ReVival 52

Normally these opening segments are called “Cold Opens.” Usually something exciting and neat happens in them before the opening contest gets underway.

However, when a certain eGG Bandit with three black market cans of AquaNet in his hair and sunglasses so large that even Bono thinks they’re pretentious is in one, well, then they’re called “COOL Opens.”

HOW.

Ever.

When said eGG Bandit has done something positively heinous – like instigating the Bedlam in Boise for instance, featuring the Superkick of Damocles – that necessitates him being called down to the Principal’s Office to get his head ripped off by Mother Dearest, these opening segments are called “FRIGID Opens.”

It’s a new thing that I made up just now.

I think cryo would be more apropos.

Here sits the Clown Prince of COOL, the Maestro of the Midcard, with his Alfredo hair rock solid and his T-shades glinting underneath the fluorescent lights. He’s grinning from ear to ear. Arms behind his head. Not a care in the world. To the PRIMEates, he’s neither exciting nor neat. He’s a big piece of shit who nobody likes. Except maybe Hessian, as evidenced by the aforementioned Bedlam in Boise last ReVival.

Speaking of, next to King Crumb and sweating bullets, sits the Murder Shovel. Big Ian himself.  PRIME Hall of Famer. The new Hammer of the eGG Bandits. So big he takes up four spots in the carton, Hessian.

Bobby takes up five. Coral’s forehead takes up ten. Tony, phone books and all, takes up negative eight.

Cancer looks at his very large insurance policy squished in a very tiny chair in what appears to be a broom closet of an office.

Apparently they kicked Gamble out of here earlier in the day.

Cancer Jiles: First time in front of the firing squad, huh? Don’t worry. It gets easier. At first Bobby would fart through these whole things. We did tend to get off the hook a lot more back then.

Hessian nods. It’s maybe the least confident thing he has ever done. He should have laughed, but it’s okay.

Cancer Jiles: Just let me do all the talking. I know just what–

Lindsay Troy: Shut it, Pizmo; you’re lucky we were in Idaho two weeks ago and not this week. They still execute people by firing squad there, and I happen to be a very good shot.

The Queen of the Ring sits behind a desk half the size of her usual one. Her Throne of Championships is nowhere to be found; there’s no way it’d fit through the door. She leans forward on her forearms and alternates her glare between Tweedle Crumb and Tweedle Crumber in an effort to keep her temper in check and not strangle either of them before the main event.

Even though she’d like to.

Lindsay Troy: Why is it every time you come within sniffing distance of the Universal Title, you manage to make everything into a colossal shitshow? How is it that this is the one talent you possess besides being a constant pain in my ass?

Cancer Jiles: I believe the term you’re looking for is COOLOSSAL.  

Eyes roll.

Well, it’s more like they bulge while rolling.

Lindsay Troy: Talk out of turn again and I’ll fire you on the spot and into the sun.

One half of a fraction of a millisecond passes.

Lindsay Troy: I don’t care if you have the sunglasses for it.

The Eggsecutioner frowns.

Now, The Boss locks eyes with Hessian and jabs an index finger in his direction.

Lindsay Troy: And what the fuck is wrong with you? Aligning yourself with him?

A thumb towards King Cromb.

No typo.

Lindsay Troy: Do you just wander around here with your head up your ass whenever you’re not in the ring, Angelus? You know what? Don’t answer that. Close your mouth. I’m not spending another second on your mind-bogglingly stupid decision.

Hessian’s lips slowly find their way back together. You might say he almost looks relieved.

Lindsay Troy: Everyone in the main event’s going to get their shots in on the both of you soon enough, and I know Coral will want you one-on-one to settle this little jealous streak of yours and put you back in your place.

Cancer Jiles: As if. Coral Avalon doesn’t have the sack. He’s all forehead. Better yet, Coral Avalon is a coward who needed to steal all of my friends in order to reach heights he never thought possible. He knows he can’t beat me. Not then. Not now. Not EVER.

Lindsay Troy: Oh, you have friends? That’s news. And it’s adorable that you don’t think Coral will stand up to you, Pizmo, so let me lay out how this is going to go. The two of you will main event UltraViolence Night 2. That’s right; you heard me. I’m going to set you up for success, just so when you fail it will be even sweeter.

Jiles’ T-shades begin to chill, as does his temperament.

Lindsay Troy: In fact, while we’re here, Ivan Stanislav and Nate Colton will main event UltraViolence Night 1, since Ivan and Alexei can’t seem to shut up about the Colton Family and Nate’s decided to put a stop to it.

Cancer Jiles: sneezenerds.

A glare of glares.

Lindsay Troy: You just had to be an idiot, didn’t you? Oh well. For calling my bluff, and since I want to see you get torn apart later on tonight, at ReVival 53, Coral will defend the Universal Title against Nate Colton.

Jiles’ jaw drops through the floor, through the Earth’s core, and eventually winds up in orbit.

Lindsay Troy: Whoever’s the Universal Champ coming out of that match will be defending the belt in their respective UltraViolence main event. Now get out of my sight.

Like an eight year old in the middle of a temper tantrum, Jiles storms to his feet, flips his chair over and stomps out of the office. Hessian looks after him, struggles to get out of his own seat and, once he does, lumbers after him.

The Queen of the Ring sits in silence for a few moments, then she too stands up and walks out the door where she bumps into Angelica Brooks.

Angelica Brooks: Oh hey, Lindsay, sorry about that. I didn’t see you.

Lindsay Troy: No problem. Hey, could you let production know I’m all set in there and I’ll be in my office if they need anything?

Angelica Brooks: Sure thing.

The Lady of the Hour and PRIME’s Head Interviewer go their separate ways and ReVival officially gets underway….

https://prime-wrestling.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/07/ReV52-Commercial.mp4

Folks, I know we’re all still reeling after what happened in the Cold Open, but we still got a show to get through and it’s a biggun. So, let’s see some signs for ReVival 52!

IT STARTED IN BOISE BUT THE COW PALACE IS GONNA HAVE THE BEEF
SAY HIS NAME AND HE APPEARS, I BELIEVE IN KEN FREEMAN
THE ONLY WAY YOU COULD MAKE THIS SHOW ANY HOTTER IS IF THE AC WAS BUSTED
CORAL AVALON’S AVALONTANIUM FOREHEAD HAS A DENT IN IT NOW
HOW MANY WOMEN CAN BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD BEAT IN A SINGLE NIGHT?
BREAKING NEWS – JOHNNY SINS TO PLAY THE TITLE CHARACTER IN THE NEW BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD BIOPIC
BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD DELIVERS PIZZA WITH EXTRA SAUSAGE
WE AMERICANS CAN GIVE PRAYS AND THINKINGS TO GREAT MAN ALEXEI RUSLAN LOVE YOU WE DO FROM 100% AMERICAN FANS RUSSIA NUMBER 1!!
RUSHER IS SHID
$100 BOUNTY ON ALEXEI RUSLAN’S MOUSTACHE
IT’S ONLY A DEATH THREAT IF ITS FROM THE LA MORT REGION OF FRANCE, OTHERWISE ITS JUST SPARKLING MAIMING
BLOOD IS THE POOP OF THE FACE IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT
THIS IS JUST A REGULAR PALACE NOW BECAUSE STRONK ATE ALL THE COWS
JILES WAS IN THE MAIN EVENT OF REVIVAL 3. VICKIE HALL WASNT EVEN ADDICTED TO DRUGS THEN

Nick Stuart: Welcome, everyone, to ReVival 52! We’re here live from the legendary Cow Palace in San Francisco!

Richard Parker: I’m still reeling from what happened here moments ago. And also a little angry. Bit of both, really. Look, I know I’m not allowed to drink on the job… anymore, so I just need some violence to really help me forget what just happened.

Oh, you want some fuckin’ violence, do you? Well, don’t worry. We got you, fam.

How about a little “Satori II” by the Flower Travellin’ Band? You know what that means, don’t you, Richard? That means that we have the arrival of none other than Sage Pontiff. He moves with a careless purpose, ready to once again reduce something beautiful into something beaten.

Vince Howard: Introducing first… from Joshua Tree, California! Weighing in a two hundred and one pounds… HE IS THE BODHISATTVA OF THE TRANSFORMATIVE EXPERIENCE! SAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGEEEE POOOOOOONTIIIIIIIFFFFFF!!!

Pontiff slides underneath the bottom rope, and puts himself in the lotus position in one corner. He awaits his opponent, and he doesn’t have to wait long for him.

“R.O.C.K in the USA” by John Mellencamp hits the PA system as Chip Trager saunters out from behind the curtain and makes his way to the ring. He’s smiling and waving on his way down to the ring, occasionally slapping hands with fans on his way to his debut match.

Vince Howard: His opponent… from the MEAN STREETS of… Indianapolis, Indiana! He weighs in tonight at one hundred and ninety pounds! THE WONDER BOY! CHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPP TRAAAAAAAAAAGERRRRR!!!

Trager hops into the ring, ready for his very traditional wrestling match.

Sage Pontiff is not about traditional wrestling matches. He’s about the fight. The moment Trager is in the ring and goes to his corner, Sage sprints across the ring and smashes him with a rolling koppou kick in the corner.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: As usual, Sage Pontiff is not waiting around for this one!

Richard Parker: What a kick!

Pontiff stands and starts burying fists into the sides of Trager’s head. Referee Ashley Barlow visibly sighs and then starts a five count to get Pontiff off of Trager. Pontiff breaks at 4.5, of course, because he has decided that he wants to damage this poor young man. Brutality is the name of the game. He pulls Trager to his feet and punches him right in the mouth again. An Irish whip sends Trager to the other corner, but Trager runs up the turnbuckles and backflips up and over Pontiff.

A dropkick sends Sage into the corner. Trager climbs up onto the turnbuckles and engages the ‘ol ten count punch, pounding Sage with nine consecutive punches before jumping up into the air and bringing down a tenth punch to the head.

Sage is wobbly after that, but he doesn’t go down or retreat. Instead, he wants more. Trager obliges, but not with another punch. Instead, he charges forward and hits him with a running boot that knocks the Bodhisattva of the Transformative Experience out of the ring.

Trager steps out onto the apron, and runs along it before hitting Sage with a big penalty kick that knocks over the taller man. Sage hits the ground hard.

Nick Stuart: Despite the fast start, Chip Trager’s turned things around out here!

Richard Parker: Just keep them away from us. I’ve had enough near-death experiences sitting out here just in the last six months. Stupid Jiles.

Trager hops off of the apron and presses his advantage. He tries to whip Sage into the guardrail, but Sage deftly reverses it and sends Trager instead. Tragers hit the guardrail with a CRASH that puts a knowing smile on Sage’s face. Sage doesn’t press his advantage, though, because he has blessings in mind for Chip Trager. It’s just that what Sage considers a “blessing” is really more of a “curse” to his opponents.

He reaches under the ring and yanks out a table.

Nick Stuart: Uh.

Richard Parker: Well, this is escalating quickly.

Now, Ashley Barlow is watching this while she’s working the ten count. She is allowing this, because it’s happening on the floor and she’s counting. Let her count.

Nick Stuart: Referee Barlow is using some curious discretion for this.

Richard Parker: Our poor, overworked referees have given up and are letting chaos have its way. Doesn’t bode well for the rest of our night, does it?

Sage sets up the table by the ring apron and then goes to collect Trager. He slams Wonder Boy’s head into the ring apron, and then makes the conscious decision to throw him back into the ring. That breaks Barlow’s count, and Sage slides back into the ring. He gets on top of Trager, and starts delivering several headbutts from the mount to knock him silly. Most people would go for the cover in this situation, but most people are not Sage Pontiff. His work is not done.

Once he’s done with the headbutts, he pops Trager in the mouth with another punch and then gets off of him. After all, Barlow’s doing that counting thing again that might bring a premature end to all of the blessings he’s bestowing on his opponent. After he glares down at her, he goes back to Trager, only to be met with a punch in the gut. Another one sends Sage staggering back.

Nick Stuart: Sage Pontiff is one-of-a-kind, but Chip Trager is fighting back here!

Trager stands and lands a hard fist to Sage’s face. Sage reacts with a smile, and slams a knee into Trager’s gut to stop his momentum. This doubles him over, giving Sage the opportunity to go for the Shamanic Dreamweaver. But Trager backdrops him, sending Sage crashing to the canvas. Trager stands and smashes Sage in the chest with an overhead chop.

SMACK!

Sage takes that one and actually flinches a little, maybe not expecting it to hit as hard as it did from the shorter man. A second one – SMACK! – causes Pontiff to stagger back into the ropes. Trager takes the opportunity for an Irish whip, only for Pontiff to reverse it again and send him into the ropes. An attempt at a backdrop is countered with a big kick, and then a clothesline puts Pontiff down. Pontiff wisely slides out to the ring apron. Trager, less wisely, follows him out to fight him on said apron.

There’s punches back and forth between them, but Sage has the reach and the practiced hand of a man who’s walked away from more fistfights than is recommended by doctors. He gets the upper hand, rocking Trager with several right hands. Then he scoops up Trager onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. There is impending doom in the air, and a table set up by Sage’s feet.

All he has to do is let gravity do its dark work.

CRAAAAASH!

Nick Stuart: A DEATH VALLEY DRIVER FROM PONTIFF OFF OF THE APRON, THROUGH THE TABLE!

Richard Parker: Jeeeeeesus!

Yeah, Nick and Richard pretty much nail this one. Trager and Sage are both down and referee Barlow decides that the best thing to do is to initiate a ten count. It looks like it could be a countout, but Pontiff stirs and manages to pull Trager up to throw him back into the ring.

Pontiff does not immediately go for the kill.

Instead, he sits down in a lotus position in front of Trager, daring him to get back up. Trager pushes himself up with his hands, trying to get back to his feet. This, however, leaves him in prime position to get caught up in another attempt at the Shamanic Dreamweaver. Trager stops the attempt by putting himself down to one knee, preventing Pontiff from getting anywhere with his finishing move.

So, Pontiff pulls back and grabs Trager by the head before landing several vicious, short kicks to the head. When he decides to go for a suplex instead, Trager immediately wraps him up in a small package!

ONE!

TWO!

NO.

Trager gets up, only to be met with a kick in the gut from Pontiff. He goes for the standing headscissors again, but Trager suddenly shoves him straight into the corner before battering him with more closed fists.

Nick Stuart: I don’t know where Chip Trager is getting this from, but he’s fighting back here!

Richard Parker: I don’t think most people go through a goddamn table in their debut match, that’s for sure.

With Sage rocked in the corner, Trager climbs the turnbuckles to deliver the ten punches one more time. Only, at around five of these, Pontiff suddenly lifts him up in powerbomb position. Then he lifts him up higher like he’s going to do a Last Ride powerbomb… before dropping him behind him.

Into the turnbuckles.

OHHHHH!!!

Trager lands hard, and the only reason he’s not on the ground is because the ropes themselves are holding him aloft.

Nick Stuart: Huge counter from Pontiff!

It’s all the opening that Sage Pontiff needs. He grabs Trager by the arms. Full nelson. And then…

Nick Stuart: ATHARVAVEDA!

Trager goes flying back from the release dragon suplex, landing on the back of his head and nearly rolling over onto his feet. ****It puts him in a prime (heh) position for Sage to finish things.

So he does.

Nick Stuart: SHAMANIC DREAMWEAVER! HE SPIKED HIM WITH IT!

Trager is down, and Pontiff quickly makes the cover.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE!

DING DING DING

Pontiff rolls off of Trager and puts himself back in the lotus position.

He stares down at his fallen opponent and doesn’t react much when Vince Howard makes the announcement.

Vince Howard: Your winner… SAAAAAAAAAGEEEEE PONTIFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!

Barlow wants to raise Pontiff hand, but he doesn’t move from his position yet. Instead, he’s watching Trager roll to the ropes to try and get back to his feet.

Nick Stuart: Chip Trager put a lot of heart into this one, but in the end, Sage Pontiff picks up the big dub.

Richard Parker: You need to say that from your diaphragm. BIG DUB.

Trager is up to his feet after some difficulty, his body slumped in defeat. He turns to look at Pontiff, and does the only thing that a respectable pro wrestler like him can think to do.

He offers a handshake.

Pontiff stares at his hand for a moment, then rises from his position with the practiced motion of a snake being charmed. He accepts the hand and even draws Trager into a hug. It’s a surprising thing from a man who adores violence as much as he does to show this kind of respect to an op—

OHHHHHHH!!!

Oh. There’s a headbutt.

Tragers falls to the ground holding his head in pain, and Sage Pontiff stands over him.

Nick Stuart: I can’t imagine that’s what Chip Trager had in mind when he offered his respect to Sage Pontiff.

Richard Parker: Oof.

Pontiff shakes his head, staggering somewhat after the vicious headbutt, but he clears the cobwebs enough that he leaves the ring and leaves his opponent to gather himself on the canvas.

And ReVival 52 moves along.

Can you believe Max Kael has never been invited to the Cold Open? Been here a whole year, a former Champion, an Ultra-Hall of Famer and Pit survivor and yet, no Cold Open.

Weird, right?

Or intentional.

Well now it’s Segment One time, baby, and Segment One means..

THE RED MANIFESTO

We’re straight into the shit as a massive, golden Lenin head looks out over the crimson stage. Patriotic Soviet music begins to play with a little extra bump cause it’s actually a trap remix. Lenin’s mouth opens as an escalator slowly lowers to the glossy red floor. There is a lot of cheering, more than you’d expect for a show not taped in front of an audience.

News Babushka: Welcome to the Red Manifesto, here is your host.. COMMISSAR MAXIMILLION VILHELM KAAAAEEL!

Riding the escalator down comes Max Kael, decked out in his crimson uniform while his chest glitters with his assorted medals, honors and awards. He poses while wearing a malicious smile, a parody of a late night. As he reaches the stage floor he dances off the final step and slides toward a standing microphone. More canned applause as he takes a deep bow before snatching the microphone.

Max Kael: Worms of PRIME, please, please, you’re too kind!

The cheering continues as he waves to a non-existent audience. Finally he cuts his hand across his throat causing the cheering to abruptly stop.

Max Kael: So what’s happening in PRIME these days? Cancer Jiles and Coral Avalon are having a little tiff over the World Title, I hear that will be nice. I guess. Daytona Diamonds is still INTENSE Champion, unfortunately. That technicolor bastardess, RIA, is till talking shit on Jabber. Nothing terribly interesting going on..

From behind Max a massive board slides down with the PRIME Tag Team Championship Tournament brackets set up on it.

Max Kael: Other than ya boi, Max Kael, and Comrade Kenny Freeman running roughshod over every other tag team in this bitch. Let’s take a look at the standing so shall we?

Shuffling toward the board Max points a gloved finger toward “Fuck Your Tag Team” consisting of Annal Daniels and Rob Williams.

Max Kael: So far the Timelord and the so called Legend have managed to secure themselves a tie earning them one point. What can I say about this team? If there wasn’t already someone on the roster named Cancer, I’d suggest that as their new name.

Canned laughter. Not like, over the top, but far more than that joke deserves.

Max Kael: Then we’ve got the current leaders, the Twins?. Like going to the ice cream store and ordering vanilla and french vanilla, the Masters of the Multiverse Part Deux will show these two masked idiots the fury of the Red Army! Once we’re done with them, they won’t be wearing the masks out of choice, they’ll be wearing them to hide their shame and embarrassment.

Instead of laughter, Max is met with joyful cheers and hoots of support. He basks in it for a moment before moving on.

Max Kael: Pineapple Express or I guess Hawaiian BBQ made up of Adam Ellis and Bryan Dawkins is currently the only team in the tournament with a loss. I’m not counting them out yet but having Adam Ellis on your team can’t be a big confidence booster, am I right Dawkins?

We get some solid early nineties Arsenio Hall “ooooooo” and whistling as Max gets his cheap shot in.

Max Kael: Kenny and I’s opponents for tonight, who managed to tie with Daniels and Williams, are an extension of the damnedable Poor Whores Men, Fred Dick and STRONK Godson. They have some silly, dumbfuck name but at the end of the day they’re just filthy, disgusting Poor Whores Men and they’re going to get what they’re due! I’m going to embarrass that Fred Dick and Kenny Freeman is going to show STRONK Godson what REAL strength looks like.. Heh-heh.. Speaking of which..

Snapping his fingers the Tag Team Championship brackets ascend back into the ceiling. Max skips along the stage until he comes to a shiny black desk that stands in stark contrast to the crimson surroundings.

Max Kael: Introducing the other half of the Masters of the Multiverse Part Deux: The Freeman-Kael Connection as well as our manager.. Comrade Kenny Freeman and Manager Randall Schwartz!

With that, Kenny and Randall make their way down the escalator decked out in their Red Army uniforms. The pair shake hands with Max, who immediately calls for the Herald to start bringing in various…weapons? Doodads? Who knows, really.

A pair of scissors can be seen among the items, along with a can of pepper spray…which Randall immediately sprays into his mouth, realizing very quickly this is NOT something to season food with. Max just looks at the Entertainer in confusion before turning his attention back to Kenny.

Max Kael: I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that. Tonight we’re facing Fredrick Dick and Lowell Dot Com’s child brained Titan, STRONK Godson. Both of these men have besmirched the good name of the Red Army and given us reason to reign down fury.

His eyes turn back to Randall. The man has started to tear up, doing all he can to hide his pain and anguish after spraying himself in the mouth with pepper spray.

Max Kael: And YOU, Comrade Swartz, will be in charge of ensuring our victory. A little insurance in case those fools don’t get the upper hand this time. My the Herald has provided you with tools necessary to be the manager of this fine team.

Max looks into the bin and starts pulling items out. The aforementioned scissors. A hammer. A bottle marked poison with a little skull on it. A knife. A baseball bat. A pair of brass knuckles. A bag of pocket sand. A bag of broken glass. And at last the pepper spray Randall seasoned his mouth with.

Max Kael: Now load yourself up, Randall! I expect every one of these tools to be on your person beside the ring for our match latter.

Leaving Randall to figure out how to hide all the weapons Max gave him into his uniform, Max returns to his HOST DESK BLACK AS THE HEART OF PRIME.

Max Kael: My next guest appears to be named after a hat. Please give a warm RED MANIFESTO welcome to.. STETSON KING!

Emerging from the mouth of a giant bust of Lenin, down a golden escalator, Stetson King looks…amused. He turns around to watch the giant head of Lenin, letting out a laugh. He turns around, looking over at Max Kael, who seems to not fully understand the amusement of Stetson. Stetson is welcomed with a rousing bit of canned laughter, probably stolen from Golden Girls.

Stetson King: Hell’s bells and smack my mama, that’s a big ole Ruski, ain’t it?

Max Kael: Yes, yes he is! That’s John Lennon.. I MEAN VLADIMIR LENIN.. Whew.. still getting used to being Russian.

Stetson King: (Stetson laughs, a hint of madness revealed through the volume) Lenin’s just a damn good name, brother, easy to CORN-FUSE, if’n we’re speakin’ in tongues together!

Stetson holds out a hand to shake Max’s hand.

Stetson King: I appreciate you showin’ ole Stetson King a bit of the ole HOSS-SPIT-TALITEEEE. Hell yeah, brother, got some handsome digs here too!

The extended hand of Stetson King hangs in the air for a moment before Max reaches out his own hand. He grips King’s hand before his other hand quickly descends over the top of both. Feeling Stetson’s grasp tightens around Max’s hand, a quiet display of strength that causes the Commissar to grin broadly.

Max Kael: I like you, Stetson King, you strike me as the kind of shitbag who’d like to hurt someone for the hell of it. Am I talking to the right son of a bitch when I make that observation?

Stetson releases the hand and falls back into the guest seat, leaning back very self-assured and arrogantly. He grins at Max, flicking the brim of his hat.

Stetson King: Well, hell feller, if the shit sticks to the boot!

Stetson’s demeanor calms suddenly, his toothy grin becoming a bit of a snarl, like a mad wolf.

Stetson King: I was born in decay and raised in rust. Industry ain’t got nowhere to go if the wheels ain’t greased in a bit of blood and sufferin’.

Max steeples his fingers while leaning back in his chair. He nods his head, the wheels turning through the gray matter stuffed in his skull.

Max Kael: Well isn’t that just poetry? You know, I’ve been saying I hope people die violent deaths on Jabber the last few weeks but I don’t think I’ve managed to say something so lovely and profound. I think you’ve got a bright future here in PRIME with an attitude like that, I tell ya, blood really greases the wheels around here. What are your goals here? What motivates Stetson King to climb into the ring?

