elliott: It’s sorta like…keepin’ a promise. An’ ya know what the bare minimum of yer promise was? Just showin’ up to work. When ya break that promise, there’s some goddamn consequences. Ya get me?

Hayes shakes his head at the Southern Sparkplug, and leans in close.

Hayes Hanlon: I get ya. Because I watched the ReVolution minute by minute. And I don’t think I can count on both hands how many promises you broke.

The thunder in Wade’s eyes starts to grow, his lips curling behind his grayed beard.

Hayes Hanlon: But I’ll bet Troy can list off every. Single. One.

The Bad Dog grips Hayes hard by the shoulders and spins him around, shoving him hard away from the curtain.

Wade Elliott: Git walkin’, kid. Before I beat seven shades’ve shit out’ve ya.

Hayes Hanlon: I’m walkin’. Tell Troy I hope the ratings don’t dip too far.

With a one-finger salute, Hanlon strides out of Argyle and into the backstage halls, leaving the Bad Dog to grind his jaw.

We cut to commercial.

Nick Stuart: Main event time!

Richard Parker: The day we’ve all waited for. FLAMBERGE to smash Nate Colton in the face. It’s going to be glorious.

Nick Stuart: Is this because you never got to ride in the FLAMBOGHINI?

Richard Parker: I NEVER GOT TO RIDE IN THE FLAMBOGHINI AND IT MAKES ME VERY UPSET!

The lights go down at Estadia da Luz. Anticipation hangs heavy in the air. The crowd settles in for the war to come.

They wait.

And wait.

And then…

A light.

A single dot of blue, appearing in the center of the otherwise dark PRIMEview. Not very big, but very bright.

Other pinpricks of light appear around it, in all manner of colors. The laser lights swirl around in all directions, lines crossing and mixing in a pattern so intricate that it might as well be chaos. The blue light does not move.

With suitable whoosh sound effects, the lasers zip all around the stadium, each individual line moving every which way before zigzagging in a new direction. The blue light does not move.

The laser show goes into full effect, the speed increasing to the point where the dots become lines, though the lines still seem to have no purpose. They careen through the stadium, passing over fans, announcers, empty space, before bouncing off the walls and leading elsewhere. The blue light…

…moves.

It drops from the center of the PRIMEView at a steady pace…not slow, but not exactly fast either. The light moves down the screen, from the top of the entrance to the bottom, and then to the entrance ramp.

The lines that pass over the crowd still whiz around seemingly at random…but whenever they cross paths with the blue light, they change slightly. They flicker less. The colors shift. The ricochet effect becomes more steady.

The blue light moves. Down the ramp and toward the ring. There is no rush, just the methodical pursuit.

Two lines cross the blue light at the same time, and the change is dramatic. They both turn white, and fuse into an angle. The new shape still follows its own path, but the pace has slowed and the bounces aren’t as wild. They seem to have a destination in mind now.

This effect happens again and again, as the light draws closer to the ring. Up the side it goes, across the ropes, and into the center. Slowly, the other lines converge around it, finally coming to a halt as they encase the blue light in a very familiar shape.

This is where the heat and pressure is at there highest.

This is where diamonds are formed.

And regardless of what any of his detractors might think…this is where he belongs.

SKEE! SKEE! SKEE!

KA-BOOOOOOOM!

…go the fireworks, exploding into showers of bright blue sparks.

The PRIMEView springs to life. On a field of white, three words appear

THE
NEW
DIAMOND

These fade away, replaced by a logo. It’s the letter C in the shape of a diamond, with a smaller N inside. The logo is framed by the name.

NATE
COLTON

Eagles. “Tryin’.”

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!

The lights come back up just as Nate Colton emerges from the curtain, targeted by multiple spotlights. He turns his back to the ring and holds his arms out wide, all to show off the back of his signature ring jacket.

A name carried with pride and treated with respect. Those who don’t will soon learn.

As the lyrics begin. Nate Colton jogs down the long ramp toward the ring, smiling and pointing out fans as he goes, or waving his arms to pump up the crowd.

I’m just arrivin’ in the city and there’s music on my mind

Nate circles around the right side of the ring, grabbing the outstretched hands of the fans in the front row. Their smiles are almost as big as his.

Lookin’ for my destination and my home is far behind

After getting about halfway around the ring, he circles back to the ring steps, wipes his feet on the apron, and steps into the ring.