Stetson leans forward, looking down at the ground. He crosses his fingers, clearly in thought.

Stetson King: I was meant for fortune and glory, Max-E-Million. If’n I lived in an early age, I’d be removin’ heads from a damn battlefield or spearin’ savages in some deep, dark forest. But, see, world’s grown a little soft with the comforts of MOE-DERN-ITTY, if’n ya heard the rooster croon. Even as folks starve in the streets, they do so from the comfort of an easy chair, ya hearin’ me speak true? So, if’n there ain’t now wars for me to go and help some poor patriot die for their country…

Stetson looks up at Max, the grin of the devil on his face, his one gold tooth glistening.

Stetson King: Guess I gotta go unleash them hounds in my own way.

Nodding along with what Stetson’s saying, Max’s grin doesn’t leave his face. Another lover of violence, another man who sees the failings of a world afraid to embrace the savage heart. Though when he speaks of the comforts of “MOE-DERN-ITTY”, his eyes flicker toward Kenny Freeman before they return to King.

Max Kael: Has anyone given you a proper tour of the PRIME backstage? I feel like you deserve a proper Maximillian Wilhelm Kael backstage access level tour. Maybe you can show me some of that.. Mm.. fortune and glory seeking warrior. Hell, if we’re lucky I might get a little blood on my hands tonight, too! What do you say, Mister King?

Max snaps his fingers as the Herald shuffles over from off camera carrying a crossbow and a quiver of bolts. The Commissar examines the weapon while waiting for Stetson’s answer.

Stetson King: (looking up at the crossbow, a cheshire cat grin spreading across his face) Mighty nice pea shooter there. That sounds like a helluva plan, COMM-EEE-SAR Kael, and I’d love nothing more than to stalk these halls with ya, but…

Stetson leans back, and for a moment Max looks worried that Stetson might say no. However, Stetson simply looks down at his hands, balling and unballing his fist.

Stetson King: I prefer my huntin’ to be a bit more…personal, if’n ya feel the muck in my soul.

Kael winks at Stetson before handing the crossbow back to the Herald.

Max Kael: I understand completely. Me? I’m joyfully devoid of morals or ethics. Just the glorious ideology of Communism!

He lies through his own golden teeth. He turns back to his the Herald.

Max Kael: Bentley go ahead and grab Sister Gloria and Sir Alabaster Broadside. We’ll meet up with you later.

His head snaps back toward the camera, his practiced, unpleasant smile ever present on the Commissar’s face.

Max Kael: Worms of PRIME, this has been THE RED MANIFESTO.. Fred Dick.. STRONK Godson.. I hope you die of dysentery two days before all your dreams come true. GOOD NIGHT!

There is another blast of loud applause. The crimson stage vanishes washes into a black screen as the red credits roll. The vast majority are just Max Kael’s name followed by every single one of his titles, original and stolen. It takes a minute before we finally cut away.

The happenings in the Cow Palace backstage area can only be described as wild. The commotion of the night ahead, the cheeks in their seats after Sage Pontiff and Chip Trager kick off perhaps the single most epic ReVival of the ReVival era. It’s a bold statement but one that carries some weight. So many wonder why the camera is fixed on a pair of double doors that lead to the parking area.

BADDOOOOOM

They burst open practically on cue to reveal the Hot Dog Hero and his entourage hastily enter the arena.

RAHHHHHH

The pop of the crowd is enough to stir up some resentment with one half of the PRIME commentary team but also reverberate through the Moo Moo Mahal to reach the ears of the Buffalo Kid. His eyes perk up with the corner of his mouth, injecting him with a warmth felt only from the thrill of combat.

Richard Parker: Goddamnit.

Nick Stuart: He’s here! The Alias Title challenger is in. The. BUILDING, folks!

With a pep in his step and focus in his eyes, Crash turns back to Raffi and shakes his head.

Raffi Azarian: We made it, big bro. Time to lock in.

Jacque and Broque take a few strides forward, each with hopes to contribute to the conversation. Crash is sure to put more distance between the group with a shake of his finger.

Crash Jackson: Fact is, boys, we kinda fucked up here. I fucked up… not sure how I got things crossed but, luckily Broque can drive at speeds that would make most normal bros puke. So thanks, Broque. Got me where I need to be… now I gotta make sure this part is picture perfect, playas.

Raffi turns toward Greg Davis, already lost interest in the pity party, and chatting up some babes by the merchandise area. He rolls his eyes but turns to see Crash nodding out of respect and now holding one and one-third hotdogs, mouth full.

Raffi Azarian: Big bro, your match is gonna come up sooner than you think. You gotta prepare.

The Alias challenger for the evening watches as Greg collects not one or two, but three phone numbers from the girls and walks away with a grin fit for a winner. He shakes his head, quite impressed, and chews his mouth clear.

Crash Jackson: Fuckin’ Don Juan de la Nooch…

The Northern Light looks back at Raffi, shrugs, and chomps into his second wonderweenie with fury. The act itself is… messy. His intentions though, shown through his eyes and snarl, say that preparing for the biggest match of his life is exactly what PRIME’s favorite hotdog is doing, right before our very eyes. He looks off down the corridor and spots where he can only assume the locker room area is. Crash turns to Raffi and the Laroques, seeing Greg is too far away to postpone his constant preparation.

Crash Jackson: Go ahead, bros. I’ll meet you down there. I just gotta make sure everything’s in order with… my wingman.

The HOTDOGStourage peels off to find their own comforts as Crash heads in the opposite direction. With more focus than speed, the Hot Dog Hero knows that there’s only one step that matters tonight, and he’ll have to take a lot more to get to that point. He makes his way through the crowded backstage hallways, blocking almost every distraction out, and heads off to make ReVival 52 the biggest night of his life.

We cut elsewhere.

We see Coral Avalon as he’s walking through the upper deck of the Cow Palace on his way to the nest he’d built for himself. You see, our very extra little Universal champion got the bright idea – after seeing Jiles get imprisoned in one for several months around two years ago – of commandeering the skybox.

Under the watchful command and even hand of a king, it has become more than simply a skybox. It is the eGG Den 3.0. The Champion’s Advantage. The Den of Conquest. The Best Nest. Noah’s Perch. It’s also called the Throne Room, as in it literally has a throne in it. We just put that shit in there. Deal with it.

You might think that this is something only a narcissist would do, and you would be correct. Remember, he’s the King of Conquerors, not the King of Croquettes.

He walks by the camera, which follows him as he reaches the doors to the skybox. He opens the door, and…

Daytona Diamonds: Well, if it ain’t ol’ Golden Coral Avalon! Mister Universal Champion hisself! How the fuck are ya, ol’ buddy?!

At the center of the skybox, close to the window, there is a throne. It’s big and opulent and purple. Daytona Diamonds, in typical Daytona Diamonds fashion, is sitti– no, no lounging in the throne with one leg tossed over the arm, boot kicking lazily at thin air. Blue banners line the back wall of the skybox, each emblazoned with the symbol of Avalon’s Crownless Kingdom: the skull with the broken crown. There’s a long table with its own catering. There’s also a display where the Universal championship should go, but at present moment, Daytona has carelessly placed the Intense championship in its spot since Avalon has the Universal belt on him.

Standing at the aforementioned catering table is Fred Dick, loading up a plate with biscuits and gravy. His normally blood-red beard, dyed white and brown by the sawmill gravy and God knows what else. Bits of sausage, chunks of pepperoni sticks, probably even some turkey giblets and baked beans up in that thing.

Reed Young is behind Fred, cheering Fred on, hoping he takes even more biscuits, shoves them in his mouth and works on fine tuning that wonderful “big man” wrestling figure of his. Reed also seemingly pays no attention to Coral.

Harley Walker lies on the ground, already stuck with a bad case of the “spins” from too much drinking.

He could barf at any time.

STRONK, clad only in a pair of tight black shorts, with a millimeter-thick layer of baby oil covering his mostly-nude body, effortlessly performs squats and chomps on a collection of various meats piled a foot high on a flimsy paper plate. Everything else around him fades away, ceases to exist as he unsuccessfully attempts to satiate himself with his eleventh meal of the day.

Flanking him to his left is Lowell Dot Com, the Shillin’ Villain’s new “skin fade” haircut (that is to say, scalp tattoo) looking… unbelievably horrific, somehow even worse on camera, blisters and stomach-churning nodules of dead flesh like a virus spreading across the top of his head. He sips champagne and fiddles with his phone, buying Chinese vape pens and commercial amounts of caviar online.

Coral takes one look inside the skybox he’d built for himself, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, counts to about eight, and decides to see where this goes.

Coral Avalon: Uh, hey guys. I’m taking it that you all saw the sign that said “Reserved for the PRIME Universal Champion” outside and thought “this sign can’t stop us”?

Despite not looking over at Coral, Young nods honestly and profusely, with super BRO energy, like that’s exactly what he thought it meant. Meanwhile, Daytona speaks up.

Daytona Diamonds: Aw shit, I thought that was countin’ future Universal Champions too.

Pause. Grin. Wink for the camera.

Daytona Diamonds: Listen, we ain’t tryna be no sons-a-bitches here, Coral. We jus’ figured we’d stop by, pay homage, shoot the shit, and see how The Corhouse compares to The Whorehouse. Ain’t shit, but nice try, hoss.

Most people would be bothered about this. Most people aren’t as frequently relaxed about the situations he finds himself in as Coral Avalon, though. Despite being surrounded by a bevy of ne’er-do-wells and dipshits and STRONK, he boldly enters his skybox without a single worry in his bones.

Coral Avalon: Oh. Sorry that my new digs aren’t to your liking, ‘Tona. Mind you, I think we just have a difference in aesthetic preferences. Maybe I could pull some strings, get a stripper pole installed in the skybox I’m definitely commandeering in Sacramento.

He is not pulling any strings for that. Lindsay Troy might actually stab him. With a pike.

Fred Dick: Will there be lemon pepper wings at the skybox strip club in Sacramento, Coral?

Fred squeezes his beard hair, wrings the gravy out of it like a wet towel.

Fred Dick: Because, like, no offense, y’know, I’m not normally one to offend. I’m a polite man. Y’know? Kinda feller where, if you had a piece of turlet paper hangin’ outcha ace after you left the shidder? I wouldn’t even mention it. But that bein’ said, I can go ahead and tell ya, the caterin’ you got set up here ain’t worth nary a damn.

Coral Avalon: Okay, what’s wrong with the tiny weiner dogs, Fred!? They came straight from Scotty’s Kickin’ Weiner Meats, you know!

STRONK finally notices Coral speaking to his fellow Whoresmen and lumbers his way over to him. He stands in front of the PRIME Universal Champion, chewing roast beef like a cow chews its cud, scanning him from head to toe. He looks about ready to say something, but instead, shovels another fistful of deli meat into his mouth. After sufficiently chewing—Mama Dick taught him that valuable lesson just recently—and swallowing, STRONK speaks.

STRONK: HELLO. 

Avalon looks deep into Godson’s dim, naive eyes and realizes that the big man has no idea who he is, despite them having wrestled to a draw just over a year ago. He clearly decides that he’s already neck deep in all of this and that he’s not going to question it.

Coral Avalon: …Hello, STRONK. Enjoying your time in my skybox?

STRONK: YES. HOW DO YOU KNOW STRONK’S NAME? WHAT IS THE NAME OTHER HUMANS CALL YOU? 

Coral Avalon: I’m going to guess you don’t remember, but… we’ve met before, though we didn’t exactly talk to each other. But it was a good time, you had a lot of fun. I’m Coral Avalon, by the way. I have the shiny belt.

STRONK nods. He momentarily STRONKED OUT and only heard the “I’m Coral Avalon” and “I have the shiny belt” parts. The important parts, some would say.

STRONK: IT IS GOOD TO MEET CORAL AVALON FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER. HOW MUCH DOES SHINY BELT WEIGH? 

Lowell scurries over, tucking his phone in his pocket, interrupting them.

Lowell Dot Com: Well, look who it is! I can’t believe I’ve been back runnin’ the managerial game for months now, and you haven’t even tried to reach out. Just because Winters and I are bromancing all over Jabber doesn’t mean I don’t have time for my old friend Coral Avalon. You really made somethin’ of yourself here in PRIME. That’s good, I was really worried.

Coral gives Lowell an unblinking, uncomprehending stare. It’s the kind of stare that maybe you give someone when you’ve died one time and it’s unquestionably that guy’s fault. Coral stares at him for a while, and then he turns to Daytona, gesturing vaguely in Lowell’s direction.

Coral Avalon: So, uh… ‘Tona? Did you invite Gollum into your crew?

Daytona Diamonds: Listen, I ain’t invited that sonuvabitch to jack fuckin’ shit. He just keeps hangin’ ‘round like a ghost hauntin’ the wrong house, Coral! Ain’t shit we can do ‘bout it! I thought we left him back in Boise, but I’ll be goddanged if he weren’t here in San Fran waitin’ on us when we pulled up!

A literal spider hatches from one of the many small red bumps on Lowell’s head and scurries down his face, startling him. He flicks the thing off to the floor as it crests over his chin, and kind of… furrows his brow, processing what just happened, and hoping no one saw it.

Lowell Dot Com: Holy shit. That’s new. So… I’m pro’lly gon’ hit the local medical facility sometime next week, get that checked out.

With that, Lowell recedes into an unoccupied corner of the room to quietly panic.

Meanwhile, Coral looks a little mortified by that, and knows he’s probably not getting any sleep tonight.

Coral Avalon: Huh. Every time I think I’ve seen everything, there’s something else.

Daytona stands up from his seat in the throne and walks across the room. He walks right up to Coral, placing a hand on The Crownless King’s shoulder, shaking his head and letting out a long, beleaguered sigh.

Daytona Diamonds: Coral, ol’ buddy, look. There’s another reason we came here, alright? A whole ‘nother reason… I guess… I guess I jus’ wanted to say… thank you.

The Rhinestone Cowboy bites at his lower lip, looking down at the floor and lifting up his free hand to wipe the faintest glimmer of a tear from his eye.

Daytona Diamonds: Y’know… few months ago when I came ridin’ down the Delaware River on my dearly departed jet ski – rest in peace – just to call you a peckerwood and get all pissy ‘bout you puttin’ me on your WarGames team… I ain’t gonna lie, I thought you were a real sonuvabitch. A fuckin’ big foreheaded, no good sonuvabitch! That was you, buddy!

Daytona pauses, swallowing hard before he speaks again, voice cracking just a bit.

Daytona Diamonds: But… but… you believed in me, Coral. You ‘member that? You told me you thought I was gonna be somebody. You even told me I was the greatest wrassler you ever seen! You ‘member, right? And now, well, hellfire. Lookit us. You, the Universal Champion. Me, the Intense Champion. Two pees in a porta potty, ain’t that right?

A slow grin crawls across Daytona’s lips, one hand raising up to softly tap his knuckles against Coral’s jaw.

Daytona Diamonds: …and I reckon that means I owe you, huh? You helped make me the man I am today, Coral. And now? Now, I got to return that favor by offerin’ you the chance of a goddang lifetime. Lemme ask you somethin’, buddy…

Daytona takes his hand off Daytona’s shoulder and moves to stand directly in front of him, steepling his fingers together for dramatic effect as the rest of The Whoresmen stand with bated breath.

Daytona Diamonds: …you ready to be a Whoresman, Coral Avalon? Or should I say… Whoreal Avalon?

Coral actually pauses to think about it, his hand on his cheek, deep in thought. The forehead is not empty on this one, folks. And from afar, Reed Young mumbles the name “Whoreal Avalon” a couple of times. Well, a lot of times. Finally the light goes off, Young gets it, and thinks it’s hilarious.

Coral Avalon: You know, you made a really convincing sales pitch. And, you know, with my current situation and all that, I’m not quite sure where I stand vis-a-vis the Bandits.

Fred chokes on some brisket. He coughs, but it only seems to lodge deeper in his throat. His face turns purple. He points to his neck. No one gives a shit. Well, Reed would probably care but he keeps giggling about Whoreal Avalon. Finally, Fred punches himself in the Adam’s. Hard. This causes a great pain which drops him to his knees as he clutches at his throat. However, the brisket emerges from his esophagus, and he spits it on the floor in front of him.

Through gasps for air, he makes a solid point.

Fred Dick: Bandits rhymes with man tids, Coral. Ever think about that? Do you really wanna be associated with that kinda shid? Big ol’, flabby man hitters?

Again, another name for Reed Young to think about. Does this one actually rhyme? Might take a while.

Daytona Diamonds: That’s fuckin’ right! And The Poor Whoresmen rhymes with The Four Hors–

Somewhere, an owl screeches and Daytona stops that train of thought right there and then.

Coral Avalon: Oh, sorry about her, the boss said I had to look after Demeter sometimes if I wanted to take over the skybox. Where was I? Oh, right. Your offer, uh…

Coral goes back to thinking. Thinky thinky think think.

Coral Avalon: So, uh… I think I might have actually accepted the offer, but then I saw a spider crawl across the avatar of at least three of my nightmares and now I think I might need to politely decline.

Young frowns in the background.

Fred Dick: God damn it Lionel once again you have FUGGED US RIGHT IN THE BUTT with your existence.

Daytona Diamonds: Y’see what I’ve been sayin’, Freddy? Leonard Dot Co Dot You Kay is a fuckin’ anchor holdin’ us down! An albatross ‘round our fuckin’ throats, squeezin’ out all the life! We gotta fuckin’ kill ‘im!

Daytona huffs and he puffs and, finally, he sighs and throws up his hands.

Daytona Diamonds: Alright, Coral. Alright, alright. I get it. You’re makin’ a big fuckin’ mistake, but I get it. Shit…

Fred grabs a steak knife from the catering table and charges towards Lowell.

Fred Dick: YOU GOT DAMN SON OF A–

Fred trips over his own feet, stumbles forward, trips and lands hard to the ground.

Lowell smiles. He doesn’t know why he smiles. A desire to show toughness, perhaps. A penchant for refusing to give people anything they actually want, maybe. Either way, a steak knife has just gone straight through his left foot. He smiles so wide, it almost distracts from the tears that well up in his eyes.

Lowell Dot Com: Wow. I feel so good right now and I feel zero pain. There’s literally nothing wrong with me.

Lowell grimaces. Smiles. HE’S ALL SMILES RIGHT NOW. EVERYTHING IS GREAT.

If you think Coral is at all bothered by the attempted murder that just happened in front of him, he’s not. It’s Lowell, after all.

Coral Avalon (muttering): I’m not cleaning that up…

Fred Dick: Clean that shid up Larry, you fuggin dumb ass. You’re gettin’ blood – for no reason at all – all over Coral’s nice strip club floor.

Coral Avalon: Yeah, my nice strip club floor.

Lowell finally frowns. He hates cleaning. He wishes he wasn’t so good at cleaning. But the man was born to clean. Clean floors, dirty drugs, as mama liked to say.

Lowell Dot Com: I’ll go to the janitor’s closet and uh… not do cocaine and uh… get cleaning supplies.

Fred Dick: Yeah you do that.

Lowell Dot Com: I will. I will do that.

Fred Dick: Good. I hope you do.

Coral Avalon: Don’t get them mixed up. Or do. I don’t actually care.

Lowell looks at Coral, gives him a knowing nod.

Lowell Dot Com: That’d hurt my feelings if I didn’t know you’re just showing out for your new friends.

Lowell limps for the door with the knife in his foot. He turns around to give Coral puppy dog eyes. But Coral isn’t looking. No one is.

He sighs, and leaves.

SLAMS THE FUCK OUTTA THE DOOR THOOOOOUGH. That’ll teach everyone not to try and hurt peoples’ feelings just to show out in front of their new friends. The door does not quite close when he does it, though, and so perhaps he slammed the fuck outta that door so hard that he broke it.

Coral watches as the door lazily hangs there, and shakes his head.

Coral Avalon (muttering): …Not paying for that, either.

He turns back to Daytona.

Coral Avalon: This has been great. Really. I’m glad you’re thriving. Maybe in another circumstance, maybe one less Lowell-y and less breaking-and-entering-y, I’d have accepted your offer. But come on, ‘Tona, you don’t need me in your crew. You need…

He scans the ne’er-do-wells in the room. Fred’s still on the ground, STRONK’s staring vacantly, Harley’s passed out, Reed Young continues to think about the nicknames thrown around from earlier, and then there’s Daytona. Just Daytona. Maybe he realizes just what kind of crew he’s dealing with, because he just throws his hands up in a shrug.

Coral Avalon: …I don’t know, more strippers?

STRONK breaks the silence, his eyes once again falling upon Coral’s championship belt. The entire time all of this craziness was going on, STRONK’s 8-bit brain was contemplating one thing and one thing only, a question to which he never received an answer, Lowell’s physical health being the last of his concerns.

STRONK: BUT HOW MUCH DOES SHINY BELT WEIGH?

The question, once again, goes ignored, but STRONK considers the potential range; he suspects the shiny belt weighs anywhere between zero and a thousand human pounds. And because belt weight is added to a person’s body weight (everyone knows that), even at the lower end of his estimate, he’d still likely tip up and over the vaunted four hundred pound mark—a milestone he’d yet to reach despite his absurd meat-intensive diet.

It’s not the championship he cares about; accolades mean nothing to STRONK Daddy—it’s that sweet added poundage.

Daytona Diamonds: Welp, much as we’d love to keep hangin’ ‘round crankin’ our hogs with you, Coral, I reckon it’s just ‘bout time for us to mosey on. And hey, when you change your mind and decide to be a Whoresman? All y’gotta do is whistle and we’ll come runnin’.

Daytona winks, grabbing the Intense Championship from its pedestal and slinging it over his shoulder. As he starts to walk towards the door, he stops and looks over at Harley.

Daytona Diamonds: Ah shit… someone wanna load up Harley in the wheelbarrow? Make it a whorebarrow. Heh. Heheh. Goddang, I’m funny.

As if summoned by the word “whorebarrow,” Lowell BUSTS through the broken door of the Sky Box wheelbarrow first.

Lowell Dot Com: I figured you guys would need the whorebarrow for ol’ Harley here.

Everyone stares at Lowell for so long, he feels around on his scalp for more spiders.

Fred Dick: Lotus, stop copyin’ Daytona. Okay? And stop being yourself. You wanna copy somebody, copy Jesus Christ. Okay? Turn your life around. But don’t steal Daytona’s material. That’s fucked up.

Lowell is damn near apoplectic. He’d say something, but there is a steak knife protruding from his foot and no one gives a shit. Why would they give a shit to acknowledge that the whorebarrow is his joke, that he came up with, and Daytona took it from him? It’s a god damn travesty but, honestly, whatever. It’s not worth the argument.

Fred Dick: Well, what are you waiting for dumb ace? Load him up.

Lowell sighs. Harley is bigger than him. He bends down, whimpers from the sharp pain in his foot, and tries to scoop Harley up in his arms. That doesn’t work. So he just sort of pulls Harley up and drapes half of him over the wheelbarrow. Then he grabs Harley by the legs and flips him into the wheelbarrow.

Fred Dick: Hey! That’s my friend. Be gentle.

Lowell Dot Com: Your friend, huh? How about I stab him through the FOOT like you did me?

Fred Dick: I didn’t do shit to you. If there even is a knife in your foot, you probably did it to yourself.

Lowell Dot Com: Why would I even do that?

Fred Dick: Attention, I’m guessin’. You always showin’ your ace for attention. I wish you’d God damn take a shower for attention, or at least warsh your ace and balls. Nasty.

Lowell’s frustration manifests into a nosebleed. He wipes the blood trickling towards his mouth away with the back of his hand, looks down to hide the tears in his eyes, and limps away, pushing Harley in the wheelbarrow as he does.

The Whoresmen head for the door.

Coral Avalon: Oh, STRONK?

STRONK perks up because he hears his name, and he turns to face the man he has momentarily designated as “Coral Avalon”.

Coral Avalon: The title belt is about eleven pounds.

The King Stallion engages in some “quick” STRONK math: 307.1 pounds (his current weight) plus 11 pounds equals…

STRONK blinks. He stares blankly past Coral, his brain feverishly wrestling with the complex equation. Finally, he arrives at his conclusion.

MORE THAN 307.1 pounds! Oh my. Oh looooordy. That’s good; that’s VERY good.

His eyes narrow subtly, coveting the extra weight currently possessed by the human named Coral Avalon.

Once the Whoresmen leave, Coral sighs and puts his hands on his hips, surveying his skybox. He sighs, and pulls out his cellphone. He has to make a few calls about this unannounced Whoresmen visit.

Coral Avalon: First day with the skybox and I already need to get it fumigated… Yep, the boss is going to kill me with a pike.

He visibly shudders at the prospect of face spiders as ReVival 52 carries on.

The opening chords of Chevelle‘s “Comfortable Liar” ring out, signaling the imminent arrival of Seán O’Neill. After a few seconds, O’Neill emerges on the entranceway and takes a second to acknowledge and scan the crowd, he nods in appreciation of his growing support amongst the fans, before starting for the ring.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, from Belfast, Northern Ireland… weighing in at two hundred and thirty-one pounds… SUURREEAALLL SEAN O’NEILLLLLL!

The announcement is reasonably well met by the crowd who are definitely starting to take to the Irishman. Reaching the ring, O’Neill vaults over the top rope to enter the ring. Turning to the nearest turnbuckle, he climbs to the second rope, spreading his arms straight out to each side making the symbol of a cross.

He thumps his chest with his right fist before lowering himself back onto the canvas, he stretches out on the ring ropes and rolls his shoulders and wrists, as he gets ready to lock up.

Nick Stuart: O’Neill seems to be on the verge of a change based on his back stage interaction with RIA last week that led to this match.

Richard Parker: Yeah, I think I pulled a muscle in my neck cringing at that.

Nick Stuart: Two competitors being supportive and showing sportsmanship?

Richard Parker: Hey Nick, the fans really seem to like you. Do you think you could show me how? We could have a cuddle session afterward. Give me a break.

Nick Stuart: Your parents did a great job naming you.

“Time Warp” grooves through the PA system. The big screen flashes the lyrics line by line.

It’s Astounding
Time is fleeting
Madness takes its toll
But lIsten closely
Not for very much longer
I’ve got to keep contRol

As the beat picks up, the bolded letters move to arrange ‘RIA’ to raucous cheers from the crowd. RIA strides out, decked out in a hat with an exaggerated crown and bill, heart shaped glasses and a leather jacket with pink and blue tassels. She pauses at the top of the ramp, huge grin on her face and gives the audience a polite wave. The Psychoberry continues her journey to the ring, adding a whimsical spin near the middle of the entrance way. When the chorus kicks in, the crowd sings along.

LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN
LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN

As RIA draws close to the ring, she does a little hop to the left, following the song’s instructions. Staying on task, she does a jump to the right. RIA climbs onto the apron, hands on her hips, and does a brief shimmy. As exuberant as when she appeared from the back, RIA bounces into the ring. She does a lap around the squared circle, taking in the energy of the crowd.

LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN
LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN

Jimmy Turnbull signals for the bell

DING DING

Richard Parker: And we’re off with the battle for Miss Congeniality of PRIME.

Nick Stuart: RIA comes out of the gate swinging, landing multiple hits right off the bat, catching an unprepared O’Neill on his heels.

Before O’Neill can even mount any type of response, RIA is plowing into him with shin kicks. He takes a few steps backward, his hands waving big circles in a cartoon pantomime, trying to keep himself from falling backward. Finally, he catches one of RIA’s right hooks and uses her own momentum to twist her around, locking in a cross-face chicken wing. The crowd buzzes, impressed with this show of technique from the Irish tactician, as RIA tries to wiggle herself free. She may be small and she may be mighty, but she isn’t getting free that easily.

In another life O’Neill may have leaned into the ropes for leverage, but tonight he does not. He squeezes the absolute shit out of a tiny little woman, sure, but she threw her hat in the ring – volunteered even, for this. They create an awkward dance across the mat, moving and swaying together, each of them trying to maintain their position and maybe even gain a bit of ground. Eventually, RIA manages to gain some momentum and runs to the corner, landing perfectly upon each turnbuckle before launching herself backward. With a violent twist of her body, she lands a picturesque variant that could be related to the Lock Cutter. Old habits.

Slow to his feet, O’Neill is met with a

Both of them spring to their feet immediately, but RIA is just a step quicker than the aging Irishman. She begins another furious barrage of hooks and jabs. Sean’s head pops back with each. She pauses for a moment and… smiles at O’Neill?

Richard Parker: That one’s a few fries short of a happy meal.

Nick Stuart: Instead of capitalizing on this odd gesture from RIA, O’Neill just smiles back at her.

Richard Parker: Jesus Christ, if this isn’t a commentary on the state of mental health in PRIME, I don’t know what is.

Nick Stuart: It’s character, Dick. It’s character. O’Neill has had to deal with a few false starts and then the loss of his ex-lover. RIA saw her brightest moment quickly snuffed out by Kerry Kuroyama. Yet here they both are, in the ring, laying it on the line and showing one another respect.

In the center of the ring, both competitors smile at one another. It’s an act of sportsmanship, something dying among the bitter rivalries and inflated egos of PRIME. Together they’re vulnerable, two fighters that agreed on going to battle with nothing on the line other than bragging rights. O’Neill is sick and tired of being sick and tired and RIA is giving back despite her own hardships. RIA raises an eyebrow at O’Neill and then looks to the fans, gesturing a faux bow towards O’Neill. Scattered pockets of fans clap, but this dies on the vine as the syncronization never quite materializes.

Nick Stuart: RIA is trying to get O’Neill to engage with the fans and the Surreal One manages to squeak out a smile and a wave.

Richard Parker: Nick, will you show me how to make the fans love you?

Nick Stuart: Even I’m not that good, Dick.

As the groups of applause die off, the competitors return to the center of the ring to square up. This time it’s O’Neill mounting a quick offense and taking the upperhand. He locks RIA up, wrenching on her neck and landing a running bulldog. With respect, he pulls RIA to her feet and grapples her, hooking the leg for a snappy fisherman’s suplex. O’Neill tries to roll both of them up into a follow on suplex a la three amigos, but RIA manages to wiggle free.

Before RIA can get away, O’Neill grabs her and whips her into the turnbuckle. He follows close behind and the Psychoberry turns around to get proper acquainted with the inside of an Irishman’s bicep as O’Neill lands a vicious clothesline.

Nick Stuart: O’Neill has now straddled RIA and he’s climbing the turnbuckles. He holds her head with his left hand and delivers consecutive right hooks down onto RIA”s face.

This is where the fans would count if they knew they were supposed to and were excited to see the person landing the blows, but with this you can feel the silence. The only sound is the slap of knuckles bouncing off of RIA’s face. In part, too, O’Neill is swinging too fast. The pace is explosive, not intentional. Around the fourth blow, RIA manages to get a hand up. Instead of stopping O’Neill, she gives him a stiff “hold up” hand motion.

Richard Parker: What is she doing?

Nick Stuart: I… I don’t know, it looks like they’re talking. It looks like RIA is motioning to O’Neill to keep going?

An astute observation, and a correct one. RIA has instructed O’Neill to slow down, hold his hand out higher, and try to bring the crowd into the experience. O’Neill looks around to the crowd and then raises his arm high in the air, bringing a firm strike down upon RIA”s head. He continues this motion and ever so faintly, you can hear a few fand that are beginning to count along with each blow.

SIX

Richard Parker: This has to be one of the most fucked up things I’ve been a part of.

SEVEN

The mini fiefdoms of people counting grow.

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

At its height, you couldn’t say that all of the fans were counting, but it was audible throughout the arena. And the look on Sean O’Neill’s face says it all. Bewilderment. Excitement. Euphoria. Ou..H SHIT, RIA nails a hard spinebuster.

Richard Parker: YES! That’a girl, RIA! See, her good will only extends so far, as we have all seen on Jabber.

Nick Stuart: That one did something to O’Neill who is now holding his back on the ground. RIA  He doesn’t have long to lick his wounds, though, as RIA pulls him up and lands a boot to the midsection, following that up with a DDT.

Richard Parker: If he didn’t have CTE before, he surely does now.

Nick Stuart: Definitely not something to joke about.

Richard Parker: Tomat-oh, tomat-oh.

Nick Stuart: RIA continues this assault, throwing Sean O’Neill into the ropes and executing a textbook float-over DDT. She tries to follow it up with a quick running jumping knee drop, but O’Neill rolls out of the way at the last moment.

As RIA grabs her knee in pain, O’Neill attacks, going back to the arms he began attacking earlier in the match with the cross-face chickenwing. Now he wraps RIA in an armbar, wrenching his full weight back for leverage and to maximize effect. He bends just enough to not snap RIA’s arm, but to introduce her to the pain cave. Jimmy Turnbull drops down, checking on on RIA as her eyes glaze over. But she doesn’t quit. The fans cheer, getting louder and louder the longer the hold goes on.

Just when it looks like RIA’s luck has run out and she will need to give into the pain, O’Neill lets go.

Richard Parker: Dear God, come on, man. This isn’t the bridge club.

Nick Stuart: I’m at a loss here, too. This is taking the sportsmanship a bit far.

Richard Parker: Maybe RIA hit him with a butt drag off camera?

But it isn’t sportsmanship nor mercy that leads to O’Neill letting go of the armbar.  It is not a butt drag. It was what always trips up Sean O’Neill. Sean O’Neill and the little chip on his shoulder. Between the drugs and mental health and just overall state of his mind, he loses focus on the hold and can’t help but think about how bad he yearns for what his opponent is getting right now.

Nick Stuart: I don’t know, Richard. He’s staring out into the crowd right now and looks somewhat shellshocked.

Richard Parkr: CTE.

Nick Stuart: Goddamnit.

An unforgiving RIA has recovered behind Sean O’Neill and his moment of existential crisis. He turns around to receive a huge clothesline, forcing him outside of the ring. His back connects with the side apron on the way down and a pained yell escapes.

Nick Stuart: Oh, that impact appears to have taken a huge toll on O’Neill as Jimmy Turnbull begins counting.

ONE

TWO

THREE

RIA should just sit in the ring and wait. The battle worn vet sprawled out on his belly, crawling to who the fuck knows where, likely will not make it up before the ten count. Shit, he might not be out of here by the time they break the ring down. But, she’s the Technicolor Comfort of Wrestling, whatever the fuck that is, and she is here to put on a show.

Outside the ring, O’Neill begins to get to his feet. Inside the ring, RIA is running full speed at the ropes. She grabs onto the top rope and pulls it back at just the right moment, slingshotting all

Hundred and fifty pounds of Psychoberry flying towards O’Neill on the outside in a suicide plancha that is as awe inspiring as it is reckless. Unfortunately for RIA, a jolt of pain shoots through O’Neill’s back and down his body from the constant abuse tonight, his knees buckling under the spasms in his middle body.

Like something out of Final Destination, RIA manges to largely miss O’Neill, only her knee connecting with his temple as she passes over him. The remainder of her body, namely her head, smacks the floor outside the ring.

Richard Parker: Ouch, that’s a LOT of damage!

Nick Stuart: You’re not wrong.

RIA and O’Neill lay in a twisted car wreck of flesh. Blood has begun to leak from both of their heads. Jimmy Turnbull starts the count over.

ONE

TWO

THREE

It’s quiet as a moose lodge inside the Cow Palace. Each number Jimmy Turmbull calls out seems to echo throughout the vast silence.

FOUR

The fans begin clapping. It starts slow.

FIVE

But it builds to a roar, the gaps filled in with stomping feet. The Cow Palace is shaking as if the fans are trying to somehow wake up Sean O’Neill and RIA. These fans haven’t had enough and they definitely don’t want this match to end like this.

SIX

Eyes open. Fast blinking. Sean O’Neiill is the first to stir, wiping at the blood pouring from the side of his head and inspecting it. As he pushes himself up, RIA also comes to, using her forearm cover to clean the growing fountain from where the floor split her open.

SEVEN

EIGHT

They move to the edge of the mat in lockstep. As their hands make contact with the apron, their eyes meet. Despite all of the sportsmanship, they are what they are. Competitors. They cannot avoid their nature.

NINE

As if it were choreographed, each of them swing on one another. They’re but glancing blows, smearing an amalgamation of one another’s blood across each of their faces, but it’s just enough to knock each of the bewildered combatants on their asses. Just enough for both of them to miss the boat.

TEN

Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: Well, that wasn’t what I expected.

Nick Stuart: Not what anyone expected. Sean O’Neill most of all.

O’Neill sits up, completely dejected. Time and again he has come out here and given it his all and fallen just short. By the time he pulls himself to his feet, RIA has already begun walking towards the entrance ramp. He moves quick, grabbing RIA’s shoulder and spins her around.

Richard Parker: Here we go! That’s the Sean O’Neill I love.

He holds his hand out.

RIA stares at it for a moment, glued in place. O’Neill nods towards his hand with his crimson mask and sticks it out further.

Nick Stuart: And in a fitting end to an unbelievable battle, RIA and Sean O’Neill shake hands on the entrance ramp.

The fans go absolutely ape shit. Cheers erupt throughout the arena, all synchronized and in bold. No little font here.

Both competitors wrap an arm around one another and walk to the back together.

We cut to commercial.

Backstage at the Cow Palace is abuzz with chatter. And why not? Chip Trager and Sage Pontiff got the crowd riled up. Coral Avalon, Max Kael, the Hot Dog Man himself all making their marks on the show already. ReVival 52 is shaping up to be a hell of a show folks. And two of the reasons why are sitting backstage, not even looking at each other. On one end of the common bench in the locker room, the Anglo Luchador, already in his pants and mask, taping his wrists. On a folding chair, reading Variety, is Zapp Scatino.

The Luchador snaps the wrist tape off and makes his offinal tuck before lifting his head. Without looking at his tag partner, he speaks.

TAL: Zapp, can we talk about the match tonight?

Zapp Scatino: Oh, so now you wanna conversate? I spill my guts to you and you shit in my face. We ain’t got nothin’ to say to each other.

The Luchador shakes his head.

TAL: Yes, yes we do, Zapp. We have to be on the same page so that we can go and win the Tag Titles. And I want to do it the right way.

Zapp snorts behind his periodical, not showing his face.

TAL: I’m serious.

Still no response. The Luchador gets up, turns around quickly, and yells.

TAL: LOOK AT ME.

Zapp lowers the Variety slowly, showing a perturbed look on his face.

TAL: Don’t act like I’m the bad guy here, Scatino, okay? You were the one who pulled us into this arrangement. You attacked Snow. You tried to frame me and then shoved a story about how we’re long lost family in my face. So now we’re here, and now we have to do this, and we’re going to do it the right way, and you know why?

Zapp Scatino: Why is that, Tommy Boy?

TAL: Because the referee isn’t going to conveniently be turned away from you long enough to get those knux around your fingers all the time. Barlow and Nixon and Turnbull might all have their flaws, but they’re not morons. I’m not losing a match in this tournament because you got sloppy.

Zapp Scatino: Well look at Mister Goody-Fuckin’-Two Shoes over here.  Must be nice up there on that high horse of yours.  Look, I get it, you don’t wanna be in this position. I don’t blame ya, I’m percepted as bein’ a big fuckin’ joke in PRIME. Who’d wanna team with a mug like this?

Zapp points to his face.

Zapp Scatino: My personal feelin’s aside, don’t think think for one fuckin’ second that I won’t do whatever it takes to win this match and if, God forbid, somethin’ happens, say, Anna Daniels runs into some brass knuckles or, perhaps, a rusty lead pipe that I, bein’ safety conscious, may have picked up in the vicinical area of the ring so that no one were to trip on it and she ends up breakin’ that alleged time travellin’ face of hers, so be it.

The Luchador indignantly puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

TAL: Fine, but if we lose because you get caught, I’m kicking your ass from here all the way over to Sacto.

Zapp Scatino: There it is! Another threat! I think you need to luminate on how these threats, as empty as they may or may not be, affect, or thereby, prevent the trust that I am tryin’ to culminate with you. You don’t like me? You don’t respect me? That hurts my fuckin’ feelin’s….but out there, in that ring, you gotta trust me. Cuz, if ya don’t? Well, we’re fucked.

Zapp flings the magazine across the room and storm out.  TAL stares the door at the door slamming behind his partner as the scene ends.

We cut to the back. Stetson King and Max Kael are walking down the corridors of the Cow Palace, somewhere in the back. Stetson lights up one of his ‘cigarettes’ breathing in slowly and exhaling a plume of smoke. Max sniffs the air curiously before he realizes that Stetson has lit up.

Commissar Kael: I’d be careful where you smoked that. Lindsay Troy can be a real stick in the mud once you’ve gotten on her bad side. I had to learn how to make owl soup with the number of foul fowls she’s dispatched.

Stetson King: Now don’t you worry none about my ole dragon’s breath, ole hoss. Ole Stetson King gots to keep himself nice an’ centered, y’smell what I’m steppin’ in?

Commissar Kael: I’m never going to stop someone from pissing off Troy. Up ahead is the Sky Box. There are a group of shitheads and one particularly large forehead sequestered up there, blissfully unaware that there’s a scumbag cowboy out here. At some point one of them is going to step out. When that happens, I want you to.. Leave an impression on them heh-heh..

The two men stop. The corridor has narrowed, revealing a small, single door with a large red EXIT sign overhead. Stetson looks up at the sign, nodding, exhaling more of his smoke.

Stetson King: So, you just want me to bop the first sonuva bitch that has been ordained by those that dwell beyond to be so unfortunate, if I’m understandin’ the DIE-A-TRIBE that yer presentin’ to me, yessir?

Commissar Kael: Look at you, brains and brawn!

Stetson laughs, slapping his knee. He puts his ‘cigarette’ out against the wall and sticks it in the pocket of his duster.

Stetson King: Well, hell’s bells an’ a thank ya kindly, that sounds like a real fine way to spend a Friday night! Y’know what, why don’t we put on our quietest boots, give ourselves a little hidey-sneak, an’ I’ll show you what kind of a welcome mat an ole Ghost of Industry can lay down!

Commissar Kael: ..uh.. Sure. There are a few words in there that can be arranged into something that sounds reasonable, Mister King.

Stetson King: (Holding up a finger to his mouth) Shhhh, I hear the pitter-patter of rodent feet, Max-e-million. I expect we better skeeee-daddle, if’n you know what side the dogs barkin’.

Stetson and Max, who still looks a little baffled by Stetson’s mannerisms, vanish off camera. After a few moments, Daytona Diamonds walks into the frame on the phone, muttering to himself.

Daytona Diamonds: Fuckin’ Cow Palace… more like Can’t Find a Goddang Shitter to Save Your Britches Palace… Can’t have a goddang thing in San Francisco, I swear to Jesus…

Suddenly and unexpectedly, at least for a poor cowpoke who doesn’t have the perspective of the audience, Stetson King emerges from off camera and smashes a glass bottle over the head of Daytona Diamonds, beer flying everywhere.

Stetson King: Well hey there Florida boy! Why don’t ya take a load off them hooves and have a drink!?

Daytona Diamonds: Wha– I ain’t even from Florida, you fuckin’ peckerwo–

Daytona Diamonds tries to recover, but Stetson stays on him, grabbing Daytona by the collar and shirt, launching him head first into the wall. Stetson proceeds to lay boots into Daytona, laughing and panting in glee and madness.

Stetson King: Now…I…want…to make…this…very…clear…

Stetson takes a breather, still giggling and panting like a school boy playing tag. As Daytona, half unconscious, stirs, he tries to mount some kind of comeback or defense, but is simply met with more stomps.

Stetson King: Stay down feller! Now…very clearly…(Stetson plants more stomps) I ain’t mean nothin’ personal about this…but…I won’t lie…(more stomps, panting, and laughing) I’m havin’ a helluva good time tannin’ your sunshine state tanned hide!

Stetson leans down and slaps Daytona Diamonds.

Stetson King: Looks like you done come to the 21 table with a sixteen, and brother, a king is always comin’.

Stetson spits on Daytona Diamonds.

Stetson King: Alright then, better save some of my mojo for the deathmatch in the retirement home, speak truly and say your prayers. That little display work for you, COOO-MISS-ARE Max-E-Million?

Max slinks back on screen wearing a cruel smile and seemingly satisfied with Stetson’s violence.

Commissar Kael: Heh-h̵̛͔̬͈̝͉͇͍̆̓̅ě̵͉̥͒̽͑͗ḩ̶͔͑̓͜.. Excellent work, Mister King. Bravo!

Nick Stuart: What a cowardly attack by Stetson King, orchestrated by that red weasel Max Kael!

Richard Parker: It’s called ‘making your mark’, Nick. I, personally, welcome our violent communist cowboy overlord.

Nick Stuart: I just hope Daytona Diamonds is alright and Jason Snow knocks another tooth out of Stetson King’s mouth.

We cut to ringside.

Nick Stuart: Up next we have the brash, young, up and comer Stetson King, against a Hall of Famer trying to get off the snide! It’s Stetson King taking on Jason Snow!

As the opening riffs of “I Cannot Escape the Darkness” by Those Poor Bastards hits over the PA, Stetson King emerges from the back wearing an all white western duster and a black cowboy hat. He holds his hands palms out, stretched out with elbows bent, resting just above his waist. His hands are covered in black soot. As he walks forward, singing along to his entrance, he runs his pointer and middle finger down his face, creating streaks of black from the bottom of his eyelids down to his chin.

Richard Parker: Welp, that’s absolutely disgusting.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, hailing from Miami, Oklahoma, weighing in at 215 pounds… he is, the Ghost of Industryyyyyyy… STETSOOOOOOOON!!! KIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!!!

Stetson ignores the crowd, their futile attempts to high five him or send jeers his way, as he walks with arms outstretched, smiling as he he makes his way to the ring. He slowly walks up the steps, rubs the dirt from his feet on the edge of the ring, and enters the ring. He removes the duster and hangs it in the corner, placing his hat on top of it. He rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, stilling smiling gently, only a few teeth showing.

Nick Stuart: Well I’ll say this much for the young man. He may be an absolute jerk, but he’s already shown that he isn’t keen to run from a fight.

Richard Parker: Run towards one more like it.

Nick Stuart: Indeed.

No music. Fuck all that pomp and circumstance.

Here comes Jason Snow.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, hailing from Parts Unknown, weighing in at 235 pounds… THE OOOOOOOO VVVVVVVVVVV!!! JASOOOOOONNNN!!! SNOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW!!!

Snow steps into the ring and immediately Stetson pounces, hitting Snow with a double axe handle over his back before the bell even rings!

DING DING

There it is.

Nick Stuart: Stetson wasting no time here.

Another double axe handle over Snow’s back! And another! And another! Finally Jason fires an uppercut towards Stetson’s jaw, connecting fine, sending Stetson reeling backwards!

CLOTHESLINE from Jason Snow– no! Stetson ducks it.

Jason turns around.

And Stetson King slaps the living shit out of Jason Snow’s mouth.

Nick Stuart: Oh my God.

Richard Parker: Biggest mistake of your young career, kid.

Jason’s eyes are wide. You can practically see the smoke pouring out of his ears.

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD!

Richard Parker: STETSON KING SLAPPED HIM AGAIN! I LOVE THIS KID!

Jason Snow roars and unleashes an absolute fury of forearms and elbows into Stetson, opening up a can of whoop ass that has the Ghost of Industry spiraling backwards into the corner. With his back against the turnbuckle, he soon finds himself taking a series of punches from Jason Snow, who has climbed the turnbuckles just to deliver them from overhead!

ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!

Jason hops down from the turnbuckles and backs away.

Stetson stumbles out, takes a few steps, and drops to the mat.

Snow rolls him over and makes the first pinfall attempt of the night!

ONE

TWO

NO!!! Kick out by Stetson King.

Jason doesn’t argue. He climbs back up to his feet.

STOMPS on Stetson King’s hand.

King cries out in pain, grabs hold of the wrist, and Jason immediately grabs hold of it himself, drops to a knee.

Nick Stuart: Snow slowing the pace down here with a wrist lock. You have to think that a slower match offers a sizable advantage to Jason here.

Richard Parker: Wrong. Shoulda kept his foot on the gas. Now Stetson has a chance to catch his breath.

Regardless of those two ding dongs and their opinions, it seems for now that Snow has King right where he wants him…

…you know, until he doesn’t.

Stetson impressively works his way to his feet. Snow tries to apply even more pressure to Stetson’s wrist. But Stetson uses Jason’s vice grip against him, yanking Snow towards him and sending a vicious knee right into Jason’s gut!

This time Stetson grabs hold of Snow by the wrist. He yanks Jason towards him again!

A BIG LARIAT FROM STETSON TURNS JASON INSIDE OUT!!!

Nick Stuart: WOAH!

Richard Parker: This kid is going places!

But Stetson isn’t surprised by this. He expects this. You can tell. Any other rookie would be jumping to make the unlikely pen fall attempt right here.