‘Cause it’s a long road ahead
And you can make it in the end
I’m gonna make it with my friends

He stands in the center of the diamond pattern still on display in the ring, bathing himself in blue light. With all eyes upon him, Colton holds his right arm above his head. He first taps, then grabs his right wrist with his left hand, the same motion his father used to call for the Colton Clutch.

RRRAAAAAAAHHH!!

Others have gotten here faster. Others might stay here longer. But this place, and this moment…it’s where he was meant to be.

And I’m tryin’

As the music fades and the lights return to normal, Nate Colton goes to his corner. He hands his ring jacket to an attendant, then waits for Vince Howard to say the pretty words.

Vince Howard: The following match is ONE! FALL! Introducing first, hailing from Evasnville, Indiana! Standing at six feet and four inches tall, weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds. He is the New Diamond! He is… NAAAAAAAAAAAAATE! COLTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Colton waves one more time to the crowd, then returns to the task at hand. Any signs of joy or excitement fade away, quickly replaced by anger.

Richard Parker: Stupid head. Stupid face. Stupid body.

Nick Stuart: Please, tell us how you really feel.

Richard Parker: Stupid haircut. Stupid smile. Stupid boots. Stupid jacket.

Nick Stuart: Alright, alright. Let’s move it along.

Richard Parker: Stupid tights. Stupid pig. Stupid neck.

…

…………………

The anticipation is building.

The crowd suspects what may be next. And they skip the French version entirely.

AH SIM SIM! AH SIM SIM! AH SIM SIM! AH SIM SIM!

Nick Stuart: Listen to this place!

Richard Parker: All hail the conquering hero of the Glueminati!

AH SIM SIM! AH SIM SIM! AH SIM SIM! AH SIM SIM!

♫…

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…oh, shit.

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

AH SIM SIM! AH SIM SIM! AH SIM SIM! AH SIM SIM!

Lookin’ for M’s like I lost a friend
Jump out of my bed like, “Where that bread”
You gon’ hold a egg, waiter bring the check
When we talk, we Kalashnikov, keep us in your thoughts
Fully dressed at the crack of dawn, weapons letting off

FLAMBERGE emerges, and he is resplendent. It’s not a copper jacket – it’s a flowing copper Experience. It sparkles, it shimmers – with each beacon of teal light cascading throughout the arena and with the spark of each bright white firework shooting up from the stage, it catches new glimmers and glams.

His teal trunks bear a copper lizard stencil with three crowns atop its head. His teal boots bear navy and silver wavy swords, emblems of the power of his kicks.

He’s locked in. He’s feeling fierce. He’s ready to rip the head off a man and use it to build a nest.

I can hear them from the block, see them creeping through the fog
Season’s greetings, now feeding season can start, oh my god
Look alive, lookin’ like I live life on the crooked line
Doin’ fine, you want maximum stupid, I am the guy

FLAMBERGE skips the step of taking a lap around the ring and marches straight into the heart of the beast of war; a PRIME ring in a pay-per-view main event.

It doesn’t get bigger than this. The stakes don’t get more personal than this.

The Frenchman raises a fist and the crowd roars their approval. They’re here for fun violence, and they know who delivers it every time.

Nick Stuart: It doesn’t get much bigger than this!

Richard Parker: Sure it does. Nate Colton is mid at best.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think you have any facts to back that up.

Richard Parker: When do I ever have facts to back anything up? That’s why I should be the Republican Nominee for President of the United States.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, that would work out well.

Elvis Nixon gives his final set of instructions and signals for the start of the match.

DING DING

The New Diamond stands his ground, eyes trained on the Bearded Dragon. No intention to jump into something stupid, or give FLAMBERGE the pleasure of swinging first. No. Nate Colton will root those big, corn-fed feet to the mat, and stand tall.

FLAMBERGE, however, will not.

The Neck Collector darts over to the biiiiiiiiiiiitch like a gecko. Like, really swiftly. Kinda awkwardly. Humans aren’t supposed to move like that!

But this is no mere human.

This is FLAMBERGE.

And he has that beautiful beard tilted up at the hard glare of Nathan Colton.

And their lips are daaaaaangerously close.

Is this it? Is it time? Finally?

No. They can’t.

Not yet.

Richard Parker: Nate Colton looks hard up for a kiss right now. His girlfriend must not be giving him any.

Nick Stuart: Are you trying to have RIA come down and kick your ass? You know what, on second thought, keep talking.

You can’t hear anything thanks to a raucous Lisbon crowd, but FLAMBERGE is talkin’ Ooohhh, he’s talkin’. Trying to get under that porcelain skin of Nate Colton. The New Diamond looks down, sharing his disagreements with nods and head shakes, but he won’t draw first blood. Try as FLAMBO might, he will not.