Instead, Stetson places his foot on Jason Snow’s neck and presses down.

Snow’s legs thrash and kick around while Elvis Nixon counts.

ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FI–

Stetson lifts up his foot.

AND PLACES IT RIGHT BACK DOWN ON JASON SNOW’S THROAT!!!

ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FI–

Like Groundhog’s Day, Stetson lifts up his foot. Right on time.

Stetson grins as he looks around at the crowd. They want Jason to win.

But he can tell they know the real deal when they see it.

Stetson starts delivering boot, after boot, after vicious boot to Jason Snow’s body! Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp. Stetson practically line dances all over Jason with those stomps.

Then, he mounts Snow and starts to deliver punches!

NO!! Thumb to the eye by Jason, more of a means of escape than punishment. But indeed, Jason knows nonetheless the time is now to seize the moment, as Stetson staggers around the ring, trying to make the annoying sensation in his eye go away.

BULLDOG BY SNOW!!! That drops Stetson!

AND HE TURNS IT RIGHT INTO A CROSS FACE SUBMISSION!!!

Stetson cries out in pain as Jason’s hands are locked squarely over his nose and mouth. Jason pulls as hard as he can, and this time it’s Stetson whose legs thrash and kick about.

…But he ain’t tapping.

And Jason doesn’t want to waste all of his energy keeping this hold locked in that won’t deliver the victory.

So he releases it and scrambles to his feet, setting up for a tried and true move he knows will end this match in his favor.

He beckons Stetson King to get to his feet. The crowds anticipation reaches an amplitude that is utterly deafening.

The crowd wants it. Jason Snow wants it. Everyone wants it.

Snake Eyes.

The Superkick.

Stetson s l o w l y begins the ascent to his feet. He reaches his knees. Then moves up to one knee. Then he finally staggers up to both!

SNAKE EYES!!!!!!!!!

NO!!!!!!!

Stetson ducks it! He wraps Snow up from behind!!!

RELEASE GERMAN SUPLEX INTO THE TURNBUCKLES!!!

JASON SNOW IS WIPED OUT!!!

Nick Stuart: IS THIS IMPRESSIVE LITTLE JERK GONNA PULL THIS OUT???

Richard Parker: COME ON KID!!!

Stetson makes the cover.

THIS IS IT!!!

ONE

TWO

THREEEEEEEE—

NOOOOOOOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: Are you. Fucking. Kidding. Me?

Richard Parker: Foolish, foolish move, kid.

Now, why would Nick and Richard say that, you might ask?

Well, see, Jason Snow didn’t kick out.

Stetson King uncovered him. He actually fucking uncovered him. He did it with a grin on his face.

Nick Stuart: Absolutely unbelievable.

Stetson doesn’t particularly care if anyone can believe it. He wants to hurt Jason Snow. And he’s proving his point, mounting Jason and delivering a vicious ground and pound attack that Jason can only shield with his forearms, which provide little in the way of defense.

Having thrown a good thirty or so punches, Stetson reaches his feet.

He’s had his fun. He looks out at the crowd, who shower him with boos, sticks his tongue out cockily. He loves the ass whooping business and appears to have a long, lucrative career in it ahead of him.

Unfortunately, he had, perhaps, a chance to put the match away moments ago.

You don’t let guys like Jason Snow back in a match.

They’ll make you fucking pay.

Stetson pulls Jason up to his feet by the arms. He whips Jason into the corner!

Stetson charges forward –

RIGHT INTO SNAKE EYES!!! THE SUPERKICK!!! FEW DO THE SUPERKICK IN SUCH A DEVASTATING WAY, BUT JASON SNOW IS ONE OF ‘EM!!!

HE MAKES THE COVER! HOOKS THE LEG!!!

ONE

TWO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

DING DING!

Vince Howard: HEEEEEERE IS YOOOOUR WINNERRRR!!! JASOOOOOOOOONNNN!!! SNOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!!!

Snow gets his arm raised in the center of the ring, grins at Stetson King as he exits through the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Do you think Stetson is regretting his decision to uncover Snow?

Richard Parker: Eh, who knows. Snow might’ve kicked out anyway. I think the young man wanted to show he belongs in the ring here at PRIME, and I like the moxie. Just… you know… finish your food.

Nick Stuart: Jason Snow picks up a big time victory here regardless, putting him back in the winner’s column.

We cut to backstage.

Backstage, The Cow Palace Dressing Room, Post Match

A sorrowful Chip tires to maintain a positive outlook as he drowns his sorrow in his favorite beverage, 1% milk.

A voice: Trager, you’re Trager right. Wonder Boy, god what a lame name, did you make that up yourself? That’s SO embarrassing if you did.

Chip: (observing a young woman of indeterminate age dressed very hip but also like she didn’t try very hard to dress hip it just kinda happened, ya know?): What hello, miss, what are you doing here, who are you?

The Mean Teen: I’m the Mean Teen, I’m your new manager. Management sent me. It must like a pity project?

Chip: What? Management? What management? PRIME? I don’t have a manager.

The Mean Teen: I am your manager, try to keep up hayseed.

Chip: I, I don’t think I want this, I don’t need a manager. And I don’t want a g…how old are you?

The Mean Teen: However old the demo needs that day, nerd. Listen I don’t want to manage some corn fed loser either but let’s do this so I can get paid. The PJ to Aspen doesn’t pay for itself. Well I guess it kinda does but I need pocket money.

Chip: What? What are you even going to do? What’s your background?

The Mean Teen: Brand activation partnerships, sponcon, defense contracting, club appearances. That kind of thing. Do you have any more questions you fucking nerd? God I never met someone who talks so much, and what’s wrong with your voice? You sound like a high pitched llama.

Chip gulps.

The Mean Teen: Exactly Wonder Boy, god that name is cringe. So Cringe. I have never heard such a mid name. Listen, you shut your dumb mouth and don’t embarrass us and I will do all the talking. And always walk five feet behind me and don’t talk to me in public outside of promos. Got it?

Chip:…

The Mean Teen (slaps Chip in his dumb corn fed face) Got it? Chip. God you are supposed to do the fighting but I will fucking cut you if you don’t get your act together.

Chip (frightened): Ye-es. OK.

Backstage, the crowd is exploding in happiness. Why? One Kohime Mori is walking down a hallway, the picture of radiance as she usually is. Big smile, chin up, light in her step. It’s safe to assume she’s here with either Nate or RIA. The who isn’t important, cuz damn, San Fran loves some Kohime.

In the far background of the shot, the undeniable crimson silhouette of Ivan Stanislav walks past the hallway… Kohime stops and turns. The sunny exterior she has just been exhibiting turns a wee bit cloudy. She wasn’t positive he saw him, but let’s be real, there’s not many people you’re going to confuse for Ivan Stanislav.

Stanislav, from afar, returns to the hallway and begins to walk towards Mori, his frame looming larger and larger as he gets closer to her. It’s not just that his size makes it impossible to not be noticed, but also the scarlet uniform and the medals that bedazzle his barrel chest. His heavy footsteps begin to register, as he calls out to Kohime, about halfway to her.

Ivan Stanislav: Kohime Mori…

He doesn’t sound angry, nor does he sound particularly friendly. The Russian Bear has little reason to be happy, or friendly, in this moment. His lifelong comrade, Alexei Ruslan, is still laid up in Russia. He has a match tonight where four, maybe even five of the six competitors want a piece of him. Nate Colton has been rendered theoretically untouchable despite swearing that he would get revenge.

Of course, Kohime Mori is another story. There was a time where the young Japanese woman would’ve actually been happy to see the big Russian. While unusual and certainly unexpected, the friendship between the two was genuine. Unfortunately, times change. Where exactly did these two stand?

Kohime Mori: Praporshchik Starshy Ivan…

Even in awkward, potentially hostile moments, Kohime Mori can’t help but be kind.

Ivan Stanislav: How fortuitous that I see you here… all alone…

He may not be particularly fast, but Stanislav’s long strides cover a lot of ground quickly. It takes little time before he is upon Kohime. He looks down at Kohime.

Ivan Stanislav: I have a word to say to you…

Kohime Mori: Okay… As long as it’s just words.

Stanislav spreads his arms wide, wide enough that he touches both walls on either side of him. He offers the faintest of smiles, which barely permeates his bedraggled beard.

Ivan Stanislav: I see no reason why there should be anything else, my dear.

Ivan wags a finger down at Mori. He doesn’t quite move close enough to invade her bubble, but when he’s that big in a small space, his presence is naturally felt.

Ivan Stanislav: Kohime. PRIME has been full of those who have demonized me.

He starts pointing at his fingers, listing things.

Ivan Stanislav: Because I am Russian. Because I am proud communist. Because I am bigger than them. Because I do not speak like them. Because, well, sky is blue even!

He balls his skillet-sized hand into a fist.

Ivan Stanislav: But you, dear Kohime, have always treated me with respect. A measured, calm voice in the sea of chaos, are you, Kohime Mori. To go so far as to even send me card when I was ailing. I remember it, like yesterday. A red card, with words painted in glitter: “Please feel better, Praporshchik!” Upon it a drawn hammer and sickle and small, Arina says ‘chibi’ cat wearing ushanka.

Ivan sighs and places his hands on his hips.

Ivan Stanislav: Upon my desk sits medals of valor, commendations of lifelong achievement, my deceased brother’s dog-tag, and that very card, Kohime.

Kohime can’t keep herself from smiling softly, the faintest hint of color rising on her cheeks. She was aware he had kept the card, that it was liked and appreciated. However, the extent of which these things were true absolutely caught her off guard.

Kohime Mori: I did work hard on it… It wasn’t much, but I wanted to do something nice.

The Russian Bear, in an uncharacteristically somber gesture, nods. He runs his huge hand through his beard, scritching audibly as he does. His mood turns cloudy.

Ivan Stanislav: Kohime. Your boyfriend, Nate, put my friend in the hospital.

The words rumble out of his mouth like a slow moving avalanche in the Urals. Kohime practically bristles at the words from Ivan. She softly shakes her head before staring at the Soviet Giant.

Kohime Mori: Alexei was hurting Minion. He didn’t have to choke him like that, Ivan! Nate didn’t like it either.

MovingStanislav raises a hand and his voice. Once, bent over while speaking to Kohime, he straightens his back and looms larger.

Ivan Stanislav: If you think some injustice was done and was not being rectified, take it up with Lindsay Troy and her “security.” Colton has no right taking it upon himself to play judge, jury, and executioner in PRIME. He has no right to single handedly decide my friend should be injured to extent he is sent to hospital.

Ivan exhales with a frown and lets the air hang over them for a moment. He speaks softly.

Ivan Stanislav: It is unfortunate that we are now in this position due to his unilateral action, Kohime. I understand you care for him. Believe it or not, I understand love.

A beat.

Ivan Stanislav: As a courtesy to you, Kohime Mori, I implore you not to throw yourself into harm’s way. Your boyfriend will suffer for what he did. He cannot fully fathom what he has done. I will annihilate /anyone/ who tries to stop me from reaping revenge.

He frowns and for a moment, his eyebrows push together. Does Ivan look… saddened?

Ivan Stanislav: Even if it is another friend…

“I bet you would, too. Funny way to treat your ‘friends,’ Ivan.

Oh look, Nate Colton is here. He’s got a sort of “actual casual” look going on, with blue track pants and a purple shirt with his sister’s name and face on it. (Available by request from the PRIMEporium!) Finishing the look are his blue satin jacket and an angry glare. It is a stark opposite to the rigid, pressed crimson uniform and metallic, cold medals of Stanislav.

Nate Colton: ‘Course, I’m not sure you know the meaning of the word.

The New Diamond steps to the side of Kohime Mori, and as much as he’d rather look at her, he knows better than to take his eyes off the Russian Bear for a second.

Nate Colton: You all right, ‘Hime?

Kohime nods, drawing in a bit closer to Nate. She glances over at Ivan, eyes occupied with heavy sadness instead of their usual brightness. She turns towards her boyfriend.

Kohime Mori: Yeah… I guess I am.

The Bear bristles and lowers his chin.

Ivan Stanislav: I expected you to attack me from behind, Colton, coward that you are.

Nate Colton: You expect a lot of things. And yet they never seem to happen.

Ivan Stanislav: You can thank Lindsay Troy for preventing me from shattering you against these walls right here and now.

The Russian Bear can’t help but grin slightly.

Ivan Stanislav: Revel in the irony that I need you to get -my- title back, so that I can tear it from your bloody hands.

The New Diamond rolls his eyes in the face of Ivan’s threat. And then a little smirk grows on his own lips.

Time to poke the Bear.

Nate Colton: Your title? That’s not real proletariat of you, big man. I think the “decadent West” is rubbing off.

Maybe he’s emboldened by Lindsay Troy’s edict of protection…or maybe he’s just run out of patience with the Russian Bear. Most likely, he’s barely controlling his temper after witnessing someone threaten the woman he loves. Whatever the reason, Colton chooses this moment to double down.

Nate Colton: ‘Cause the way you talk about the Universal Championship, thinkin’ it’s yours forever just because you held it once…starting to sound a little capitalist. Actually, you know who you remind me of, when you tell that lie? Cancer Jiles.

The Russian Bear bristles and sucks his stomach in and pushes out his chest. His medals clink against one another. He balls one huge hand into a fist and squeezes.

Ivan Stanislav: Such bravado for a man so very safe. You can look brave in front of your girlfriend but it will not always protect you. That belt is Mother Russia’s and shall be again! To compare me to the likes of Cancer Jiles reveals your ignorance, Colton!

Nate Colton: Uh huh. Y’know, I never asked for the boss’ protection, and if Troy never made that call it wouldn’t change a thing about what I just said. In fact, Kohime being here is all that keeps me from saying what I really think about you, ’cause she don’t like me using those kinda words.

Ivan growls but takes a step backwards, then another, his hands up in front of him.

Ivan Stanislav: You do not have monopoly over dear Ms. Mori, Nate. Not yet. Just extending her a courtesy I afford few others. Kohime, do not take it for granted.

Ivan smirks and nods towards Nate.

Ivan Stanislav: See you soon, rat. Watch yourself around that one, Ms. Mori. Da svidanya, love birds.

The Russian Bear slowly turns and takes two steps away before whistling his national anthem annoyingly loudly. It rings up and down the hallway, regardless of how far he trudges. Two pairs of eyes follow his exit.

Cut to ringside.

Nick Stuart: We have Tag League action coming your way!

Richard Parker: A collection of some of my favorite people! Sure, I lost money on Fred and STRONK two weeks ago but tonight, I can’t go wrong!

Nick Stuart: Placed bets on both teams, did we?

Richard Parker: How- how did you know?

Nick Stuart: How does that even work? You’re going to lose money either way!

Richard Parker: You’re looking at it from a glass half-empty kinda guy. I’m winning money, EITHER WAY!

Nick Stuart: (Ignoring the stupidity) Let’s go to ringside.

Is this match where Vince Howard goes into business for himself?

Vince Howard: This is a Tag League match scheduled for… ONE FALL!!!

RRRRAAAAAAHHHHHH!!

Vince Howard: Introducing first, being accompanied by THE IDEAS MAN, Reed Young… the team of STRONK GODSON and Fred Dick… The Big Dick Stallions!

I bought my first real six string
Yeeeeeeah at the Five and Dime!

Fred Dick and STRONK Godson step out onto the entrance ramp, assuming power V stances with their legs. They power clap over their head, in unison, to the sweet, sweet sounds of Bryan Adams.

Then Reed Young SHOOTS through Fred Dick’s legs and leaps in the air, sporting his typically loud looking neon green and blue tracksuit, with a bulge somewhere on it (no, not there you sicko, get your mind outta the gutter, it’s a family show). The bulge is in his chest like he’s hiding something sinister. Oh, Reed also has a Monster Energy drink in his right hand and downs it, tossing the drink into the crowd as the trio power walk down the rampway.

Nick Stuart: It’s only a matter of time until Reed starts having the time keeper throw him a cold one, or two, or three, or four and he’ll down them all easily, won’t he?

Richard Parker: Surprised it hasn’t happened yet. That’s dare I say… a great… IDEA!

Nick Stuart: (Heavy sigh)

At ringside, Dick and GODSON enter the squared circle while Reed roams around near the seats.

Nick Stuart: Them Rare Boys had a hell of a battle two weeks ago, ending in a draw.

Richard Parker: It was a barn burner.

Nick Stuart: Despite the heck of a contest, it’s also more pressure on them tonight to get additional points on the board against The Red Army team handpicked by Ivan Stanislav himself.

Young runs around the outside ring, his arms in the air as he does lap after lap after lap.

Nick Stuart: He used to do this with the Universal Title in the air. Wonder what happened there…

Richard Parker: Don’t.

Anyway, GODSON and Dick establish their dominance inside the ring as Young keeps doing laps on the outside and “Summer of ‘69” comes to a close.

The Cow Palace is bathed in darkness as the lights go out. The slow, steady synth of MATAM’s “Hymn to Red October (Trapstep Vrs)” begins its build. Red light washes the stage in a crimson glow as the California crowd turns to booing, aware of who is about to show up.

Nick Stuart: We have a tag team debut here tonight, Richard.

Richard Parker: Potential new Tag Team Champions, Stuart! Put some respect in your tone!

As the chorus of Hymn to Red October begins the first out is current Red Army manager, Randall Schwartz wearing his Red Army Junior Officer uniform and a peak cap with the words MANAGER written across it. He moves like a man who has weapons stuffed into every conceivable hiding place in his uniform, which he does.

Nick Stuart: Randall looks like he’s having a wardrobe malfunction.

Richard Parker: He’s just getting used to his new clothes as a Manager, the uniform is probably really starchy… Praporshchik Stanislav.

Nick Stuart: (Another heavy sigh)

Next out onto the stage, following closely behind his friend is Junior Officer Comrade Kenny Freeman. He doesn’t look nearly as excited as Randall, instead his face is stoic, some might even say focused. He moves to stand next to Manager Schwartz, that loveable goof persona currently absent.

Richard Parker: I’ve heard that Max has been working with Kenny, he looks better already!

Nick Stuart: He looks miserable!

Richard Parker: Yeah, he looks Russian!

Dashing out comes the Herald, resplendent in his fancy red Russian Herald outfit waving the crimson Red Army flag with all the fury in his skinny body when the camera switches to Reed Young for a moment, seemingly captivated by the glory of it.

Richard Parker: Would you look at that, the flag waving is so good it’s kept Reed’s attention.

Nick Stuart: Five seconds, new world record.

Bentley runs ahead before spinning around to present the flag toward the other members of the Red Army.

Nick Stuart: How many of these guys are there?

Richard Parker: The Red Army is the PEOPLE’S stable, Stuart, it’s a foregone conclusion there are going to be people coming out.

Finally, sauntering out with a callous grin stretched wide across his long face is Commissar Maximillian Wilhelm Kael. He moves to stand next to Kenny Freeman, cracking his knuckles as he looks out over the crowd. The music slowly builds aaaaand…

As soon as beat lays in heavy the lights in the arena flash back on to full as the three men on the stage all salute the Red Army banner being held aloft by the Herald.

Vince Howard: And their opponents. First accompanied by Randall Schwartz is the team of Kenny Freeman and Maximillian Wilhelm Kael… THE MASTERS OF THE MULTIV-

The Herald: STOOOOOOOP!

Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington holds a custom crimson communist microphone to his lips pointing his banner toward a confused Vince Howard. Also the Herald has a mini-cap. A little red mini-cape with red lining. It flourishes dramatically, seemingly on it’s own.

The Herald: …Introducing the Future Tag Team Champions of PRIME!…

Max and Kenny proceed to march to the ring as the Herald.. Heralds them. Randall follows though he’s bogged down by the armory Max ordered him to hide in his uniform.

The Herald: …at a combined weight of.. Really, it’s 405? Wow. At a combined weight of 405 pounds..

Reaching the ring, Max slithers up the ring steps before stretching the ropes to allow Freeman to enter the ring. An act of kindness? Or one of facetiousness? Hard to tell with Max wearing that practiced, toothy smile.

The Herald: …and a combined height of 12’1’’, ooo tall…

Kenny jumps up cautiously and slips between the ropes that Max has opened for him. He darts over to a nearby corner, climbing it as he gazes out over the crowd. Max steps through the ropes and moves to the center of the ring, flexing his arms with a rigor grin.

The Herald: THE MASTERS OF THE MULTIVERSE PART DEUX: THE FREEMAN-KAEL CONNECTION!

The music slowly fades as Max and Kenny move to their corner where Randall Schwarts finally joins them.

As the teams get ready, Young attempts to pump up the crowd from his side of the ring apron, as he throws his hands frantically in the air. Randall Schwartz is at the opposite side of the apron, throwing his hands in the air, too. (Well, Schwartz can’t throw them with vigor like his opposing manager. It’s as if Randall’s massively wide trench coat is limiting him from doing so. Hmmmmmm, wonder why.) Anyway, the referee Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell and this match is off.

DING DING

Max Kael! remains at his corner, inside the ring, looking like he’s going to start this one off. Kenny Freeman pats Max on the chest, as Kael sports that toothy, sinister trademark smile. Meanwhile, big ol’ Fred Dick has marched himself with extra emphasis into the center of the squared circle and winds his right forearm around like he’s just dangling to do some mother fucking chops of doom.

Max takes a sly step towards Fred. Dick cocks his head.

Max takes another slippery step towards Fred. Dick licks his lips.

Max with one more clever, albeit coy step in Fred’s direction. This time Dick cocks his cock.

Finally, Max with a fourth step and Dick licks his-

Ah, yes, there it is. Max immediately marches back to his corner and tags Kenny Freeman in, to a chorus of boos!

Nick Stuart: Max Kael! is a slithering, whimpering, coward.

Richard Parker: I would be, too, if I had Fred Dick in front of me! Freddie-boy already holds one victory over Maximillion.

Needless to say, Kenny Freeman does what he’s told. He’s the one in training, after all. The Junior Officer Comrade slips through the top and middle rope and then sprints towards Fred Dick. Dick misses a slap so Freeman uses his momentum and goes into the ropes. Freeman bounces off and ducks an attempted Dick slap again as Kenny hits the ropes on the other end.

Once more, Fred is looking for that elusive slap but he can’t get it! Freeman ducks and hits the ropes on the end he OG bounced off of the first time.

You’d think by now, maybe, Fred would think of something else to do but this isn’t fucking performance art, this is A WRESTLING MATCH so ya’ betchya, Fred Dick looks for the slap one more bloody time.

NO!

Freeman hits the ropes AGAIN.

This goes on and on and on for about EIGHT DIFFERENT TRIES when something has to give, right?

SLAP!

The Street Cat hits Freeman SQUARE IN THE CHEST! Kenny goes down like he’s shot, leaving Nick Stuart dumbfounded as to why this could happen.

Nick Stuart: Fred was trying for the same move, he’s so stubborn. How did Kenny not figure a way out of try number nine?

Max shakes his head on the outside and even hangs it for a moment as Fred follows up with a shitty looking elbow drop into Freeman’s chest. He pulls Kenny to his feet and sends a shitty looking ripcord forearm into the Junior Officer Comrade’s temple.

Oh boy, here we go…

Dick begins to chop the living hell out of Freeman!

Eddie- I mean Freddie, works Freeman into an empty corner and goes batshit bananas crazy with the slaps USING BOTH HANDS in a WILD ARRAY of variations!

There’s cross chops, over the head slaps, under the belly whamps, and, of course, the dreaded WIND ME THE F UP AND CHOP ME ACROSS THE CHEST slapparooooooos!

Reed is fucking orgasmic. He takes a moment to tell a small child in the front row “that’s my new boy!” Meanwhile, in the Red Army corner, Max Kael! looks like all the work he’s done on Kenny Freeman has been lost. Max sinks his hands into his pockets and droops his head to the floor where Randall Schwartz is standing. It looks like MWK mouths something along the lines of “how did you put up with him?” but no one is sure, because all of a sudden-

Freeman ducks and misses another slap from Fred! Kenny kicks The King of Wrong Style into the same corner he was trapped in previously and starts to unload. First, it’s slapping but then, as Kenny glances towards Max Kael!, Freeman grits his teeth and sucks back whatever is in his mouth.

WHAM!

A vicious, hard-out headbutt to the delight of Max Kael!

Freeman grabs Dick by his mullet and marches Fred over to the Multiverse corner. Kenny looks to tag but Max leans back, away from the tag, as if encouraging his partner to do MOAR.

So Kenny does.

WHAM!

Another hard elbow, this time into the jawline.

WHACK!

A leaping knee into the side of Fred’s right temple.