So the Bearded Dragon will do what he must.

SMACK

OOOOHHHHHHHH

*WHISTLE WHISTLE WHISTLE*

The open palm slap to the face rings out through Portugal. Nate’s head turns a touch from the strike. FLAMBO holds his pose, arm across his body.

Richard Parker: You know what that was, Nick?

Nick Stuart: Don’t say it.

Richard Parker: A bitch slap for a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch.

Nick Stuart: I knew you were going to do it. I told you not to do it and you did it anyways.

Will that do the trick, Nate?

Yes, yes it will.

Nick Stuart: AND COLTON TAKES DOWN FLAMBERGE! WE’RE UNDERWAY!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Lisbon erupts as the New Diamond bursts forward and spear-tackles his arch nemesis to the mat, resulting in a rolling mess of limbs looking to find grip, and elbows searching for landing spots. FLAMBERGE assaults with a series of angered fists to the back and shoulders of Nate, and Elvis Nixon intervenes to create some method to the mayhem.

Richard Parker: What a cheap shot from Nate Colton! He is indeed a biiii–

Nick Stuart: Cheap shot?! What universe are you living in?! FLAMBO slapped him and what was Nate Colton supposed to do? Just take it on the chin? Fall on the floor and cry?

Richard Parker: Or… take it like a b–

Nick Stuart: No. Enough.

FLAMBERGE emerges with the upper hand, an arm wrapped over the head of Colton as they make it to their feat. Julien drives a knee into the gut, and another, before twisting and wrenching him over the hip. Nate has no choice but to roll with the toss, landing him seated in the ring. FLAMBO slithers in quickly, dropping to a knee, looking to take Nate’s neck from behind. Nate keeps his chin tucked, though, so FLAMBO leans Nate’s torso forward, then swings him back, driving the back of his head into the canvas.

FLAM-BO! FLAM-BO! FLAM-BO! FLAM-BO!

Richard Parker: Ha! There we go! Break his skull open, let his brains ooze out on the canvas, and THEN take his neck. Brilliant game plan.

Nick Stuart: You’ve got a lot of issues to work out. Have you been seeing your therapist?

Richard Parker: Only Mr. Jack and Mr. Beam.

Nick Stuart: Those are two different alcohol beverages, not the same.

Richard Parker: …shit.

The New Diamond clutches the back of his skull, and then the stomps be comin’. The French Phenom lays the boots into Colton’s torso, circling and striking, picking his spots as Nate tries to cover up. He guides Nate to his feet, setting in a hammerlock, and heaving the larger Colton overhead.

Nick Stuart: Hammerlock Suplex! Colton is on his back foot, and FLAMBERGE is taking every advantage of it he can.

Richard Parker: Advantage? FLAMBERGE is the advantage. Nate Colton didn’t stand a chance the moment that the Lizard King walked into the ring. When he did, it was all said and done.

Le Protagoniste glides over for a pin, and Elvis Nixon drops for the count.

ONE!

TW…

Nope.

FLAMBERGE breaks his own pin, pulling himself off Colton before Nixon’s hand can slap the mat a second time. Julien shakes his head, and wags his finger. There’s a LOT more work to be done.

Nick Stuart: Well, FLAMBERGE may come to regret that decision later. He should’ve let Elvis’ hand hit the mat a third time.

Richard Parker: No, this is about retribution. This is about cementing his place as the true NEXT Diamond of PRIME. That Youngblood made a colossal mistake appointing Colton as the Next Diamond.

Nick Stuart: That’s a lot of animosity to hold onto there, Richard.

Richard Parker: That’s because FLAMBO is far too modest to say what everyone has been thinking.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE and modest don’t go in the same sentence together.

FLAMBO guides a groggy Nate to his feet, and heaves the big mid-western bastard into the ropes. Nate rebounds, and FLAMBERGE leaps, swinging around for a roundhouse kick, but Colton sees it coming, ducking the strike. Careening off the opposite ropes, Nate swings for the fences on the return for a clothesline, but The Lizard King drops low. After the third rebound, Colton manages to put on the breaks, meeting FLAMBERGE in the center as he pivots and stands. In a flash of instinct, Nate locks his arms underneath FLAMBO’s, and sends him over the top.

Nick Stuart: OVERHEAD BELLY TO BELLY!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

The New Diamond sits up, swings to a knee, and pivots to face the enemy. FLAMBERGE sits up, a touch of shock in his eye, and draws his gaze to match Nate’s. The heavy roars of Lisbon assault the ears, and Nate surrenders a grin.

Time to put on a show.

Nick Stuart: I think FLAMBERGE just realized this isn’t going to be a walk in the park.

Richard Parker: A walk in the park?! This is a wrestling match, Nick. Get your head out of your ass!

The two sprint forward and collide, exchanging blows dead center in the ring. Nate earns the upper hand, clocking the Neck Collector with a few heavy forearms. Taking a wrist, the New Diamond twists him up with a wristlock, transitioning to a clean russian leg sweep, smacking FLAMBERGE to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton starting to pick up some momentum!

Richard Parker: Where the hell is Elvis at?! Get in there and disqualify Colton! You can’t mess up the face of a future Hall of Famer like that. It’s against the rules!

Nick Stuart: It’s definitely not.

Richard Parker: You’re not helping, Nick!

Keeping momentum, Nate sends FLAMBO over with a snapmare before he can fully stand. The Lizard King gets back to his feet and uncorks a knife-edge chop that stings the chest of the Next Diamond, but not enough to stop him from driving a knee into the midsection of the former Universal Champion. FLAMBERGE stumbles backwards into the ropes and Colton launches himself forward with a clothesline that sends both men over the top rope and onto the ring apron.

*WHISTLE WHISTLE WHISTLE*

Nick Stuart: Oh, the intensity is ratcheting up between these two! Colton is giving FLAMBO everything he can handle and FLAMBO is doing the same back.

Richard Parker: What good is Elvis Nixon here if he’s just going to let Nate do whatever he wants to?! Is he in Colton’s pocket?! Is Jake Colton running the show back there and we just don’t know it?!

Nick Stuart: Oh, you’re all in the conspiracy theories now. Which is rich since you’re supporting the lizard king.

Richard Parker: Oh no, Nick, don’t try it. The Lizard King is the only real person here.

Both men make it back to their feet — the unforgiving edge of the ring knocking their momentum down a bit — and FLAMBERGE fires away with a series of rights that land flush on the forehead of the Next Diamond. Colton stumbles backwards and FLAMBO looks to close the gap in a hurry as he rushes towards him only for Nate to dip his shoulder, lifting FLAMBERGE into the air, and dropping him face first into the steel ringpost!

Nick Stuart: Holy hell, FLAMBERGE might be done!

Richard Parker: Goes back to my earlier point — what is Elvis Nixon’s purpose of being here?! He’s just letting this become a free-for-all.

Nick Stuart: Richard… Nate isn’t doing anything illegal!

Richard Parker: …so?!

FLAMBERGE lands on his knees on the ring apron, grabbing at his face and understanding how badly his bell has been rung. Colton inches towards the Lizard King, and FLAMBERGE instinctively sweeps the legs out from under Colton, sending him crashing face-first into the apron! FLAMBERGE shakes his head, still feeling the effects of his face being introduced to the steel ring post. He steps onto the bottom rope and launches himself into the air before his boot comes crashing down across the back of Colton’s skull, slamming his face into the ring edge.

Richard Parker: There we go!

Nick Stuart: You don’t think that was illegal?

Richard Parker: Absolutely not, Nick. This is a wrestling match. FLAMBO did a wrestling move. What match are you watching? Jeez, take your bias glasses off.

Nick Stuart: My partner of twenty years, folks.

The Lizard King reaches down and pulls Colton up to his knees, only for Nate to slam his forearm into the midsection of the former Universal Champion. Colton uses the ropes to pull himself up, only for FLAMBERGE to connect with a headbutt that catches the Next Diamond flush to the bridge of his nose. Colton turns away, giving himself some space from FLAMBERGE only for the arms of the Lizard King to wrap around his waist. Colton fires off a series of back elbows that connect with the side of FLAMBO’s skull, loosening the grasp he has on him. Colton spins around, and FLAMBO comes at him with a clothesline, only for Cotlon to duck it and hooks FLAMBO before connecting with a Uranage Slam into the edge of the ring!

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton might be acting on pure instinct right there!

Richard Parker: Pure cheatery if you ask me! If Elvis Nixon continues to allow this to happen, it just shows how biased he is. These fans in Portugal will not stand for it!

Nick Stuart: I’m getting worried about you over there, buddy. We aren’t watching the same match, I think.

Richard Parker: Of course we’re not, you’re watching with your rose-colored glasses on! You are just like the rest of the parrots in the back that want to see Colton pushed to the top regardless if he’s earned it or not. It makes me sick.