OOF!

A shoulder straight into Fred’s blubbery chest.

Richard Parker: This is the hardest I’ve seen Kenny hit in, well, I think my lifetime!

As Max Kael! literally rubs his hands together like that small little guy from the Twin Peaks GIF, NOW The Minister is ready to tag since Fred Dick is reeling.

So Freeman and Kael slap hands.

The crowd boos, although, in fairness, they’re likely to boo everyone in this one. But That is Definitely Max Kael and He’s Totally Not Dead Anymore! walks into the ring and simply pokes Fred Dick in the eyes.

Fred screams and swings around wildly, perhaps overselling the pain, but ultimately Dick catches no one while Max gets a warning from the referee.

Nick Stuart: We get slaps from Fred and cheating from Max.

Richard Parker: I love this company.

Kael! stretches his arms and whaps Fred with a bell clap crack in-between Dick’s ears before he whips Dick into the ropes and looks for a clothesline of some kind.

Dick finds his bearings, using Max as an anchor and then swings around and rolls to his corner. In a stunningly fluid, almost graceful motion, STRONK GODSON tags in.

Max also immediately tags out.

Kael! orders Freeman into the action. Kenny is tentative at first, but he gives in. He’s being trained by The Commissar of the Red Army and Max has helped him so far. STRONK, however, is a large, large man. Dumb, but you knew that.

STRONK mumbles something, yet he can’t mumble in ALL CAPS, so who the hell can figure it out. Either way, STRONK roars forward and looks to peel Kenny’s head off of his neck for good measure. The Beast from the Deep clobbers Freeman with a forearm and then hurls Freeman into the ropes. Unlike his partner, STRONK DADDY doesn’t go for a chop. Instead, he looks for a clothesline but Kenny Freeman finds his wherewithal, or at least enough of it, to drop onto his knees at the very last second and miss the forearm clothesline, saving his head from castration. Freeman hops up from behind STRONK and tries for a backstabber but GODSON is so bloody massive, the skinny little Kenny Freeman falls to the mat with nothing in his hands.

Max rolls his eyes but as Nick Stuart points out, The Red Right Hand of Communism is also a little wiry himself, at least compared to the muscle inside the ring. STRONK plucks Freeman off the mat and tosses him into the ropes. A shoulder block later sends Freeman spiraling in the air as he crashes down to the mat in a heap.

STRONK rolls his neck and cracks his back as he marches over to Freeman and lifts him up-

Kenny with a desperation jawbreaker!

This stuns the wide muscle man as he stumbles into the ropes and rests on them. Freeman pops up and races over towards STRONK DADDY. It looks like the power lifter has recovered and is about to club Freeman out of the air when Randall Schwartz wiggles himself over to the apron, pulls out a fork from his pocket and stabs GODSON in the left heel. The referee doesn’t see it, but STRONK instantly bends down to grab his ankle when Freeman catches STRONK’S head with both hands and delivers a double knee facebreaker (codebreaker).

GODSON shoots in the air and smashes against the canvas.

Nick Stuart: We have a cover!

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT

While GODSON kicked out of the move, Freeman mounts the giant and delivers shot after shot after shot as from his corner, with Maximillian Wilhelm Kael mimicking the punches Kenny is throwing, grinning like the shit eating evil prick he is. Schwartz, meanwhile, tries to place the fork back in his pocket but doesn’t want to open up his bulky jacket, so he ends up dropping the fork in the process and tries to cleverly slide it under the ring apron.

Across the other side of the ring, Reed Young wonders WTF is up with curious BRO-energy. He shouts and points, asking the referee how the hell someone like Kenny Freeman can gain the upperhand on the unbelievable beast of a man called STRONK GODSON.

Doesn’t matter, because somehow, someway, Kenny has that upperhand. Red right upperhand, if you’re scoring at home.

Freeman takes a couple of steps back and rifles a swift kick into the side of GODSON’S head. It looks like Kenny wants to do more when-

When-

Well, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael has his arm out and wants to tag in!

Despite Freeman now having control of this one, he obliges and Max Kael! enters, looking to follow-up with the same kind of attack on the mammoth. Big body, small brains, and that’s how Maximillian Wilhelm Kael likes it. He kicks and punches and scratches and claws as STRONK GODSON. A back rake follows, working STRONK onto his feet, as Maximillian Wilhelm Kael hammers his right shoulder into STRONK’S stomach over and over before lifting the left tree trunk arm of STRONK and delivering a short-arm clothesline.

GODSON falls to a knee, as Totally Alive and Well Maximillian Wilhelm Kael rolls his neck and cracks his back similar to the behaviors STRONK GODSON had on display when he was in control of Kenny Freeman. Kael! bounces off the ropes and looks for a crescent kick when GODSON stumbles out of the way!

Upon gaining his vertical base, Maximillian marches to his corner and tags Kenny Freeman!

Nick Stuart: Kael! is such a coward.

Richard Parker: You already said that.

Nick Stuart: He sees there might be potential offense from STRONK so he tags his partner back in.

Richard Parker: I disagree with your assessment. Kael! is a teacher and it’s time Freeman learned the hard way on how to survive and become the best version of himself!

Nick Stuart: Okay.

Freeman does as he’s told but the time it took for Max to tag Kenny back in, shows the decision might have backfired. STRONK roars forward and comes across the ring with a clothesline from hell-

Oh, no. Randall Schwartz is on the apron!

Jimmy isn’t having any of this! He races over to the ropes and demands Randall get off the apron. However, coy and clever like Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, it’s possible Schwartz has learned a thing or two, as well. With his right hand low and to his side, he digs into his trench coat and drops a pair of brass knuckles purposely onto the apron. Kenny Freeman sees this as he slides down and in one swift motion, he picks them up.

Fred Dick could maybe see what’s going on but he was too busy readjusting his Bulls jersey and potentially picking lint out of his bellybutton.

STRONK doesn’t see shit, either, because STRONK DADDY was just seeing red-

WHA-

WHHOOOSH!

Freeman misses! GODSON headbutts his opponent so hard that Freeman drops the knuckles in the process and as Randall Schwartz is told to get off the apron-

Reed Young jumps onto the apron at the other side of the ring!

Reed Young: Two can play… THIS GAME!

Nick Stuart: Oh dear god, no.

Young starts laughing as he digs into his neon blue track jacket.

The bulge is out.

No, again, not THAT BULGE! Jeesh!

Also Jimmy Turnbull is about to lose it!

Young reveals the Muggsy Bodues bobblehead. He holds it in the air and starts shouting a very loud, chaotic “OHHHHH YAAAAAAAAA!!”

This seems to have power over STRONK. STRONK’S eyes BURST open as he shakes with intensity. His thighs are strong and powerful, they shake with delight. If GODSON could immediately change his skin complexion, well, let’s say for these purposes it does change. He goes from a pasty white to maybe an off-white and then launches himself at Freeman with a spear!

Kenny and STRONK crash to the mat but GODSON still has Freeman in his clutches.

Canadian destroyer – a less botched version!

Richard Parker: Incredible!

Parker is impressed. So are Fred Dick and Reed Young. Reed, who’s only now hopping off the apron but still holds the bobblehead high and proud!

Reed Young: YEAAAAAAHHHH!! Get it!

The former Action! Wrestling owner is feeling all… well… special on the inside. He’s holding his legs together like he has to rock a mad piss but he’s on the middle of the freeway and the next exit is 43 miles away (or 69 kilometers for our British and Canadian friends). Except the thing is it looks like Young is ENJOYING the fact he can’t take this desperate piss right now. The bobblehead is high and strong as GODSON lifts Freeman in the air and walks him around the canvas…

Massive muscle buster!

PIN!

ONE

TWO

KAEL BREAKS UP IT UP!

This cues Fred Dick, who, albeit, was on his way into the ring during the pinfall attempt as well but moved a lot slower than Kael!.

Dick grabs Kael! but Kael! slithers away using Fred’s sweaty body as lubricant! Maximillian scrambles back to his corner as a pissed off Fred comes roaring through…

Max has his right hand out. In a flash, Randall digs into his jacket and tosses a small hammer to The Commissar. Max catches it perfectly and swings the hammer at Fred-

WHAM!

Catching Dick in-between the eyes!

Turnbull doesn’t see it, because Turnbull is doing his job – watching the legal men. It’s STRONK delivering a beating to Freeman. GODSON hurls his opponent into the ropes and upon return, STRONG sends Kenny flying in the air with a flapjack.

Richard Parker: The bobblehead holds the power!

It holds… something as Reed still holds it in the air but is rhythmically dry humping every couple of seconds as he does.

Nick Stuart: I liked Reed better when he was with his daughter and son-in-law.

Richard Parker: (Absolutely stunned, dropping the act) Re- really?

GODSON bellows grammatically improper nonsense into the rafters and looks like he’s going to break Freeman in half. However, over on the Multiverse side of the ring, Fred Dick has recovered from the hammer shot and he is fuming. He wants a piece of MWK but Jimmy has jumped in the way. Dick furiously goes back to his corner and sticks out his hand for STRONK GODSON to tag him.

The big man wanders over and makes the tag! Dick moves in pretty quickly for a man of his size as GODSON remains in the ring, too. STRONK lifts Freeman in the air as Fred races forward with a spinning karate chop or some kind of shitty version of a judo strike as STRONK throws Freeman in the air upon connection.

Kenny crashes to the mat and GODSON makes his exit. Dick waits for Freeman to get on his knee before he shouts “BLOODMODE!”

But the very second he does, Randall jumps onto the apron for a distraction!

However, Reed Young races over and pulls Schwartz off the apron! Never lowering the Muggsy Bogues bobblehead, it’s almost like a manager-off as Randall hugs his trenchcoat and Young starts trying to dry hump Randall Schwartz!

Nick Stuart: What am I watching!? How is this nonsense in the Tag League?

Richard Parker: Speak for yourself! I am loving every second!

Of course this silliness now has the attention of Max Kael!, who’s hopped off the apron. It also has the attention of Fred Dick who’s looking for revenge on Max for the earlier cheap shot. Jimmy leans against the ropes, shouting at everyone to go back to their respective corners.

STRONK GODSON is added to the mix as he slowly hops off the apron and walks around to where the commotion won’t quit.

As the referee tries to restore order, somehow, someway, Max Kael is situated behind Randall Schwartz so no one can see him. He’s bent over and has his hands held out like he’s Oliver Twist asking for sa’more, but the reality is he’s asking for a weapon from Randall Schwartz’s jacket. It looks like the Red Army Manager knows what’s up. Randall keeps the referee and everyone else in front of him.

The only problem is Schwartz can’t get to the item Max is looking for.

Garrote? No. Max discards it.

Mace? Knife? Max shakes his head.

Staple gun? Baseball bat? Maybe MWK would be looking for these but there’s no way Schwartz can get them out without anyone realizing.

At this point in time, the rest of the shit is going to fall out of Schwartz’s trench coat anyway but as Kenny Freeman recovers inside the ring, Fred Dick realizes it’s a lost cause to get at Maximillion and slips inside the squared circle.

Freeman comes at Dick with a dropkick to the chest. Fred doubles over and Freeman connects with a DDT. Kenny hits the ropes and delivers his patented leg drop WITHOUT the silly dancing beforehand. Follow the Freeman connects and there’s a pin in the middle of the ring!

But no ref.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

WOULD BE THE COUNT IF JIMMY WAS IN THERE!

Finally, the referee sees the pinfall and realizes he can’t break-up the other parties. He slides into the ring and starts the count…

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Freeman grits his teeth and drags Dick to a vertical base. He’s about to look for another move when-

WHAM!

Hardest chop of the night via Dick! Freeman falls face-first to the mat! This wasn’t even a shitty shot, it looked like it crushed Kenny.

Killed Kenny.

OMG, Dick killed Kenny!

Obviously because of this “death”, Max Kael! wants to enter the ring but so does STRONK GODSON. Then Randall Schwartz slides into the ring, followed by Reed Young getting in there with the bobblehead held high.

The referee is at his breaking point. He tosses Reed and Randall out of the match as STRONK GODSON scratches his head and suddenly wonders if HE was tossed out of the match, too!

Amidst the chaos, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael appears behind Fred Dick and spins him around. Looks like Max ended up getting something out of Schwartz’s trench coat after all!

POOF!

Pocket sand!

With Fred Dick scrambling to clean his eyes, a fully recovered Kenny Freeman hits the ropes before spearing Dick while Max connects with a roaring elbow to the back of Fred’s head at the same time!

D.

O.

A.

Fred ain’t moving.

Because Order No. 227 was delivered.

Reed and Randall are already halfway up the ramp and STRONK is tripped by Kael! right after the finishing move hits. The referee slides into position as Kenny makes the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: Huge victory for Kael and Kenny!

Vince Howard: The winners of this match… the team of MAX KAEL and KENNY FREEMAN, the MASTERS OF THE MULTIVERSE!

GODSON slowly stands. It looks like he can’t believe what transpired! Reed Young falls to his knees on the center of the rampway while Randall Schwartz looks like he can move a little more freely now and makes his way down the entrance, albeit still with a bat shoved somewhere up his jacket.

Nick Stuart: In the end, Max and Kenny take the match. Also, Max was barely in this thing.

Richard Parker: Work smarter, not harder. It’s a lesson Kenny’s going to learn and it’s going to be a great lesson, indeed!

Kael squirms around the canvas with a toothy white smile on his face while Kenny Freeman stands and his hand is raised alongside a dead expression.

ReVival goes elsewhere.

Backstage, the ever diligent and intrepid reporter Simon Tillier stands at the ready, microphone in hand and a look of optimism mixed with resolve on his face.  He stands by the locker room door and motions to begin.  You know, whenever you’re ready.  Take your time.  He knocks at the door to see if anyone is willing to come to the door.

Simon Tillier:  Ladies and gentlemen I am here backstage hoping to get a word with the newest signings to PRIME’s tag team division: the team of Fade and Selene, collectively known as the Femme Furies!  They are set to debut in the ring very soon but I wanted to give them the chance to get their name out there and show the world who they are.

He pauses as he knocks on the door once more.  He clears his throat.

Simon Tillier:  Um…what I know about these two young ladies is very limited.  Fade has extremely small amount of in ring experience and the rumors say that Selene has absolutely none!

He knocks on the door again.

Simon Tillier:  Well, I was hoping we’d–

Without warning, the door opens and the head of Fade sticks out.  Her black hair falls around her face and she quickly brushes it aside, locking eyes with Simon.

Fade:  Can I help you?

Simon Tillier:  I was hoping to get a word with the Femme Furies.  You know, welcome them to PRIME, see what their intentions are…

Fade:  Oh.

She looks down and seems to be thinking.

Fade:  Just a second.

She slams the door in his face.  You can hear some murmurs and bickering until the door swings open and reveals a larger, near 6 foot tall statue of a woman who steps out to face Simon.  Behind her is the smaller Fade.  Selene wears a black Under Armour top with jogging track pants while Fade is dressed with a simple black PRIME t-shirt with the sleeves cut off.  Both women stand before Simon Tillier fully unveiled to the world now: the Femme Furies.

Selene:  Hello.

Simon Tillier:  Hello there!  Simon Tillier with PRIME, wanted to get a word with the Femme Furies and welcome them to PRIME.

Fade looks at the camera and then back to Simon.  She smiles as things connect with her.  It’s go time.

Fade:  Simon, thank you!  We were wondering when someone was gonna come around, give us a handshake and a wave.

Simon clears his throat.

Simon Tillier:  There is very little out there about you young ladies and I was hoping to get some insight into who the two of you are.

Selene:  We are Fade and Selene.  The Femme Furies.

Simon looks over to Selene, who stares matter of factly into his soul.

Simon Tillier:  Yes, but–

Fade steps in.

Fade:  What my partner means to tell you, Simon, is real simple.  We’re the Femme Furies.  Brought together by fate and management, two of the hottest unknown names in the game are about to set foot in the ring in front of all the PRIME fans out there and to put the whole tag team division on notice!

She grins.

Fade:  We’ve waited our whole lives to find a place to land, a place that will let us grow and evolve.  We’re nomads, wanderers, constantly lookin’ for the next place to call our home and PRIME?  Oh, baby, you just hit the jackpot because that tag team throne looks real comfy for a couple of hungry girls like us.

Selene:  You see, Simon…

Selene brings the microphone from Fade over to her.

Selene:  We are here to earn our place, but the both of us are more than ready to make the rest of this division earn theirs as well.  We are warriors, Simon, hunters.  Our target, our goal, our reason…is clear.  We will be PRIME Tag Team Champions.

At this moment, Tillier’s attention is taken away from the interview by the arrival of two others. The camera backs out to catch the tandem of Alias Champion Kerry Kuroyama and his annointed wingman Scott Hunter stepping into the shot. The two are respectively dressed like Rocky and Mickey from Rocky II, and Scott is expectedly leaning hard into it.

Scott Hunter: Arright, ya bum! I want ya to EAT PEACHES and CRAP HERB! I want ya to EAT FIBER and CRAP REGULARLY! I want ya to EAT LIGHTNING and CRAP THUNDER… then eat that thunder, and CRAP RAIN… then eat all three of those things together, and CRAP THE THREE STORMS FROM BIG TROUBLE AND LITTLE CHINA, ya bum!

Kuroyama ignores him, but comes to a stop within inches of the junior reporter and looms over him menacingly.

Kerry Kuroyama: Simon.

Simon Tillier: K-Kerry?

Kerry Kuroyama: Are you forgetting that per the terms of my contract, I’m obligated to have a backstage interview prior to my scheduled matches?

Simon Tillier: Well, see, ahh, I believe there was a scheduling change at the behest of Miss Troy.

Kerry Kuroyama: Bullshit, Simon. Lindsay would never switch things around on me without giving me the heads up first.

Simon Tillier: Um… the other Miss Troy.

Kerry’s eyes narrow into slits.

Kerry Kuroyama: …damnit, Ami. Well in any case, Simon, I’m going to need you to wrap up whatever business you have going on here with the, uhh… (gestures vaguely to Fade and Selene) …new prospects, and devote your attention to a reigning champion now, because I have a few things to say on the topic of Crash Jackson before I go out there and beat his bratwurst-worshipping ass.

Scott fixes his hair and steps forward in a very English gentlemanly way and holds out his hand in the direction of Selene and Fade.

Scott Hunter: Why hello. My name is Scott. You must be the new team I’ve been hearing so much about.

Kerry looks at him quizzically.

Scott Hunter: The Femme Furries, is it? I must say, neither of you seem to be particularly furry. I’d say you are quite well shaved. Is there an upcoming name change, perhaps? Or maybe a merchandising deal with Gillette?

Neither of them shake his hand.

Scott Hunter: Playing it cool, I see. Wise.

He suddenly turns back to Kerry, resuming his intense coach-like demeanor.

Scott Hunter: Like I said! I want you to eat STEAK and crap POTATOES! I want you to eat PEAS and crap CARROTS! I want you to eat BUTTER and crap ROLLS! And I want you to eat all three of THOSE things together and crap a WELL-BALANCED MEAL, YA BUM!!!!

Kerry, still side-eyeing the Femme Furies, places a hand on Scott’s shoulder in a ‘not now’ gesture and turns back to Simon.  Fade leans over to Selene, who has crossed her arms and continues to look the two men before her up and down.  Fade, however, is grinning from ear to ear listening to them.  She can’t help herself.  She claps her hands together in front of her face and giggles.

Fade:  Selene, look!  It’s…

She points to Kerry.

Fade:  Kerry Kuroyama!  So you, Scott.

She points to Scott.

Fade:  Hi, Scott Hunter, I’m sooo glad you decided on our first appearance to pick on our name!  It really drives the point home…

Selene:  …that you are not to be taken very seriously.

Selene steps between Fade and the two men.  Selene glances at the Alias Championship Kerry so proudly holds.

Selene:  But do not take offense.  Others may consider your puerile behavior as merely arrogant and maybe even disarming but for Fade and me?  I get the impression you two love to bite off more than you can chew.

Fade:  Scotty really went off on that food metaphor earlier.

Selene:  I can only hope you will be able to maintain your tenuous foothold on that Alias Championship, my friend.  Now, you have some TV time to disappoint with and we have business elsewhere.  I would wish you luck against Crash but, let us both be honest here, between the two of you it is clear which one will be feasting at the end of the night.

Fade steps forward and catches Scott’s eye.

Fade:  Definitely think up some better puns besides furries.  You have a job here, man, people pay you to be funny and dance and nothin’ else.  You gotta get better material.  Simon?

Oh hey, there’s Simon Tillier, stepping back into the foreground.

Fade:  These guys are all yours.

She turns back to Kerry and Scott.

Fade:  For now.

With that, the Femme Furies step aside, past Kerry, Scott, and Simon.

Scott Hunter: (looking confused) What does she mean by ‘material.’ And what in the name of Katie Holmes is a ‘pun’? Do we just let new people make up words now?? For God’s sake, PRIME is letting anyone in here now…

Kerry smiles wide draws in a deep, nostalgic breath.

Kerry Kuroyama: Ahh, rookies. They literally have no idea what awaits them. But I suppose everybody has growing pains when they come to PRIME. You remember how arrogant I was when I first arrived, Simon?

Simon Tillier: Um… ‘was’?

Scott Hunter: (the gears are turning, and Scott thinks a thought) Kerry, I am getting the strange feeling that Jackie and the Beanstalk were sassing us just then.

Kerry Kuroyama: They definitely were.

Scott Hunter: (GASP) How rude! And after I went out of my way to compliment their smooth skincare regimen!

Kerry Kuroyama: Don’t worry about it, pal. Although, Simon should have stepped in and said something, don’t you think?

Scott Hunter: Not very often.

Kerry doesn’t register Scott’s meandering nonsense, but rather just frowns at Simon Tillier. The junior reporter cringes beneath the pointed glare cast down on him by the Emerald Apex.

Simon Tillier: D-did you still want to share thoughts on Crash Jackson?

Thanks to Simon’s quick thinking, Kuroyama turns his wrath from the interviewer to the camera.

Kerry Kuroyama: Crash… I tip the hat to anyone who can best me in that ring. But I’d be damned if I allowed anyone to do it twice. So expect our scrap way over in Strasbourg to go down as the one and only time you claimed glory at the expense of the Emerald Apex, because tonight? History will not be repeating itself.

Kerry shakes his head. He sets one hand on the Wingman Championship around his waist and the other on Scott’s shoulder.

Kerry Kuroyama: I’ll give you the credit of being an undeniably worthy challenger, Crash. But aside from settling the score with you, this match is my opportunity to prove to the industry that I’m an undeniably worthy champion. One that has the best goddamn wingman in all of PRIME backing him up.

Scott’s head snaps over, casting the most heartbroken expression.

Kerry Kuroyama: That means you, Scott.

Hunter’s frown turns upside down.

Kerry Kuroyama: Now, enough talk. Let’s do this…

Kerry heads to the ring with Scott in tow, leaving Simon to sign off.

Simon Tillier: Well there you have it, ladies and gentlemen! A new tag team has come to PRIME seeking glory, while a new champion looks for his first successful defense! Nick, Richard, let’s kick it back over to you!

We cut to ringside.

The arena lights drop into darkness, save for the backlights in the entryway, as a mix of curious silence and spontaneous cheers comes over the crowd. With haste, a figure emerges from the back and stands head high, fist raised, and strikes a pose for a brief second.

LEEEET’S GET READY TO RUUUMMMBLE

The bell dings as Volbeat’s “A Warrior’s call” floods the airwaves and brings the lights back up. A chaotic lightshow takes over the entrance ramp, with flashing white and red strobe lights, before Crash jumps in the air and stomps both feet in clear view for everyone to see. He roars violently with a fiery, toothy grin before beginning his frantic descent to the ring.

FEEL THE FIRE, HE’S ENTERING THE RING
HIS MINDSET KNOWS ONLY HOW TO WIIIIIIIN

Crash reaches the ring while pumping his fist in unison with the beat, being joined by many fans simply out of respect for fist pumping, and scales the stairs at the same hellacious pace before turning around to roar at the crowd again.

UNLEASHING HIS HELL
YOU WON’T EVEN HEAR THE BELL

He leaps the top rope and lands with a thunderous rattle before pacing around the ring and nodding his head repeatedly. He stops in the middle, facing the crowd.

FEEL THE POWER OF THE WAAAAARRIOOOOR!

Crash steps towards the crowd, slamming his fist into the air and yelling along with the song.

FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!

He turns to the opposite side of the arena and offers the same sentiment.