FLAMBERGE writhes on the stadium floor, grabbing at his back, while Colton sits on the ring edge — getting his bearings straight. FLAMBERGE rolls into the ringside barricade, clutching at his lower back while he looks at Colton who seems worse for wear as well, but has enough in him to cock a smile at the Lizard King. The former Universal Champion responds with two middle fingers for the Next Diamond, which only gets Colton off the ring apron and running full speed before he punts FLAMBERGE in the ribcage.

Richard Parker: Is this the Next Diamond that everyone wants to parade around? Just another bloodthirsty version of Brandon Youngblood? I lived through that. No thank you!

Nick Stuart: Well, I think these two have been feuding for the past two years on and off — there’s a lot of animosity between the two and this is their chance to finally settle who the best is.

Richard Parker: The best?! We already know who the best is, that’s FLAMBERGE! Who has the longest winning streak in PRIME history? Who has earned the Universal Champion? FLAMBO is the best in PRIME. He’s the #1 ranked for a reason!

Nick Stuart: Sure, but these two facing one another, that might be a different story.

Richard Parker: Yeah, you’re focused on small potatoes and FLAMBO is looking at the big picture. That’s why he’s passed by Nate Colton the way he has.

Colton reaches down only for FLAMBERGE to grab him by his tights and slams him chest first into the ringside barricade. FLAMBO rolls to his feet and slams his forearm across the back of the Next Diamond. Colton arches his back in pain — matching the look on his face — as FLAMBO then spins him around and drives his shoulder into his midsection, driving him into the barricade and the wind out of his diaphragm.

Nick Stuart: And FLAMBO with an uppercut across the jaw of his opponent.

Richard Parker: Elvis Nixon isn’t even counting down or anything. Is this even a legal match?

Nick Stuart: Do you want this match to end in a double countout?

Richard Parker: I want Colton to follow the rules.

Nick Stuart: And FLAMBO to be able to do whatever he wants. Got it.

FLAMBO seizes Colton’s wrist in a vise-like grip and attempts to hurl him into the ring apron, but Colton counters with a swift reversal that sends FLAMBERGE hurtling into the unforgiving ring edge. The impact echoes through the arena as the Lizard King’s spine slams against the apron with a sickening crack. But before he can recover, Colton is on him, hoisting him up like a ragdoll before slamming him down onto the barricade, crushing FLAMBO’s chest and sending shooting pain through his body. And just when he thinks it can’t get any worse, Colton executes a brutal side suplex, driving FLAMBERGE’s neck and skull into the ground with bone-jarring force.

Nick Stuart: Colton is gaining momentum here, and FLAMBERGE looks worse for wear.

Richard Parker: Nate Colton is a thief and a cheat. I don’t want to speak about him any longer.

Nick Stuart: Then what do you intend to talk about?

Richard Parker: The Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, we’re not going to do that.

Colton struggles to his feet, bringing FLAMBERGE with him. Nate lunges at him, grabbing the back of his skull and attempting to smash his face into the unforgiving ring apron. But FLAMBERGE gets his foot up on the edge of the ring, slamming his sharp elbow into Nate’s solar plexus with a sickening crunch. As Nate staggers back in pain, FLAMBO seizes the opportunity, spinning him around and forcefully hurling him toward the metal ring post. The collision echoes throughout the stadium as Colton stumbles backward from the impact. But before he can gather himself, FLAMBERGE is already in motion, executing a front roll that propels him into the air. With lethal precision, he unleashes a devastating cutter that sends Colton crashing to the stadium floor, leaving him motionless.

Richard Parker: THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!

Nick Stuart: I thought you weren’t talking about the match any longer?

Richard Parker: Look, you’re focusing on the past, and I’m here in the moment. Did you see the athleticism from FLAMBERGE right there?

Nick Stuart: I did, and it is a shining reminder of just how gifted this young kid is.

FLAMBERGE reaches down and rolls Colton back into the ring, following back after him and covering him as Nixon begins his count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

FLAMBERGE’s eyes bulge angrily as Nixon confirms the count, signaling that the match will continue. The Lizard King leaps to his feet and delivers a brutal kick to Colton’s face while fiercely arguing with Nixon, determined to make his case for the win. Elvis’ voice echoes in FLAMBERGE’s ear, urging him to continue wrestling. With a snarl, FLAMBERGE reaches down and yanks Colton off the mat, driving his knee into the Next Diamond’s gut with such force that he doubles over in agony. Without hesitation, FLAMBERGE hooks both of Colton’s arms before slamming him down in a vicious butterfly suplex, leaving him writhing in pain on the mat.

Nick Stuart: And FLAMBERGE is standing above Colton here, looking as if he’s about as fresh as when the match started.

Richard Parker: That’s because FLAMBERGE operates on a completely different level than Colton. This match was over before it even began!

Nick Stuart: And FLAMBERGE connects with a swift kick to the chest of the prone Colton. It’s almost like he is playing with his food.

Richard Parker: Just finish him, FLAMBO!

FLAMBERGE stalks to the ring’s corner, his eyes burning with a lust for victory as Colton struggles in agony on the mat. But the Next Diamond refuses to be defeated, pushing through the searing pain to rise to his feet. FLAMBERGE charges at him with an axe kick, but Colton anticipates it and, with superhuman strength, hoists The Neck Collector into the air before slamming him down with a spine-shattering spinebuster that threatens to turn FLAMBERGE into a pile of broken bones. The agonized expression on The Neck Collector’s face mirrors the excruciating pain coursing through his body, but Colton does not relent. Using all his remaining strength, he grabs FLAMBERGE’s legs and wrenches him onto his stomach, locking in a Boston Crab!

Richard Parker: You have GOT to be kidding me!

Nick Stuart: Nope, it really happened! Colton has got FLAMBERGE in the center of the ring with a Boston Crab and you can tell the world of pain that FLAMBERGE is in. Especially when you consider the repeated shots he’s taken to the small of his back!

Richard Parker: There is nothing small about FLAMBO’s back. That back is massive!

Nick Stuart: Richard, it means– you know what? Nevermind.

Elvis Nixon checks on the Neck Collector who is clawing at the mat, but refuses to give Colton the satisfaction of making him tap out. Colton, in return, drives his boots into the mat and wrenches back, satisfied with the pained groans coming from FLAMBERGE.

Richard Parker: Come on FLAMBERGE, don’t let this fraction of a man take you out.

Nick Stuart: Fraction of a man? Nate Colton is a dedicated veteran in PRIME and has proven his value many times over.

Richard Parker: Yeah, yeah. I’m not even listening to you anymore.

Nick Stuart: Why do I even try?

With a string of vicious French curses, FLAMBERGE crawls towards the ropes, determined to get his revenge on Colton for every bruise and pain. He reaches out, fingers straining to grasp the bottom rope, but Colton refuses to let him escape. FLAMBERGE’s body twists and contorts as he fights for freedom, finally lashing out with a brutal kick that sends Colton reeling. As Nate charges at him with a thundering clothesline, FLAMBERGE ducks and retaliates with a lightning-fast roundhouse kick that echoes through the arena. The two men are locked in a ferocious dance, each strike more powerful than the last as they battle for supremacy in the ring.

Nick Stuart: And Colton blocks the roundhouse kick! He throws FLAMBERGE’s boot back onto the mat and goes for a spinning back elbow only for FLAMBERGE to block it and uses Colton’s momentum for a side suplex.

Richard Parker: Ugh and Colton manages to land on his feet. What is going on?!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE spins around and goes for a clothesline of his own — but so does Colton! The two’s arms collide, but both men are unfazed by it. Colton goes for a boot to the midsection, but FLAMBERGE manages to block it and tries for a knee to Colton’s midsection only for Colton to step out of the way.

Richard Parker: Why is this happening to me?

Nick Stuart: Both of these wrestlers have each other scouted out and know each other too well!

Both men then fly off the opposite set of ropes — both going for a flying crossbody — that ends in a sickening crunch and thud as they land on the canvas in a world of pain.

Richard Parker: What is going on?! FLAMBO, you’re better than this!

Nick Stuart: Both men are in a world of hurt on the mat! Whoever gets to their feet first might be able to take advantage and put this match away.

Richard Parker: Let’s go FLAMBO!

However, Nate Colton stirs first, digging his fists into the canvas to help get him to a vertical base. His legs are removed from underneath him as he stands — FLAMBERGE sweeping them out. He then floats over and grabs his opponent’s skull before putting him into the Marie Antoinette.

Nick Stuart: Guillotine Choke! Could this be it?

Richard Parker: Ring the bell, Elvis! This match is over!

Nick Stuart: Not quite as Colton front flips and pins FLAMBERGE’s shoulders to the mat.

Richard Parker: NO!

Elvis immediately begins his count.

ONE!

TWO!