LET’S GET READY TO RUUUUMBLE

Much more fist pumping begins with sweat flying off his face and arms, landing on the lucky fans in the front row.

FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!
FIGHT!

The music begins to die out as Crash locks in, waiting for Kerry Kuroyama. Lights dim. The trumpet fanfare from Rocky blares through the arena as five massive white letters scroll across the PRIMEview, marquee style.

K – E – R – R – Y

Pyros in green and gold. “Blouses Blue” by Konrad OldMoney and Sleep Steady overtakes the PA. After a few moments of letting the spectacle roll, KERRY KUROYAMA dramatically steps through the curtain, closely followed by his bro-4-lyfe SCOTT HUNTER.

The Alias Championship is displayed proudly around the waist of the Pacific Blitzkrieg. For the occasion, he’s foregone the usual emerald wrestling robe for a shorter boxing robe colored gold and black. Naturally, where the words “Italian Stallion” would be inscribed on the back, it instead reads “Emerald Apex”. Hunter is wearing a similar colored jacket, along with a black sock cap.

Kuroyama spares a moment to scan the crowd and gauge the reaction. Then he starts down the rampway, laser focused on the ring. Hunter keeps astride to him, walking with a hunch and speaking with a rasp.

Scott Hunter: Arright, ya bum! I want ya to eat lighting, AND CRAP A DURACELL, ya bum! I want ya to eat rainbows, AND CRAP SKITTLES, ya bum! I want ya to eat a hamburger, AND CRAP FRIES, ya BUM! I want ya to drink Faygo… AND CRAP HÄAGEN-DAZS! You BUM!!

Kerry Kuroyama: Will do, Scott. By the way, is there anything I can do that doesn’t involve eating anything?

Scott Hunter: There are two eggs this wily bird is going to scramble: BATMAN and ROBIN! Waugh, waugh, waugh, waugh!

Kerry Kuroyama: No… Scott, you’re getting your Burgess Meredith references mixed up.

They reach the ring. Kuroyama scales the steps, scales a turnbuckle, and peaks his hands over his head for a photo-op moment. Hunter hangs nearby on the apron, crossing his arms over his chest and doing his best to look intimidating.

When the music cuts, they enter the ring and come face to face with the opposition. The official stands herself between them as Vince Howard makes the official introductions.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is for the WINGMAN CHAMPIONSHIP of PRIME! Per the agreed upon stipulations, either competitor’s selected cornerperson has the power to call for a one-time sixty second break at any point in the match!

Kuroyama stands in his corner, head down and facing the turnbuckle while Hunter impatiently paces back and forth behind him.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the challenger! Hailing from Buffalo, New York, United States, and weighing in at two-hundred and thirty-eight pounds… the NORTHERN LIGHT… GRAAAAND MAAAAAASSTTERRR CCRRRRRAAAAAASSSHHHH!!!!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!

Crash pumps his arms into the air, soaking up the crowd’s favor.

Vince Howard: And the opponent, accompanied to the ring by Scott Hunter… hailing from Seattle, Washington, United States, and weighing in at two-hundred and thirty-two pounds… he is the WINGMAN CHAMPION of PRIME… the EMERALD APEX… KERRRYYYYYYYY KUUUROOOYAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Kuroyama tears off his robe. Hunter snatches it out of the sky. The Wingman Championship rises up. The PRIME faithful jeer. The dragon on his back defiantly grins back at them.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Referee Ashley Barlow collects the Wingman Championship from its holder, holds it up to all sides of the arena, and hands it over to the timekeeper.

DING DING

Kuroyama strides to the center of the ring, taking center stage, hands outstretched, ready to lock up. Crash instantly grabs hold, knucklelock, the two driving forward, pressing into each other, trying to force the other onto their back foot. Like two bulls, Kerry and Jackson. The Emerald Apex tries to push forward, but, to his shock, Crash is a rock, making up for the size discrepancy, forcing the Wingman Champion to break and step back. A little crack in the armor. Crash continues driving forward, forcing him back towards the buckles.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think most would’ve had that push on their minds going into this.

Richard Parker: The stubbornness of phosphates, most likely.

Nick Stuart: Jackson might not have the record he would want, but he has comported himself tremendously well in the ring. Kerry knows this. He’s felt it first hand. Jackson’s first breakthrough came at his expense. And now…he can work to take the Alias Championship for himself.

Richard Parker: Ashley Barlow stepping in, and Kerry is pushing back. He’s not exactly…thrilled. And for more reasons than just having Scott Hunter around him.

Nick Stuart: An active choice.

Richard Parker: An active handicap.

Not wanting to give up anything on the first butting of heads, Kuroyama digs his heels in on Barlow’s attempted break, twisting his challenger and putting him against the ropes, then yanking him in tight with a side headlock.

The crowd gives a heavy roar.

Not from the headlock, but rather, the backdrop Crash manages to hit Kerry with. All the same, Kuroyama maintains side headlock control, wincing as he torques as best as he can. Crash throws an arm up, the crowd continue quickly urging New York’s Finest on. A quick burst. Both men are back to their feet. Crash drives Kuroyama forward, getting loose of the hold, pushing him to the ropes in a whip. He tries to catch him on the carom, but Kuroyama side switches him, and goes for jerking roll up.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

A surge to his feet.

Kerry stands tall.

Bad move.

Nick Stuart: WIDE RIGHT!

Richard Parker: QUICK AS A HICCUP!

Nick Stuart: And Kerry Kuroyama is staggering back–

Richard Parker: Crash with a head of steam–

Nick Stuart: Running cross body! Crash pushing the shoulders down–

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Kerry trying to–

Richard Parker: Crash must be drinking dirty dog water!

Nick Stuart: Standing headscissor! Standing headscissor! Kerry coming out–

Richard Parker: Drop toe hold! And look at Nate Colton over there! Hot dogging! Trying to take the spotlight!

Colton is smashing the heels of his hands against the ring apron. Scott Hunter looks…concerned? Like the I Like Turtles Kid? Like a child with a Davey Crockett hat and a brick of Lincoln Logs in his undies? Colton is behind Crash for the wrestling display.

Nick Stuart: Drop toe hold TO SEATED SENTON! And Crash! Crash! Crash Jackson! On his feet! Trying to get these fans in the Cow Palace going, hollering, BELIEVING, that tonight, HE will become a champion in PRIME!

Kuroyama is beyond frustrated, getting up, staggering, trying to launch with a forearm, but Crash Jackson strikes!

Richard Parker: WAIT! 

Nick Stuart: SNAP KICK! SNAP DDT! KERRY KUROYAMA IS IN TROUBLE HERE! HE IS IN REAL TROUBLE–

Richard Parker: WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A NEW ALIAS CHAMPION!

Nick Stuart: It’s like Crash Jackson sees Max Kael in the ring! He’s on another level! He’s not just bringing the fight, he is DOMINATING Kerry Kuroyama IN DRAMATIC fashion!

Richard Parker: And there’s nothing he can do about it!

Nick Stuart: KUROYAMA…EMERALD APEX…HE’S…HE’S OUT ON HIS FEET…CRASH RUNNING FORWARD–

Richard Parker: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Nick Stuart: LFG DDT! LFG DDT! LFG DDT! CRASH JACKSON RUNNING TO THE CORNER! JUMPING TO THE TOP ROPE! CRASH DOT COM INCOMING–

BLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLT!

Right as Crash Jackson is about to leap off the top rope and claim his Alias Championship, the whistle sounds throughout the arena. Ashley Barlow steps in front of the downed Kuroyama, his hands up, resigned to having to eat the impact of Crash’s corkscrew shooting star.

Vince Howard: By rules of the Wingman Championship, Kerry Kuroyama’s cornerperson, Scott Hunter, is calling time out!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Vince Howard: The one minute period beeeeegins…NOOOOOOOOOW!

CLACKCLACKCLACK

The clacker.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Folks…this decision…not many people are going to be a fan of it…but by virtue of the decision making process in place for Kerry Kuroyama and the Alias Title slash Wingman Championship…there is a single timeout allowed at any one time.

Richard Parker: And…good Hoyt and gravy, did Scott Hunter make a smart decision?

Crash is extraordinarily frustrated, hopping off the top rope, ready to go. Colton comes into the ring, tugging him by the shoulder, pulling him to a near corner, trying to keep Crash from losing it. Meanwhile, Scott Hunter has Kerry up to his feet, and is pulling him to the near corner.

Kuroyama is looking around, nodding, a small smirk on his lips.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Once in the corner, Kuroyama slumps, pressing his back into the corner to brace. He looks up Hunter, tipping the proverbial ball cap to him, and calling his awareness on point. The Emerald Apex would continue but Hunter is busy pushing a bottle into his face. The contents are white with a tinge of yellow. Beads of condensation run down the bottle. Lemons are good. Lemons are good when you’re thirsty. Scott Hunter is telling him he looked like he could use a dose of Country Time!

Kuroyama, shaking his head, exhausted with a chuckle, agrees, slugging it all down in one gulp.

The chron in the corner has the milliseconds flowing down. Colton is trying his best to brace Crash, who, again, is growing more and more irate as he thinks. He needs this, he keeps shouting. It’s the only way he can get back to Kael. He believes it. He truly believes it.

And then.

BLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLT!

Vince Howard: This match is, once again, officially underway!

Richard Parker: Crash is going RIGHT for him–

Nick Stuart: Crash ready to take Kuroyama’s head off YAKUZA KICK! YAKUZA KICK! SQUAL LINE LARIAT! COVER!

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: CRASH WITH THE KICKOUT! Kuroyama RIPPING Crash Jackson from the canvas! OH that open palm strike starched him! And another!

Richard Parker: Crash is wilting!

Nick Stuart: Heavy blows by the recovering champion! Surging forward! More shots! Dropkick! KNEEEE DROP! RIGHT IN THE THROAT! And Kuroyama…Kuroyama…Kuroyama…JUDGEMENT BOLT BOMB–

ONE

TWO

THREEEEE

NO!

Richard Parker: Colton is sitting on his hands!

Nick Stuart: That bolt bomb might be named the Country Time Splash after Scott Hunter’s time out call! And Kuroyama…he has Crash Jackson! FIREMAN’S CARRY! KUROYAMA DRIVER II!

This is over.

No whistle.

No clacking.

Except…

Nick Stuart: NO! CRASH JACKSON IS FREE! LFG DDT! LFG DDT!

Richard Parker: OHHHHHH!

And Crash Jackson, he has his hands on the throat of Kuroyama. Because he doesn’t see him right now. The little mind game. It makes him think of one man. One man he DESPERATELY wants to rip apart piece by piece. Nobody will play with his mind again.

Never.

He begins smashing Kuroyama’s head into the canvas, over and over and over again. Struggling to get up, he hiptosses the champion, then uses the heel of his boot to smash into the back of Kerry’s head. As the Champion begins to collapse forward, Jackson puts both his boots onto the top of Kuroyama’s head, guillotining him by the neck against the bottom rope.

Richard Parker: Crash Jackson is going full savage! Full on! Like a Champion should! Like a Champion he’s about to become!

Barlow goes to get a hold of him.

She doesn’t make it.

BLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLT!

Vince Howard: By rules of the Wingman Championship, Crash Jackson’s cornerperson, Nate Colton, is calling time out! The one minute period beeeeegins…NOOOOOOOOOW!

CLACKCLACKCLACK

It dawns on Jackson before Colton even gets to him as he looks down at Kuroyama. He quickly steps away, shocked at himself, at the viciousness that came from him. Colton strides to him, hand to his charge’s chest. Trying to calm him down. Crash is feeling it. He is acknowledging it. And he is upset with himself, giving himself a punch to the head. Again, Colton plays peacekeeper, doing a damn fine job.

Richard Parker: WHY DID COLTON DO THAT?!

Nick Stuart: For the reason we are seeing Crash Jackson settling down; he’s in a position where he could cost himself the title, or even some form of his principles in the ring.

Richard Parker: Oh are you freaking kidding me?!

Kuroyama’s eyes glaze over as Scott Hunter tries, as best as he can, to offer another lemonade. The chron keeps ticking down.

Colton reminds Crash that he’s beaten this man before. That he can do it the same way. And he can become a damn champion in the process. Crash begins to get excited, smiling. He’s ready to go. He smells the blood in the water.

BLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLT!

Vince Howard: This match is, once again, officially underway!

Nick Stuart: No timeouts left! No timeouts left! And Crash Jackson comes out and he hiptosses Kerry–

Richard Parker: But he gave him too much time to recover!

Nick Stuart: Maybe not! Maybe not! Because Kerry Kuroyama might have found himself in a position he can’t recover from. He is struggling, trying his damnedest to keep fighting…

Richard Parker: Using the ropes–

Right into–

Nick Stuart: WIDE! RIGHT!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The fans in the Cow Palace can feel it.

It is time.

Crash takes to the top rope.

Crash.

Dot.

Com.

Except.

The Dot Com Bubble bursts.

Nick Stuart: KUROYAMA LEAPT WITH EVERYTHING HE HAD AND HIT CRASH WITH THAT DROPKICK! OH MY WORD!

The blow takes out Crash’s legs, dropping him precarious on the top turnbuckle. His eyes cross. Everyone at home winces. It could be worse. He could have fallen to the mats outside the ring. The sheer athletic display from Kuroyama is breathtaking. And, after a few heavy breaths, he gets up, slinging Crash Jackson over his shoulders, and practically collapsing.

Nick Stuart: KUROYAMA! DRIVER! II! TOP ROPE ASSISTED!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner! And STIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILL…WINGMAN CHAMPION! KERRY! KUROYAMA!

Both men’s cornerfolk are in the ring, tending to them. Scott Hunter has the title, fumbling it onto the chest of the utterly exhausted Kuroyama, who takes it and presses it against his chest for dear life.

All as Nate Colton tends to Crash Jackson after a pair of vicious landings.

We go elsewhere.

Nick Stuart: Well as you know… Adam Ellis is not with us here at ReVival 52 tonight.  Adam is in Logan, West Virginia with his eight-month pregnant wife Ginny Van Lear defending the AMCW title.

The video screen comes on with “Earlier tonight: Willie Akers Arena- Logan, West Virginia” appearing at the bottom of the screen.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as Adam Ellis pushes through the backstage area, his wife Ginny Van Lear in tow. Despite the swell of her belly, she moves with a determination that matches her fiery red hair.

Adam stays silent.  It’s clear there’s still a whirlwind of things on his mind… one of them is defending the AMCW title that hangs over his shoulder against challenger Boris Antonov in the show’s main event.

They reach the dressing room and Adam stops when an unexpected sight causes his normally stoic face to crease with surprise.

Dawn McGill: Adam.

Dawn McGill rises from a steel chair. Her once-wavy locks now hang straight, brushing the top of an ‘American Made’ t-shirt that clung to her athletic frame.

Adam Ellis: Dawn?

She steps forward, her bright red sandals clicking against the concrete floor.

Adam Ellis: What… how?   I thought you were…

Dawn McGill: Kidnapped?

Adam Ellis: Well yeah.

Dawn McGill: I escaped.

Adam Ellis: What happened?

Dawn McGill: Oh.  They tortured me and tried to brainwash me into joining the Soviet Bloc.  I was chained up in a cooler for a few days.  That didn’t work so I was then locked me inside a box for nearly two weeks.

Adam stays silent.  Ginny cocks her head slightly as if she’s having a hard time believing the story.

Dawn McGill: But I finally managed to get away when they weren’t looking.  Once I was free, I made sure I got here as fast as I could.

Dawn’s blue eyes flash with something unreadable.

Dawn McGill: You know me.  It’s going to take more than the Soviet Bloc to keep me down.

Ginny’s stance shifts and her skepticism is written clearly across her features. She eyes Dawn with a pugilist’s wariness.

Dawn directs Adam with a firm nod toward the locker room.

Dawn McGill: Go get dressed and we’ll talk about the game plan.

Adam hesitates and glances between Ginny and Dawn.

Dawn McGill: Come on, Adam.  Boris Antonov isn’t going to pin himself.

With a final look at his wife, Adam nods and disappears into the dressing room, leaving the two women alone.

Ginny Van Lear: I wasn’t born inna barn and I ain’t dumb as a coal bucket.  I don’t reckon how you got snatched and now you’re back fixin’ to be in Adam’s corner.

Ginny’s retort came sharp, her guard still up.

Dawn leans in, her voice drops to a sultry whisper.

Dawn McGill: How about some Cabana Boy time?

Dawn tries to guide Ginny by the arm but the fiery red-head brushes her hand away.

Dawn McGill: Come with me and we’ll get you all relaxed.

She tries to gently coax Ginny.

Dawn McGill: Besides, you love how my cabana boys massage your feet, remember?

Ginny Van Lear: Well…

Dawn McGill: Come on.

Dawn leads Ginny down the hall towards a secluded room.  She opens the door and a lone chaise lounger awaited.

Dawn McGill: There it is.  Go on inside.

Ginny walks into the room.  She scans the room and there’s no sign of the cabana boys.

Ginny Van Lear: Hey. Where’s the- MMMPHH!

The Soviet Bloc’s Svetlana Kovaleski emerges from the shadows and clamps a hand and a chloroform-soaked handkerchief over Ginny’s mouth with practiced efficiency.

Svetlana Kovaleski: молчать.

From behind, Nikita Kalashnik, another cog in the Soviet Bloc, secures Ginny’s arms with a wrestler’s grip. Ginny’s initial struggle is fierce… her pregnant state fuels her desperation but the chloroform takes hold and her eyes soon close.

Dawn slams the door shut, the sound echoes through the corridors.

“Later that evening”

Adam and Antonov circle each other warily at the fifteen-minute mark of their match. It’s been a battle with both men approaching exhaustion.

Suddenly, Adam’s muscles coil with lightning speed and he launches himself into the air, fist leading like a missile towards Antonov’s face.

*CRRACK*

The Superman punch connects and Antonov staggers back into the corner. The crowd erupts in cheers as Adam backs to the opposite corner to give himself distance to launch another attack.

But just as he was about to charge again, Dawn McGill spins him around… her face twisted into an innocent mask that did little to hide the dangerous glint in her eyes.

Adam Ellis: Dawn, what the hell?

Dawn smiles calmly at him.  Antonov moves in from behind and delivers a heavy Soviet Hammer with brutal force. Adam collapses onto the mat and you can hear a pin drop inside the arena.

But the stunned silence of the crowd was quickly replaced by a chorus of disbelief and anger as Antonov presses his boot on Adam’s stomach with triumph in his eyes. The referee slides into position and begins the count.

Referee: One! Two! Three!

The sound of the bell tolls through the arena, signaling the crowning of a new AMCW champion and Antonov rises to his feet to bask in his ill-gotten victory.

Dawn joins him in the ring… her hips sway seductively as she peels off her ‘American Made’ shirt to reveal a deep red ‘USSR’ sports bra top beneath.  Svetlana Kovaleski joins them in the ring.

Svetlana Kovaleski: Well done.  Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Agent Zarya to the Soviet Bloc.

Svetlana hands Dawn… er… Agent Zarya an ushanka hat and she puts it over her straight blonde hair.

Zarya then wraps her arms around the burly Russian’s neck to pull him into a deep, triumphant kiss.

The crowd’s reaction is immediate and visceral. Jeers and trash rain down upon the turncoat.

Backstage, Ginny Van Lear’s body convulses on the plush surface of the chaise lounger, her once luscious red hair now damp and tangled, framing a face twisted in anguish. She lies backwards on the lounger on her back with her legs bent up and over the back with her feet dangling in the air… wrists and ankles secured with thick ropes connected to the two legs below… and a cloth gag tied tightly around her mouth.

Ginny’s mind races as she watches the whole sordid scene play out on a monitor beside her.  Antonov steps over a sprawled-out Adam to sweep the treacherous Agent Zarya off her feet.  Ginny struggles with every fiber of her being to break free from the ropes binding her while Antonov carries the newest member of the Soviet Bloc from ringside to the back amidst a hail of debris and jeers from the crowd.

The video ends… cut back to Nick Stuart and Richard Parker back at the broadcast desk.

Nick Stuart: Shocking events in Logan, West Virginia tonight.  A dastardly attack on Ginny Van Lear and Adam Ellis gets laid out in the ring by his manager Dawn McGill-

Richard Parker: Agent Zarya, you mean.

Nick Stuart: Um… Agent Zarya… right.

Richard Parker: I will say she looks real hot in that Russian hat.

Nick Stuart: How will Adam Ellis respond to this when he returns to action two weeks from tonight with Bryan Dawkins against Rob Williams and Anna Daniels at the Golden 1 Center in Sacramento, California?

Richard Parker: I’d be more concerned if Ginny Van Lear wasn’t about to pop a child.

Nick Stuart: More interestingly, Ellis and Dawkins also face the Red Army’s Kenny Freeman and Max Kael at ReVival 54 next month.  But let’s move on to our next match!

Ringside. We’re already there. Let’s do this.

The San Francisco faithful explode once “Cynic” by Local H begins blaring through the PA. The Anglo Luchador steps through the curtain and comes striding down the ramp, followed close behind by the innocuously named “Spanglo Luchador” Zapp Scatino. TAL once again is charging up the crowd and slapping hands while Scatino once again sulks after him with slumped shoulders, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following is a team contest scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, at a combined weight of four-hundred and fifty-nine pounds… the ANGLO LUCHADOR… and ZAPP SCATINO… LOOOOOS MELLIZOOOOOSSS(?)!!!

But when TAL turns to check in on his partner, Zapp suddenly sparks up and joins in on the hand slapping with the fans at the barricade. The moment the Luchador turns back to the ring, however, Scatino gives up on the act.

The arena lights cut out and strobing white lights shine from the floor near the entrance at the top of the ramp. An awful and untalented bass line booms from the PA system, followed by an overly dramatized Boston Irish accent.

This one’s going out to all the scumbags, lowlifes, and outsiders.

Fuck Your Tag Team appears at the top of the ramp, the white light shining from the floor behind them, casting vast shadows across the ring of their outlines. “Wasted Youth Crew” by Blood for Blood offends the ears of everyone in the arena.

Fuck you
Fuck you
Fuck you
and fuck society too.

Rob Williams and Anna Daniels look locked in, staring at their opponents as they slowly make their way to the ring, ignoring the jeers of the fans. Rob slaps the popcorn out of a fan’s hands before climbing into the ring.  Anna dances around avoiding every fan’s hand that goes to reach out for her before sliding under the bottom rope and slithering to her feet.

Fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
and fuck the world.

Vince Howard: The team of ANNA DANIELS! And ROB WILLIAMS! FUCK YOUR TAG TEAM!

Once in the ring, Williams stands on the inside while Daniels steps through to the outside. The Anglo Luchador and Zapp have a brief discussion and.

DING DING

Zapp Scatino steps through the ropes to start it off for Twins?, while Anna Daniels takes notice and slaps Rob Williams’ back and steps through the ropes. Zapp turns to discuss the matchup with TAL The Muse fires forward across the ring and catches Zapp off guard with a boot to the face. TAL, seeing what was coming tags in off of Zapp’s chest and smashes Daniels with a forearm.

Richard Parker: TAL quick to save his brother.

Nick Stuart: You believe that?

Richard Parker: You don’t? Look at those two. Shared a womb, clearly. Why else would they wear the same color ring gear?

TAL spins Daniels around and fires off a jab, jab, right hook combination that sends Anna back into the corner. She rebounds out and TAL throws a standing dropkick, Daniels manages to sidestep, and kicks TAL in the stomach on the way down. The Luchador hits the mat kneeling and holding his rib cage as Daniels fires off a second right kick, this time it smashes into the side of The Luchador’s head.

Nick Stuart: Big boot from Daniels.

Richard Parker: Ugh, the little brother.

TAL slumps forward, but Daniels grabs him by the back of the mask and rips Anna over towards the corner. She holds TAL up on his knees and tags Williams. Rob climbs up to the top rope and comes down with a double ax handle as Anna steps to the side. TAL is driven down to the canvas and the former Five Star Champion fires a violent cowboy booted foot into the luchador’s stomach. TAL bounces off the canvas into another boot followed up with another dash of boot sole to the stomach.

Nick Stuart: TAL is getting worked over here pretty good.

Richard Parker: Of course he is. Of course he would.

Nick Stuart: Remember the time you liked him?

Richard Parker: When?

TAL tries to head to his corner but Williams snatches him backwards and drags him to his feet. He plants The Anglo Luchador in the center of the ring with a DDT. TAL takes the impact directly on the top of his head and floats over almost convulsing as Williams jumps to his feet. He dives forward with an elbow drop onto TAL’s neck, Williams gets to his feet and tags Daniels. Williams snaps up The Anglo Luchador and snaps him down sideways across his knee. With The Luchador draped, Daniels springs over the top rope and drops a leg drop across The Luchador’s neck.