…

…

…

…

…

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

FLAMBERGE manages to kick out just in the nick of time. Both competitors scramble to their feet and Colton connects with a back elbow that catches FLAMBERGE flush on the jaw. Colton spins FLAMBERGE around and goes for the Colton Clutch Slam — only for the Neck Collector to kick off the top turnbuckle and drop Colton to the floor, pinning him in the process. Nixon immediately begins another count.

ONE!

…

TWO!

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: ELVIS! WHERE DID YOU LEARN HOW TO COUNT?!

Nick Stuart: Another close call there for FLAMBERGE!

Richard Parker: Colton should be the loser!

Nick Stuart: And yet… he’s not.

FLAMBERGE gets to his feet and drives his boot into the chest of a rising Colton. FLAMBERGE closes the gap to Colton, only for Nate to duck underneath the outstretched arm of the Neck Collector. Spinning behind him, Colton locks in a Dragon Sleeper. FLAMBERGE immediately begins to thrash — not enjoying the feeling of his neck so close to collection — and Colton, sensing his grip loosening on FLAMBERGE, switches to an inverted suplex that drops FLAMBERGE flat on his torso.

Richard Parker: How is Colton still in this match?! Elvis Nixon, stop favoring him!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think he’s doing anything of the sort in all reality. FLAMBERGE is in a world of pain right now.

Richard Parker: And now Colton is pulling FLAMBERGE off the mat. Can’t you give him a moment to rest?! GOSH!

Nick Stuart: And FLAMBERGE fires off a headbutt that connects with Colton’s jaw. You can see FLAMBERGE rubbing his jaw in pain — and FLAMBERGE just swiped the earplugs from the ears of the Next Diamond.

Richard Parker: Hahahahahahaha!

Colton immediately drops to the mat, clutching his ears as the whistling from the crowd grows to a crescendo that he can’t stomach. With Colton in the fetal position, FLAMBERGE begins stomping away at the Next Diamond; each shot fiercer than the last until Elvis Nixon has to pull FLAMBO away from him. He immediately checks on Colton, whose eyes are closed as the sounds become too loud for him. FLAMBERGE immediately is back on the attack, mounting Colton and connecting with a series of slicing elbows that Colton cannot cover up for.

Richard Parker: This match is OVER! Ring the bell Elvis, give Colton some mercy.

Nick Stuart: The strikes from FLAMBERGE are vicious as he is unrelenting in his attack! Taking away the earplugs seems to have given FLAMBO the opening he needed.

Richard Parker: You’re not kidding, Colton can’t be the face of PRIME if this is how he reacts to noise.

Nick Stuart: I don’t know, the thought of not having to hear you is almost enough for me to buy myself a pair of them.

FLAMBERGE drags Colton off of the mat — who is still covering his ears — and pushes him into the corner. Nate fires off a series of kicks that land in the bread basket of the former Universal Champion, but FLAMBERGE fires off a kick of his own that catches Colton in the chest. With his opponent stunned, FLAMBERGE then connects with a bell clap that stuns the Next Diamond, slumping into the corner.

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE may have ruptured Colton’s ear drum with that shot.

Nick Stuart: It couldn’t have felt good, that’s true.

However, Colton seems to be shaking his head and removes his hands from his ears — the pain lessens as the ringing increases. FLAMBERGE reaches down and grabs at Colton only for Nate to connect with a forearm across his face. FLAMBO stumbles backwards, not expecting the shot from Nate. Colton pulls himself up using the ropes — still a bit dazed — and rushes at FLAMBERGE only for the Neck Collector to connect with a knee to his face that sends Colton crashing to the mat.

Nick Stuart: What a counter from FLAMBO!

Richard Parker: Now, put him away!

As if he’s listening to Richard, FLAMBERGE puts Colton in the Marie Antoinette for a second time. There’s not much movement from Colton — he attempts to push FLAMBERGE off of him — but Colton’s still dazed from the knee to the face. He reaches out to the ropes and is just shy from getting there. Nate tries to let his feet get him closer, but he’s only able to move a few inches.

He starts to see dots in front of his eyes and he claws at FLAMBERGE, using his remaining strength to pry FLAMBERGE free.

Yet, it’s useless as the Neck Collector has the Marie Antoinette locked in tightly.

He can hear his family. Not in the moment, but in his mind. Cheering him on. He can see Kohime as his eyes close and that feels like a good place to lay his head in the moment.

His arms splay out as he feels the life being taken from him.

Fading…

To…

Black…

…

…

…

…

…

The bell should have rung. It doesn’t, though.

Light seems to be creeping back in, unexpectedly. He sees Elvis ordering FLAMBERGE off of him and is confused by the sight. Has he been out that long?