Nick Stuart: Big leg drop from Daniels, great team work from F. Y. T. T.

Richard Parker: Great leg drop! HAHA! Look at him!

Nick Stuart: I remember, it was Philadelphia. You liked him in Philadelphia.

Richard Parker: What happens in Philadelphia stays in Philadelphia.

The Luchador reaches out across the ring towards Zapp Scatino, who is clearly way too far away and Williams adds insult to injury with a boot to the back of The Anglo Luchador’s head as he heads back to his corner. Daniels climbs back up and brings a boot down to The Anglo Luchador’s back, she drives the heel into the small of it as she twists down and kneels. She grabs TAL’s arm and pulls it back, The Luchador lets out a small shout as Daniels contorts TAL’s wrist in an awkward direction.

Richard Parker: And here comes the star of the team, the best brother.

Nick Stuart: No, I think Zapp’s just sticking his head through the middle ropes.

Scatino begins clapping for TAL who begins to pound the mat and the crowd begins to get behind The Anglo Luchador. A slow rumble of anticipation as TAL tries to crawl on his stomach towards his corner. Daniels pivots the position on TAL’s back and viciously rips his middle finger and ring finger in opposite, very wrong directions. TAL grabs at his hand as Daniels gets up and runs towards Scatino in the corner. Zapp drops down off the apron, but in the same moment, Daniels flips over the top rope and lands on the apron. She steps forward and smashes Scatino in the face with a penalty kick.

Nick Stuart: Daniels is on a warpath here!

Richard Parker: Poor Zapp, TAL needs to be controlling the person he’s in the ring with better.

Scatino drops to the floor holding his face, Daniels turns around into a wobbly right hand from The Anglo Luchador. Daniels stumbles back and TAL tries to grab Anna for a suplex but Daniels drops down and drapes TAL’s neck across the top rope. Williams has skulked around the back side of the ring on the outside and as Zapp is getting to his feet, Williams comes forward and blisters Scatino with a clothesline.

Richard Parker: Look at that! Williams and Daniels just keep pushing the advantage from that idiot luchador’s mistake.

Nick Stuart: TAL’s in trouble on the apron.

Richard Parker: Zapp, just leave your brother. It’s not worth it. He’s an idiot. Look at him.

Daniels jumps back up onto the apron and grabs TAL by the head through the middle ropes. She steps back and delivers an axe kick to the back of his skull. TAL rolls back off the middle rope to the center of the ring holding his neck and the back of his head as Williams calmly steps back through the ropes. Turnbull begins shouting at Williams to get back to his corner over the top rope as Daniels stomps back to the center of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Another shot from Daniels!

The Muse smashes a boot across TAL’s masked face and drags him to the corner. Williams hops back up onto the apron and Williams makes a tag. It’s Anna turn to drop TAL across a knee, ,and Rob’s turn to provide the embellishment as he comes down with an elbow drop across the luchador’s neck.

Richard Parker: He just lost four more brain cells. He can’t have that many left.

Williams brings the luchador to his feet and fires him chest first into the corner. TAL’s sternum smashes into the turnbuckles and he stumbles out into a big lariat from the former fivestar champion. TAL flips head over heels and Williams goes back to the quick tag to Daniels who comes through the middle rope and smashes TAL in the face with a low dropkick as he tries to bring himself to his feet. Daniels flips TAL over for a cover as Williams heads towards Twins?’s corner in case Scatino is alive. Turnbull dives in for the count.

Nick Stuart: Cover for Daniels center of the ring!

ONE!

TWO!

….

……….

……………..

KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: I guess he wants to take some more kicks to the head.

Nick Stuart: The luchador kicks out! Daniels right back up!

Anna drags TAL to his feet and tries to bring him up into a death valley driver position but the luchador slides down behind and desperately tries for a surprise backslide. Turnbull dives in.

ONE!

Daniels flips all the way over onto her feet and TAL scrambles out of the way of another heat-seeking boot. The boot just misses and TAL is back to his feet, Daniels fires off another kick but TAL manages to move underneath and stands up firing a picture perfect dropkick into Daniels’ chest. The Luchador is back up and runs straight into a left shoulder from Rob Williams as Rob returns to his corner. The Luchador explodes backwards and Williams holds the luchador in the ropes as Daniels gets up. Anna springs forward with a boot but TAL darts out of the way and back towards his empty corner. Daniels turns awkwardly to avoid Williams and brings her leg crashing down over the top rope.

Nick Stuart: Zapp’s still down on the outside!

Richard Parker: YOU DID THAT! DON’T BE SURPRISED ABOUT IT! IT’S YOUR FAULT!

TAL turns back towards Daniels who is awkwardly hobbling and immediately takes her to the mat with a Tanahashi like dragon screw. The luchador is right back up to his feet, he steps a leg through, turning Daniels’ leg into a figure four like position and he drops down onto his back slapping the mat and leaving Daniels grabbing at the left leg.

Richard Parker: Look at this cheat, attacking an injury like that.

Nick Stuart: Daniels tried to Perma-Vulcan him.

Richard Parker: Vulcans? Are you some type of…

Nick Stuart: I’m not a trekkie.

As the luchador gets to his feet, Daniels lunges to the corner on one leg and tags in Williams. Rob comes in with a right hand, then another that drives the Luchador backwards. Williams snaps TAL over with a suplex, and holds on, bringing him up and over for a huge brianbuster in the center of the ring. Williams covers and Turnbull dives in for the count.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Kickout from the luchador.

Richard Parker: You said the phrase and I quote: “Perma-Vulcan.”

Nick Stuart: And Williams right back to his feet.

Rob is right back up and drags The Luchador up to his feet, he turns back towards Daniels and sees The Muse holding a knee and violently rubbing and shaking it. Williams turns back towards The Luchador and sends him into the corner. This time TAL manages to stop himself, and senses the oncoming danger by leaping up into the air and springing over top of the oncoming Williams. He dives towards his corner and manages to catch Zapp’s hand while also smashing into Turnbull.

Nick Stuart: Here comes Zapp!

Richard Parker: Disqualify TAL! RIGHT NOW! GET HIM OUT OF THERE!

Nick Stuart: That was clearly an accident.

Scatino comes through the ropes and absolutely levels Williams with a right hand that sends Rob down to the canvas. Rob tries to spring up but is holding his head and Zapp hammers him with another savage right hand to the temple that sends Rob sprawling across the ring.

Richard Parker: Look at Scatino! Maybe he’s Ivan’s brother! That would explain the strength.

Nick Stuart: I think something else explains the strength! Zapp hasn’t opened his right hand yet!

Scatino rubs his wrist but delivers another absolute missile of a right hook to the downed Williams. He turns back towards Daniels and dives at Anna with a right hand that smashes into the side of The Muse’s head. Zapp half falls out of the ring as Anna shoots off the apron and into the barricade. Scatino turns back and sees Turnbull getting to his feet, he finishes falling out of the ring and stumbles to the barricade. He leans over it for a moment and stumbles back into the ring. Turnbull begins clapping at Scatino, indicating he didn’t see a tag and sends him back to the corner.

Nick Stuart: What did Zapp just do.

Richard Parker: HE HAS THE STRENGTH OF TEN MEN! HE’S ZAPP THE SMASHER! IRON ZAPP SCATINO!

Nick Stuart: I hate you so much.

Scatino ignores Turnbull and snatches Williams up to his feet. He drags Rob to the corner and smashes his head into the turnbuckle, then delivers a much lower power right hand to Williams’ temple as TAL gets an explanation from Turnbull and stumbles into the ring. Zapp helps TAL get Williams up and onto his shoulders, and TAL brings him down with a Japanese Ocean Cyclone Suplex. TAL drapes a leg over and slumps over top of Williams.

ONE!

TWO!

….

………

…………….

……………………

THREE!

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: What the hell just happened there!

Richard Parker: Look at that! Wow, Zapp might have the most explosive hands in all of the world of wrestling!

Nick Stuart: What the hell did Zapp hit them with!?

Richard Parker: HUGE RIGHT HANDS!

Vince Howard: The winner of this match by pinfall, LOOOOOS MELLIZOOOOOSSS(?)!!!

Scatino picks up The Anglo Luchador and raises his arm as the two men stumble to the back, leaving a frustrated Williams and Daniels discussing things with Turnbull in the middle of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Well, I guess that means Zapp and TAL are at four points, while Daniels and Williams sit at one point in the table.

Richard Parker: Thank God TAL’s brother is here to guide them.

Nick Stuart: Richard, they aren’t…

Richard Parker: SHOW ME THE BIRTH CERTIFICATE!

Nick Stuart: We’re all getting fired after this.

We cut to commercial.

ReVival 52.

San Francisco, California.

Cow Palace.

KING has arrived.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Is that the best you can do?

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Okay, that was like five O’s longer. If that’s the best you can do, then I guess—

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Finally.

Matt Mills stands outside of the locker room for KING and as the door opens, the leader of KING emerges with a look on her face that she’s ready for business. Considering her match with Brandon Youngblood is minutes away, that shouldn’t be much of a surprise. As she steps through the threshold, the rest of KING appears behind her — David Noble, Jamaal Ingram, Cory Kensington, Shawn Graham.

Rose, for those keeping track at home, is wearing her standard wrestling gear — black tights with ROSE painted on the sides in purple, a black sports bra that reveals her midriff, and for the moment, a black jacket that stops right at her hips.

Matt Mills? A suit. Gray. Should be wearing a three piece, but Matt has never been one for fashion. Okay, enough blabbing, what you want Mattie?

Matt Mills: Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m here with the Second Coming and Leader of KING, Rose. In just a few moments, you’ve got maybe the biggest test of your career as you will square off against Brandon Youngblood. How are you feeling going into this match? What is your mindset? Especially in light of his recent comments to you?

Rose’s face doesn’t change as she looks at Mills.

Rose: It’s clear that I touched a nerve, isn’t it? For someone who claims to not give a fuck, he sure had a lot to say about me.

She then looks into the camera.

Rose: Let me make one thing crystal clear, Brandon. You can run your mouth all you want, but in the end, what matters is what happens in the ring. Tear me down all you like—it only shows how insecure you really are. You’re no different from the pathetic boys I grew up with, who mocked me because my father was a wrestler, who called me a bitch because I didn’t fall for their sleazy pick-up lines, who labeled me a tease because I wouldn’t give them what they wanted. But you? You’re worse. You masquerade as something you’re not, hiding behind a facade of self-righteousness. You’re nothing but a coward, and tonight, I’m going to expose you for the fraud you truly are.

A small chuckle escapes from Rose.

Rose: I could dismantle every word you spewed — how you dissect my relationship with my father because facing the wreckage of your own relationship with Cody is too much for you, how your ego shatters at the slightest touch of truth, how you brand me as entitled while you’ve been riding on the fumes of your past glory, parading as PRIME’s golden boy without any real victories to back it up this year.

She looks around at the members of KING for a moment.

Rose: You can’t handle the truth, can you? Every day, you push more people away, isolating yourself in your delusions of grandeur, while I stand strong with a loyal group that would never abandon me. You’re no leader — unless throwing tantrums is your idea of leadership. The truth is, your ego is a fragile thing, shattered by every loss: Clay Byrd, Jonathan-Christopher Hall, Cecilworth Farthington, Ivan Stanislav, Daytona Diamonds. Pathetic. Cling to your hollow victories over Gamble and Hanlon if it helps you sleep at night. The rest of us see you for what you are: a washed-up fraud desperate for relevance.

Rose takes a deep breath, her eyes narrowing as she steadies herself. The fire in her eyes burns brighter, fueled by the mixture of anger and determination coursing through her veins. Her posture straightens, exuding a palpable intensity that demands attention.

Rose: You crossed a line, Brandon. You dared to bring my daughter into this. Instead of confronting the real threat standing before you, you cowardly target those who can’t defend themselves. It’s the typical tactic of a lowlife. But bringing my eight-year-old daughter into your twisted narrative? Wishing on her the same fear and helplessness I felt when my father suffered a concussion? That’s beyond sick; that’s deranged. You’re no hero, Brandon. You’re just a despicable bully hiding behind the facade of your so-called legacy.

Pause. Rose’s expression hardens, the intensity in her eyes amplifying as she takes a moment to collect her thoughts. Her fists clench momentarily at her sides, showcasing the raw emotion bubbling just beneath the surface. The silence is palpable, charged with the weight of her unspoken words.

Rose: Words are worthless, Brandon. Actions are what count, and in mere minutes, I’ll be stepping into that ring. My singular desire is to shut you up for good. I crave nothing more than to pin your shoulders to the mat and count to three. I yearn to bash your skull in with a steel chair until you’re unrecognizable. But let’s face it, I’ll settle for ripping a piece of you away, leaving a scar you’ll never forget. Tonight, you’ll regret ever crossing paths with me.

Rose looks back at Matt.

Rose: Anything else?

Matt Mills: Um, yes. You’ve had Bryan Dawkins walking around here, blaming you for his injury that put you on the shelf for two months? I know you were looking for him last show and not sure if you ever managed to find him? Anything you want to say about that.

Rose: Oh, Bryan, Bryan, Bryan. Just like all men who want to blame their shortcomings on a woman. I wish it was original. I wish it wasn’t trite. Here’s another man who holds himself up as being one of the ‘nice guys’ and yet… he blames him bumping into me as the reason he was injured and lost his match that night. Now—

Before she can continue though, something catches her eye off camera. Well, not something, but someone.

The Flyin’ Hawaiian himself, Bryan Dawkins. He strolls into the shot, with a smile on his face, and a pineapple in his hand.

Rose looks back at Matt.

Rose: Anything else?

Matt Mills: Um, yes. You’ve had Bryan Dawkins walking around here, blaming you for his injury that put him on the shelf for two months? I know you were looking for him last show and not sure if you ever managed to find him? Anything you want to say about that?

Rose: Oh, Bryan, Bryan, Bryan. Another man eager to pin his failures on a woman. How utterly predictable. It would almost be amusing if it weren’t so painfully cliché. Here stands a self-proclaimed ‘nice guy,’ yet he has the audacity to blame our accidental encounter for his injury and subsequent defeat. Now—

Before she can continue though, something catches her eye off camera. Well, not something, but someone.

The former Flyin’ Hawaiian himself, Bryan Dawkins. He strolls into the shot, smile on his face and hollowed out pineapple in his hand. He takes a long drink from the pineapple.

Bryan Dawkins: ‘Sup bruh?

If looks could kill, Dawkins would be dead right now.

Rose: Who are you – Beetlejuice? Where’s your new caretaker? Tired of your shtick already?

Dawkins shrugs and takes another swig.

Bryan Dawkins: Was wanderin’ the halls, enjoyin’ some catering on my night off. Heard my name. You were saying, bruh?

Her focus ping pongs between Dawkins and Matt Mills, who has taken a step back from the scene. Dawkins shrugs and gestures toward Mills.

Bryan Dawkins: Go on, bruh. Don’t let me spoil the party.

Rose: Where do you get off strutting around here, pinning your mishap on me? Oh, I see; you need a scapegoat to mask your own failings. Well, guess what? I’m not in the market for carrying the weight of your blunders. The line for that is quite long and — wouldn’t you know it — it’s already been capped off.

Bryan Dawkins: Ya done?

Dawkins pauses.

Rose seethes.

Bryan Dawkins: Look, Rose…I get it. Ya got big shoes to fill considering a PRIME Hall of Famer’s your daddy so ya go around pickin’ big fights. How’s that worked out for ya, bruh? I’m sure you weren’t a product of a nepo hire or anything. Look – you’re not much higher in the rankings than I am…

A quick grin from Dawkins.

Bryan Dawkins: I know, I know, Dusk probably told ya about the old days. Can’t say I don’t regret some of what Rayne, Tsonda and I said about him back then. Definitely wouldn’t fly these days but I can’t really take it back. Water under the bridge, ya?

Another sip of that sweet nectar. Meanwhile, Rose is silently calculating how much force would be needed to use that pineapple to rearrange Dawkins’ new jaw and send those brand new pearly whites across the floor like someone dropped a dozen tic tacs.

Bryan Dawkins: The old man could go, though. Guess that apple fell a little further from the tree than it should have.

Rose looks at the hollowed-out pineapple in Bryan’s hand and leans over to take look inside of it.

Rose: Did you mix some alcohol and THC in your pineapple juice? Just how delusional are you?

She then looks over her shoulder to David Noble who is burning a hole through Dawkins at the moment. The Second Coming then looks back at Dawkins.

Rose: You’re languishing at the bottom of the rankings. Frankly, I’m baffled that you even manage to hold onto a job here. Me picking fights? Darling, the fights come to me. Being the daughter of a Hall of Famer makes me a prime target for people desperate to inflate their own worth. You’ve racked up exactly zero victories since Troy threw you a lifeline. While you’ve been collecting dust, I’ve been on what they call a winning streak, and I intend to add Youngblood to that list. As for you? Don’t hold your breath for those tag titles—they’re as far from your grasp as a victory is from your record.

Bryan Dawkins: Look, I don’t know what the issue is – you’re the one who ran into me. I was just preppin’ for the Bayou bruh. Mindin’ my own business. Then you showed up and screwed it all up! I was on the way to the win column but ya were too busy workin’ through your own feelings to pay attention to where ya were goin’.

Dawkins lowers his tone, slows the cadence of his speech and gets eye-to-eye with the Second Coming.

Bryan Dawkins: So don’t for one second think this is over. I made a promise to Ellis that I was gonna be all in on this tag tournament. But when it’s over, we’ve got some business to take care of, one-on-one. And it’ll end just like it did when I squared off with your daddy back in the day. Go ‘head, ask him sometime.

Eyes? Rolled. Head? Snapped back. Tension? Present, and it’s not the sexual kind.

Rose: Craving attention that badly? Tossing lies around like confetti and praying someone’s gullible enough to catch them? I’ve got news for you: I’m not easily fooled, nor do I back down from a challenge, unlike some people. You know where to find me. Once you’re done nursing those special pineapple cocktails, step up and face me. I’ll just chalk up another loss for you, adding to that well-worn collection of yours. You know, the one you’re all too familiar with.

The two stare at one another.

Bryan Dawkins: In the meantime, you know where to find me, bruh. Oh, and good luck with Youngblood tonight. I’m sure he’ll take it easy on ya…

Dawkins grins and turns his attention to Mills.

Bryan Dawkins: Millsy, bruh…good to see ya again, as always.

Dawkins tosses the now empty pineapple toward his adversary and exits the scene, leaving Rose alone, fuming and hopefully knocked off her game for tonight’s matchup. She examines the pineapple briefly before tossing it back in Dawkins’s direction.

Rose: Ass.

Matt Mills: Well, if I can ask you one more question, Rose. You had an… interesting… interaction with Nate Colton in Boise, where you called him out about being a leader and doing the right thing. Needless to say, that is a surprising direction coming from you. What are your thoughts after watching Nate rush out to the ring during the Ivan and Hessian match and taking out Alexei Ruslan?

Rose looks at Matt Mills and is about to open her mouth when someone else catches her eye.

Rose: Excuse me.

Rose then walks away from Matt, who is both shocked and not shocked by the Second Coming’s disregard of him. Yet, as the camera pans over, we see Rose approaching the New Diamonds, who has appeared at the corner, locking eyes with Nate. He’s fresh from his ringside appearance in the Alias Title match, which took some…interesting turns, let’s say.

She approaches him with a wary look in her eyes.

Rose: Fancy running into you again. You know, hanging out with us ‘villains’ might not do wonders for your reputation. I mean, I have one heartfelt chat with you, urging you to rise above the other ‘heroes’ around here, and my reward? Youngblood on my case.

He shrugs; apparently he isn’t worried about the risk. Anyway, it’s not like he can stop hanging out with himself.

Nate Colton: You can look at it as a punishment, or an opportunity. Dude’s one of the best to ever lace up the boots. As for the other thing…I’ve already got the Ivan Stanislav Propaganda Machine pointed at me. Dunno how much more this will hurt.

Rose: I gotta admit, I know I kind of let loose on you at 51. First off, that’s just par for the course with me — running my mouth is basically my superpower. Second, growing up, I watched my dad. He wasn’t perfect, but he always tried to be his best and fess up when he messed up. I want to see more folks like that, especially those who call themselves the good guys and bask in the fans’ applause. Third, I was seriously proud of you. My words might not have swayed you, but seeing you rise to the occasion — despite what happened next — reminded me of how my old man would handle things.

Nate’s next reaction is far less flippant than the last one. He nods a little bit before speaking, obviously choosing his words carefully.

Nate Colton: I’ll happily take that comparison. Dusk was a hell of a wrestler, and an even better man.

Rose opens her mouth and quickly shuts it. Someone has done the impossible — made her speechless.

Rose: Thanks, I appreciate the sentiment. (pause) Stepping up to Ivan? It’s in my DNA, I guess. As much as I aim to be the polar opposite of my old man — seeing how this gig chewed him up — there’s one thing I inherited: a knack for delivering a well-deserved punch to a bully’s nose. Ivan fits the bill. Sometimes, you just have to stand up to bullies.

She looks over her shoulder and sees the rest of KING behind her.

Rose: I know you’d probably scoff at this, but these four are the gutsiest guys I know. Taking on Ivan? That’s just the tip of the iceberg — you’re up against The Red Army. Max Kael? The guy literally cracked his skull (gestures at David Noble). Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz? Sure, folks might dismiss them as goofs, but trust me, they’re crafty and unpredictable. You could really use some backup, and these guys? They’ve got your six. You don’t have to walk into the lion’s den alone. Promise.

Rose looks at Nate, sizing up KING a bit.

Rose: It’s your call. I’m guessing you’ll say no — but guts alone won’t win the day. A clever plan? Now that could tip the scales.

Nate Colton: Appreciate the offer…but you’re right, it ain’t my style. I’d rather this not turn into gang warfare just yet. But if Ivan decides to take this thing off the rails…

He trails off quickly, as he contemplates what he just said.

Nate Colton: When he decides to take this thing off the rails…I’ll be in touch.

Rose nods, her face becoming stern.

Rose: Not a problem. You know how to get in touch with us. (pause) Alright, well I’ve got to from one Diamond to another. Best of luck tonight.

Nate Colton: Thanks, Rose. You too.

The Second Coming moves through the backstage area as Nate watches on — while Matt Mills is just left behind, holding his microphone with no one to talk to.

Matt Mills: Well, thanks for that.

Sorry, Matt.

We cut elsewhere.

Revival catches up to Vickie Halk in her adorable little PRETTY PINK© outfit as she walks through the backstage, although she suddenly comes to a halt when she sees someone in front of her.

The camera swings around to reveal her father, Reed Young.

The two stand there in silence for a moment as Young cracks a smile. He wears the same neon blue and green track suit he had on during The Big Dick Stallions match and let’s be honest, it clashes loudly against her daughter’s clothes.

Anyway, Reed looks like there’s nothing wrong at all. The smile is genuine and warm. Vickie, however, crinkles her face.

Reed Young: Did you see the tag match, honey!? I’m doing it! We’re doing it!

He pauses to scratch his head.

Reed Young: Well my boys did lose but there’s always next time!

Reed leans forward and gives his daughter a playful nudge.

Reed Young: That Maxibillion Kale, what a treat. What a little cheater. I should learn a thing or two from him. I need to cheat more as a manager!

Big, wide toothy grin himself as his daughter stands there deadpan.

Ultimately, she shakes her head.

Vickie Hall: Cheating, huh? Wouldn’t know the definition.

Vickie shrugs. She looks to her left and realizes she’s where she intended to be, after all. She walks up to this locker room door and pushes it open without a fuck or care for the politeness of a knock.

Inside?

A familiar head of dark hair, and an iconic mustache, attached to a powerful frame, sitting at the far end of the bench.

The door swings shut, Reed stands in silence and then finds his BRO energy again with a fist in the air.

Reed Young: I need a pen, paper and five Monsters. I’m ready to brainstorm and present to my boys a new level of cheating!

He walks away as ReVival moves on.

Nick Stuart: We have something of a grudge match next between Rose and Brandon Youngblood.

Richard Parker: Today is the day, Stuart. The day that Rose gets the win over Youngblood and hopefully provides him with suitable retirement materials to read over after the match.

The Cow Palace darkens. The shift in ambiance has the fans rising to their feet. And then, a declarative statement.