Nick Stuart: COLTON MANAGED TO GET HIS RIGHT ARM ACROSS THE BOTTOM ROPE AS HE SEEMINGLY PASSED OUT!

Oh?

Richard Parker: NO! THIS IS A TRAVESTY!

FLAMBERGE has to release his hold and as he does, he is beside himself that Colton is not out. Colton is dazed as he tries to get his bearings together and pulls himself up using the ropes. FLAMBERGE rushes over and clubs him repeatedly over the back with clubbing forearms. The shots send Colton back to one knee as Elvis admonishes him. FLAMBERGE flies off the ropes and goes for a running knee only for Nate to move out of the way at the last possible second. He slips behind FLAMBERGE and goes for another Colton Clutch Suplex only for FLAMBERGE to slip out of his grasp and roll away from the Next Diamond.

Nick Stuart: Neither of these men seem capable of putting the other one down!

Richard Parker: This is ridiculous. Elvis, this match was over!

Nick Stuart: But it wasn’t!

FLAMBERGE gets back to his feet and bounces off the ropes, going for an Axe Kick only for Colton to grab his leg and connect with a dragon screw leg whip!

Richard Parker: Are you kidding me right now?!

Nick Stuart: These two are emptying their bags right now, looking for ANYTHING that can put the other one down!

With FLAMBERGE stomach-first on the mat, Colton immediately goes into a STF — using a Colton Clutch grip instead of a crossface — and locks in his submission as FLAMBERGE cries out in pain.

Richard Parker: WHAT?! IS THIS EVEN LEGAL?!

Nick Stuart: Yes, Richard, it’s a submission move! A variation of the STF that uses his family move, the Colton Clutch! Genius!

Richard Parker: No, Nick, dumb! Very dumb! I want this over!

FLAMBERGE claws at the hands of the Next Diamond, but is unable to pry the hands away. Elvis checks on him and FLAMBERGE shakes his head — though the pain is unbearable. He begins to dig his forearms into the mat — yet, Colton is a heavy mofo on his back. He tries anything he can to reach the bottom rope.

Yet, it’s too far.

Colton needs to go on a diet, FLAMBO thinks in the moment.

And yet, as he realizes he’s stuck, he realizes there’s only one thing he can do.

Begrudgingly.

TAP TAP TAP.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

*WHISTLE WHISTLE WHISTLE!*

DING DING DING

And just like that, it was over.

Vince Howard: Your winner via submission… THE NEXT DIAMOND! NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE! COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLTON!

COLT-ON! COLT-ON! COLT-ON! COLT-ON!

As Nate releases the submission hold on FLAMBERGE, he rolls off his opponent and lies back first on the mat. He looks up at the sky, in disbelief of the moment. He’d conquered his greatest foe and slammed the palms of his hands into the mat repeatedly.

Meanwhile, FLAMBERGE lies next to him, in pain. Just whispering the same word over and over at Colton.

BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!
BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!
BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!

Nick Stuart: NATE COLTON HAS PULLED IT OFF! HE’S DEFEATED HIS GREATEST ENEMY FOR THE SECOND TIME!

Richard Parker: This is all Elvis Nixon’s fault! He’s as crooked as they come! Crooked Elvis they call him!

Colton ignores FLAMBERGE as he gets to his feet, victorious for a second time against FLAMBERGE. Elvis Nixon raises his hand and Colton receives a mixed response from the crowd gathered. The ringing in his ears though allows him to mute most of it, which helps him in the moment.

He circles the ring, raising his arms in victory, though still feeling the effects of the match.

Richard Parker: Cut the feed. This is an embarrassment!

Nick Stuart: One hell of a night here in Lisbon! And this is only Night One! We saw a new Alias Champion crowned, Rose defeated a member of the Red Army, Clay Byrd put down Brandon Youngblood, and Don Winters retain his title against STRONK!

Richard Parker: Who cares?!

Nick Stuart: And tomorrow night! We have six matches for you! Including Cancer Jiles and Cecilworth Farthington —

Richard Parker: Are you trying to make me vomit?

Nick Stuart: And the Universal Title Match! Jonathan Christopher Hall defends against Coral Avalon!

Richard Parker: BOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: For my petulant friend, Richard Parker, I’m Nick Stuart! Thank you for tuning into Night One of Tropical Turmoil and we will see you again tomorrow night for Night Two!

Richard Parker: I’M GOING TO BE SICK!

As Colton climbs the turnbuckle, he holds both arms up for all in Lisbon to see.

FADE.

BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!

TO.

BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!

DIAMONDS!