THEY
ARE NO LONGER
YOUR PEOPLE
TO SAVE

The roar that follows is primal. Unrelenting. Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH surges through the arena, and as it does, the ramp and the video wall underneath the PRIMEView glow a stark red before turning black, the Tower of Babel logo cutting through the dark, 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.

Sets of red and white laser lights from on high and below cut through the air, and then, The Dream Killer arrives. Youngblood is in no hurry, stalking his way onto the ramp, 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.

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

As the smoke bellows, he slowly paces forward, the arena lights now back on in full. Once to the arena floor, he stops, staring at his opponent in the ring. After a few tense moments, he walks to the steps, making his way up them, his dominion whole on the ring apron. At the halfway point, he steps between the ropes, taking the center of the ring.

Vince Howard: 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 his opponent, his head tilts to its side.

The lights then dim inside of the arena as a siren echoes throughout it, 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 arena.

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. Except, this time, she is on top of a horse. A horse that refuses to go near Cancer Jiles on sheer principle. As she sits on top of it, focused and determined, wearing a pair of black pants with ROSE painted on the sides in purple and a black sports bra, she also has a unique piece of wardrobe on.

A white cowboy hat.

Nick Stuart: Well, that’s sure not to make Brandon Youngblood happy.

Richard Parker: I mean, that guy has the most sourpuss face in PRIME, I don’t think he’s ever been happy.

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

The music fades as Rose hops down and turns to face her opponent.

Nick Stuart: You can bet this will be a heavy handed match for both sides.

Richard Parker: You can bet that Rose is going to beat some of the sourness out of Oldblood Brandon Youngblood.

Elvis Nixon signals for the bell.

DING DING!

Rose and Youngblood meet in the center of the ring, both appearing to talk shit with each other. The intensity builds when Rose full force slaps Brandon Youngblood across the face.

Nick Stuart: Wow! She slapped the taste out of Brandon’s mouth!

Richard Parker: Hopefully she slapped some sense into his thick skull.

The world freezes for a moment as Brandon seems to register that he’s been hit. This is followed by Rose spitting in her opponent’s face and a second slap. Unfortunately for Rose, her hand is intercepted by Youngblood whose face is flushed red with hate.

Nick Stuart: Uh oh. Now here is where Rose doesn’t want to be, caught up in Youngblood’s grip.

Richard Parker: You know Rose is also an accomplished technician and striker! Maybe she meant to get grabbed? You ever thought about that?

Yanking her forward Youngblood Belly to Belly suplexes her hard to the mat. He follows this up by dragging her up to her feet, spinning her around and flinging her with a Release German Suplex that sends Rose flying before she crashes down on the far side of the ring.

Richard Parker: Okay I stand corrected.

Rose clutches the back of her head before rolling out of the ring. The crowd roars in bloodthirsty applause for The Strong Daddy as Elvis Nixon steps in front of him to dissuade him from following Rose out.

Nick Stuart: Rose trying to get herself some space between herself and her opponent. She should thank referee Elvis Nixon for keeping Papa Plex inside the ring.

Richard Parker: Don’t call him that, it makes me uncomfortable.

Shaking off the two suplexes, Rose refocuses on her despised enemy in the ring. She cautiously reenters the ring, staying near the corner in case she has to dip out again.

Youngblood immediately puts the pressure on Rose, moving in for a tie up. The Second Coming, knowing Brandon’s power game, nimbly ducks beneath the tie up attempt, firing a quick kick to her opponent’s leg before backing away.

Nick Stuart: This is what Rose is going to need to do if she wants to be effective against an opponent like Youngblood. She’s got to use that speed to avoid the clutches of Youngblood.

More annoyed than hurt, Brandon turns to lock eyes on his opponent again. He widens his stance to give her few escape options as he once again stalks. He backs her toward the corner before he once again moves in for a tie up. Rose backs up into the ropes causing Nixon to step in, backing Youngblood off.

Richard Parker: That’s right, girl, use the ropes!

Nick Stuart: Rose is certainly playing a smart game here with Brandon, frustrating him and hoping to force a mistake.

Annoyance is slowly evolving into frustration as Youngblood glares daggers at Nixon but obeys the order to back up. Rose, on the other hand, seems to be trying to figure out a way to engage Youngblood this early on without opening herself up to attacks. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before leaving the ropes, this time circling Youngblood quickly, trying to flank him.

Brandon, realizing what Rose is doing, drops to his knees in the center of the ring. He jeers at and challenges Rose to engage him now that he’s down on his knees giving her the height advantage. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth Rose takes a step forward..

CRACK!

She fires a stiff kick that crosses Brandon across his broad chest. He stares and demands she try again.

CRACK!

He’s knocked back a little but doesn’t topple as he shakes his head. Once again he demands she strike him.

CRACK!

A third particularly aggressive kick across his chest drives the air out of Youngblood’s chest! The crowd is counting along with the kicks as Rose takes a step back and charges forward with another kick!

Nick Stuart: Rose’s striking on full display here!

Richard Parker: Hit him AGAIN!

Unfortunately for Rose, Brandon captures her leg, his eyes wide with pain fueled rage.

Richard Parker:.. Not like that!

Snapping her leg around with a Single Leg Takedown, mounting her quickly before reigning down a brutal barrage of fists. Rose is able to cover up and defend against most of the blows however now and again a fist manages to break through her defenses.

Nick Stuart: Youngblood is pummeling the Second Coming right now!

Richard Parker: That idiot Elvis Nixon needs to step in and get control of this match! This isn’t far to Rose!

Elvis Nixon warns Youngblood about using closed fists which Youngblood seems to blow off. He climbs to his feet with a hand of Rose’s hair, pulling her up to her feet before cinching his arms around her waist, popping her up and over with a Gut Wrench Suplex! He then proceeds to attempt a transition into a Heel Hook!

Richard Parker: No! No!

Nick Stuart: If Youngblood can secure the Heel Hook, I believe this match could be over!

Rose kicks and flails, realizing what Brandon is attempting to do. Despite being dazed from the previous attacks, Rose manages to free herself from Youngblood’s grip, kicking him in the face and chest before scrambling once again to the ropes.

Richard Parker: Thank God for the ropes!

Nick Stuart: Rose has certainly utilized the ropes quite a bit thus far in this match.

Richard Parker: It’s called being smart, Stuart!

Brandon’s not giving a fuck about the ropes right now as he clamours after Rose, ignoring Nixon’s commands. Rose quickly slips out of the ring as Youngblood gives chase with murderous intent in his eyes. The two race around the ring before Rose slides back in followed by Youngblood.

Using her speed, Rose intercepts her much larger opponent with a series of stomps followed by a leg drop to the back of Brandon’s head. She quickly rolls him over and hooks his leg!

1..

Kickout!

Nick Stuart: Rose with the first pinfall attempt, probably more to annoy Youngblood than expecting victory.

Richard Parker: You never know until you try, right?

With barely a one, Youngblood powers his shoulder up. Rose isn’t deterred though as she is back up to her feed before dropping a quick series of snap elbow drops across Brandon’s chest and neck. Despite the barrage, Youngblood begins to rise from the mat, shaking off Rose’s offense.

Richard Parker: She’s got him! She’s got him in a Guillotine!

Nick Stuart: Each second she’s got Youngblood in this hold, it’ll drain more and more of Brandon’s stamina.

Seeing another opening, Rose steps forward and jumps up toward Brandon, trapping his head into a Guillotine Sleeper, wrapping her legs around his waist with a scissor lock. She pulls back with all her strength, trying to bring Brandon down but the stalwart Strong Father does not yield. In fact, despite being choked, he takes a step forward in the ring, followed by a second.

Reaching the center of the ring, Youngblood reaches up with both arms and begins the process of uncoupling Rose from his neck. She fights with Youngblood but it’s ultimately futile as he rips himself free from the Guillotine… SPINEBUSTER!

Nick Stuart: Incredible counter out of the Guillotine!

Richard Parker: Ridiculous you mean! Somebody needs to check on Rose!

Driving Rose down hard in the center of the ring, Brandon Youngblood lets out a roar which is echoed by the crowd! He wastes no time as he snatches up the Second Coming, hoisting her up onto his shoulder before charging the far corner. After three steps he launches Rose off his shoulder and sends her, like a missile, face first into the top turnbuckle. The rest of her body crumples up awkwardly before she collapses to the ground looking like she just survived a car wreck.

Nick Stuart: Good God, a Youngblood variation on the Snake Eyes!

Richard Parker: How is that even legal!?

Grabbing Rose by the ankle, Youngblood drags her back to the center of the ring, dropping for the cover.

1..

2…

Kickout!

Richard Parker: Rose’s resilience is incredible, Stuart! INCREDIBLE!

Nick Stuart: It is impressive, Richard!

She manages the kick out at the last moment. Youngblood doesn’t waste any time, once again wrapping his arms around her waist. From a kneeling position he stands straight up, easily hoisting Rose up before he turns, roaring as he drives her head and shoulders down into the center of the ring!

Nick Stuart: GOOD GOD! The Karelin Lift!

Richard Parker: Another move that deserves to be BANNED!

OOOOOOOOOOOOHHH!

Rose goes limp as Youngblood hooks the leg again.

1…

2…

3-NO!

Nick Stuart: I can’t believe it! I thought that was it!

Richard Parker: INCREDIBLE neck endurance!

Miraculously Rose manages to throw her shoulder up, shocking even Youngblood. The crowd begin to lose their minds, they don’t care who’s in the ring right now just that they managed to kick out of that horrific move.

Youngblood stands to his feet wiping away the sweat from his brow as he stares down at an unmoving Rose. He then looks around the Cow Palace and motions to finish off this fight with a Blood Plex.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: The crowd knows what’s next, Parker!

Richard Parker: No! Somebody do something about this! Stop this immediately!

He reaches down and grabs Rose by the waist for perhaps the final time tonight. He hoists her up and Rose manages to shift her momentum, breaking his hold before rolling him forward into a modified Victory Roll!

Richard Parker: SHE HAS HIM! ROSE HAS HIM!

1..!

2…!

Kickout!

Richard Parker: Damn!

Nick Stuart: Rose managed to avoid Blood Plex and get a near fall on Youngblood!

Youngblood pops back up to his feet with a bewildered and wild look in his eyes, completely taken aback by Rose’s roll up! He turns to find his opponent..

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: Rose throwing the heavy lumber!

Richard Parker: I hope she broke his jaw!

Rose throws everything she has into a Discus Elbow Smash striking Youngblood right on the chin! He’s staggered, stumbling back into the ropes to keep himself from falling over. Rose hits the ropes on the far side of the ring before she hits a crossbody on Youngblood that sends both tumbling through the ropes to the outside!

Both crash down to the hard floor on the outside of the ring though Rose manages to use Youngblood to cushion most of the fall. The crowd cheer both on as they slowly drag themselves back to life.

Nick Stuart: Both participants are down on the outside of the ring!

Richard Parker: Rose is showing that bald headed buffoon what REAL resilience looks like tonight!

Nick Stuart: Both of these wrestlers have shown incredible resilience Parker!

Rose is the first to get up to her feet. She sees Youngblood getting up to his feet causing her to see red. Still not fully recovered from getting dropped on her head, Rose plants both of her feet to steady herself and measures Brandon. As soon as he turns around..

CRACK!

Richard Parker: SUUUUPER KICK!

Nick Stuart: For a second time Rose scores a big hit on Youngblood’s jaw!

The Super Kick lands on Youngblood’s jaw, knocking him straight back into the barricade where the back of his head smashed against the barricade. Rose flips Youngblood off and stumbles back toward the ring, rolling in. She doesn’t stand but instead cradles her head and demands Elvis make the ten count.

1…

2….

Youngblood stirs on the outside.

3…..

4…..

5……

Brandon begins to crawl toward the ring.

7…

8….

He reaches up, grabbing hold of the skirt that surrounds the ring, pulling himself up.

9….

1-

Before Elvis can make the final count Youngblood uses all of his strength to pull himself into the ring as the crowd goes wild.

Nick Stuart: Youngblood makes it back into the ring! The crowd is losing it right now as this battle continues!

Richard Parker: Yeah, I wish they’d shut up so I can hear myself think! He just got into the ring, Rose did that ten seconds ago and nobody did anything!

Rose isn’t having it as she stalks back up to her feet, charging past Youngblood to bounce off the ropes..

Youngblood catches Rose flipping off the ropes, snatching her into a Half-Nelson before he executes the Suplex dropping her once again right on the top of her head! The crowd is going insane for the sudden reveal!

Richard Parker: Ban that move right now, Lindsay Troy!

Nick Stuart: That has to be it..

Instead of going for the pin, Youngblood drags Rose to the center of the ring and applies the Heel Hook!

Richard Parker: Fight it, Rose! Fight it!

Nick Stuart: Rose has to consider if she can weather the storm or risk a broken ankle!

Richard Parker: Youngblood wouldn’t dare!

Nick Stuart: You willing to bet on that?

Richard Parker doesn’t reply. Realizing there is nowhere to go and under threat of her ankle snapping Rose has no choice.

With frustration and anguish on her face, Rose taps.

DING DING DING DING!

Vince Howard: The winner of this match by submission… BRAAAAAAAANDON! YOUNGBLOOOOOOOOOD!

Mr. Fuck Around and Find Out releases the heel hook and stands. Rose rolls away immediately, holding her ankle as she’s helped out of the ring by the ringside crew.

Nick Stuart: Rose has nothing to be ashamed of here, Richard. She put up a hell of a fight and pushed Youngblood.

Richard Parker: Well the bald idiot used fifteen moves that should all be banned, Stuart!

Youngblood glares at Rose as she is helped away before once again posing for the Cow Palace crowd who cheer on their rage feud hero!

Nick Stuart: Well, folks, we’re told we have FLAMBERGE standing by in the back.

Richard Parker: Is it FLAMBERGE or just a vending machine someone mistook for a FLAMBERGE?

Nick Stuart: Well, let’s find out shall we?

We cut backstage.

Backstage. A TV monitor is set up near a PRIME-branded backdrop. A very lizardy-looking wrestler wearing a teal and copper-hewn lizardy-looking jacket and slacks stands completely sideways next to it, his neck cranked at an unnatural angle, as he watches the conclusion of the Rose/Brandon Youngblood contest that has just finished.

Whatever the fans were doing before, it’s turned into pretty solid all-around cheering and applause, confirmation for the first time that either San Francisco is the closest approximation to Europe that exists in the States, or the broader swath of the PRIME American fanbase has also taken a full-on shining to the Bearded Dragon.

Oh – yeah, it’s FLAMBERGE. Sorry if that wasn’t clear.

His eyes are a little bugged out for a moment until he realizes that a camera is conveniently locked in on his bearded face, expecting something.

He blinks, coughs, and shakes his head, which jogs loose some mental cobwebs – maybe he was staring at the TV that entire match without blinking? Hard to say.

He talks to us.

FLAMBERGE: You know, most of the tour of the Europe was a massive success pour moi, and for the Glueminati as the whole…we won the War Games, myself collecting the final neck…we won the main event matches, myself against the Jared Sykes and the Cecilworth against the Hessian…the Mustache, he did well too I guess, he beat somebody in my hometown, it was pretty cool…we even held the Gluebration. But for all of this, the final taste of my home continent was l’amer. Bitter. I did not collect the neck of one of the worst humans I have encountered in my days here in PRIME. I will not honor him by speaking his name, and I will not speak it again until the neck is on my mantle, whether it is tomorrow, next year, a decade from now. I do not wish to exist in the same COSMOS as that man, and I choose to deny that existence until I one day finally fulfill my promise to crush him under the weights.

FLAMBERGE snorts loudly. It’s maybe a little gross? But it’s also temporary, which is a positive.

FLAMBERGE: No, we move onto the other bitches with the other necks. There is one more name that has been on my mind from the beginning of our travels in Europe, one more neck that has evaded me for years, one more False Hero gremlin goblin who clutches onto his role as Mssr. Top Guy…and his name is Brandon Youngblood.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

FLAMBERGE: YOUNGBLOOD! You know as well as I, I am owed the Diamond Neck…I have been owed it for years…and it does not just go back to the dances we danced for the Five Star at Colossus 2022, non – this goes back to what made you you, and what made me, ME. Las Vegas, un habitat loin du domicile, at ReVival 13. Phil Atken had you in his death vices, and I stopped you from taking one final shortcut to escape them…such a small window, and so critical that rope break would have been for you. Our destinies forever altered that night. It has been Glue and dominance and success pour moi ever since, and for you – well, you are as miserable an old coot-bear as I have ever seen, throwing the weight around, presenting yourself as the high and mighty. Which is why…

He pauses and blinks a few times – sometimes he has to remind himself to do this, and in those moments, it really interrupts his other body processes. Eagle-eyed observers may catch that he held his breath while blinking, and that he didn’t really move another muscle either.

FLAMBERGE: …which is why, it is inconvenient timing for Maniac Max Kael to so loudly call for my destruction. Let me make this clear to you, Kael – now is not the time, d’accord? You and I both know you will not actually murder the Cecilworth, and if it ever came to such the thing, I have every faith in my fellow crowned prince of Glue to handle the business. You have the problem with the Cecilworth, fine, chase him – I have my own scores to settle at the mo-

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

A sweaty Tower of Babel has entered the frame, and immediately the Lizard King halts his tirade. Straps down on his singlet, his arms fold across his chest as he stares down to FLAMBERGE. For moments, just the rising tension. Then…

Brandon Youngblood: …you’d think there were ten of me.

His tone, while terse, isn’t immediately confrontational. But that can change at any moment. Further silence. Further staring. A sort of routine. Finally…

Brandon Youngblood: …what? Kael? Farthington? What?

Just questions.

Brandon Youngblood: You got talking about whatever the shit is on between them.

No answers. Just. Staring.

Brandon Youngblood: Don’t give me them Manson lamps, Julien.

So he didn’t hear what The Lizard King was saying before Kael/Cecilworth. And the first name too?

Brandon Youngblood: Last thing you need after Colton–

Oh, that gets FLAMBO to take a step forward. The faintest smirk spreads across Brandon’s face.

Brandon Youngblood: –give me an excuse, Julien. Give me an excuse. Please. I’m begging you. Office can’t protect you forever.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

There’s a smattering of boos for the inference. More than a pocket. Months ago, such a concept would be hard to fathom. Yet, from the across the sea, a change, earned. And FLAMBERGE is, oddly, silent throughout. Mind games? Brandon steps to him, and, good lord, they are face to face. Forehead to forehead. Two bulls, ready to strike. At any moment, security needed to be ready to step in. Past volatility was proof positive of this; near two years ago, just crossing paths at the UltraViolence 2022 post event press conference was enough to bring them to blood spilling blows. The palpability is off the charts.

And just when it seems as though the Brawl in Boise is about to be followed up by Chaos in The Cow Palace…something whistles just behind FLAMBERGE’s head, imbedding itself in the wall with a thud. Neither men seem to hear it but in the far distance a “shit” can be heard. A few moments later another object flies just below Youngblood’s neck. Finally a third bolt sails just over the Lizard King’s head. The two men may have noticed in another world, but the hatred is too strong.

FLAMBERGE and Youngblood beyond nose-to-nose at this point; they’re forehead-to-forehead. Because of both men’s aggressive forehead pushing, a throwing axe that would have hit FLAMBO’s head careens harmlessly into the wall. And just when it looks like things are about to come to blows…

…both men turn in opposite directions and leave in an angry huff.

It’s lucky timing, too – a couple seconds later and one of them would have been sliced up pretty badly by the bastard sword that has just come flying into frame where the two rivals once stood.

Max Kael, still accompanied by Stetson King, shuffles into frame with an absolutely gobsmacked expression on his face. He examines the wall and all the weapons sticking out of it with a confused expression.

Max Kael: You wouldn’t know I’ve never been formally trained with any of those weapons. Probably should change that. That Lizard Child is a lot more slippery than I was anticipating. Maybe he’s actually an amphibian.. Food for thought.. Ahem.

Clapping his hands once, the Herald quickly scrambles onto frame.

Max Kael: Bentley, clean this all up. We don’t want Lindsay Troy complaining about us littering or some bullshit.

Kael offers an apologetic shrug to Stetson King.

Max Kael: I swear this usually never happens! My hands are usually drenched in blood! This is so embarrassing. We should probably clear out before Youngblood’s liver gets frisky and he starts looking for a mouth to piss in. Allegedly.

As Bentley tries in vain to yank the crossbow bolts, bastard sword and throwing axe from the wall, Max shuffles off with Stetson King. Surely there will be no repercussions for their actions tonight, right?

You can almost hear the record scratch but that’s a story for another time.

We cut backstage to official Red Army interviewer and former world renowned referee, Speedy Riggs. He stands in front of a banner of The Red Army. The Cuban native smiles wide, showing off pearly white teeth.

Speedy Riggs: Greetings comrades of PRIME! This is The People’s Interviewer, Speedy Riggs, coming at you backstage from the Cow Palace! After the abhorrent, horrible, violent, and crass attack against Comrade Alexei Ruslan, you may have noticed he’s been missing tonight. He is still recuperating in Moscow Centre Hospital, but in a sign of togetherness,The Red Army paid this keystone member of the group a visit earlier this week. Join us, as we take a trip across the globe, to glorious Russia!!!

–

We switch to what looks like your typical modern hospital room. The walls are painted a soothing light blue, a large window shows the spires of the Kremlin looming in the distance, state of the art medical equipment, an adjustable hospital bed, crisp white linens (not Lenins), and a couch along the wall and an armchair in the corner.

The walls are positively covered in cards, flowers, well wishes, and the like, the majority have Cyrillic characters, but most must echo the typical “Get well soon” sentiments.

Alexei Ruslan lays in the bed, looking about as happy as a man would be being stuck in a hospital for north of two weeks. He has a bright, searing red neck brace around his neck, preventing him from doing much moving.

On the far side of his bed stands a squat Russian nurse, who is about as wide as she is tall. She looks like a real salt of the Earth type who could walk, barefoot, across Siberia if she wanted to. She stands with her arms crossed, a paper hat on her head. You know, the whole deal.

What is she looking at?

The old school thermometer in his mouth. It’s probably filled with mercury.

Next to Nurse Sokolovskaya stands Arina Timofeyevna. She’s dressed nicely, in an olive uniform with red tie. She holds an envelope in her hand.

The door to the room opens and Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz walk in, a concerned look on both their faces with The Entertainer looking even more so, despite holding a gift-wrapped box in his arms. Randall places the box on the floor next to Alexei’s bed before the pair take a step back, showing him proper respect and distance.

Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington, the Herald of the Red Army, staggers in holding a massive wooden crate. Someone, probably Max, has duct taped the Red Army banner to the Herald’s back like he’s an old school Samurai. Once inside the room he stumbles forward and sets the crate down.

The Herald: Whew! Ahem… Introducing the GREAT and GLORIOU-

Max Kael enters Alexei’s hospital room in a black Commissar outfit with his various medals on display. A gloved hand covers the Heralds mouth as he grins apologetically to everyone in the room. Bentley can still be heard rattling through Max’s introduction, muffled though it may be.

Max Kael: Sorry, once he starts he’s gotta finish. Farthington Madness. Tragic, I know.

From behind Max, Ivan Stanislav also ducks into the room, wearing a bright white military uniform with his chest covered in medals. He looks concerned for his old friend, looming over everyone else in the room while looking down at him.

Ruslan mutters around the huge thermometer.

Alexei Ruslan: Не знаю, зачем мне мерить температуру, у меня шея болит! (I don’t know why I have to have my temperature taken, it’s my neck that hurts!!)

But Ivan interrupts his friend, speaking the Mother tongue.

Ivan Stanislav: Ah ah ah, Alexei, we are recording for PRIME. English, please, annoying as it is.

Ruslan’s eyelids close halfway and he snarls.

Alexei Ruslan: I dun’ know whuh ah haff tah haff mah temperuther taken, it’th mah neck dat hurthhhhh!!

Nurse Sokolovskaya tears the thermometer out of Ruslan’s mouth and stares at it.

Nurse Sokolovskaya: Your temperature good.

Ruslan rolls his eyes.

Alexei Ruslan: No shit!

Ivan clears his throat.

Ivan Stanislav: Alexei, we are going off to United States to bring glory and honor to Red Army, but you, dear friend, will be sorely missed. Tell us, how are you feeling? Not only do we, The Red Army, and Russia wish to know, but also those PRIME faithful of good heart and mind.

Alexei reaches up and rubs the red neck collar. He groans and looks towards the camera.

Alexei Ruslan: It has been harrowing experience. That rat, Nate Colton, attacked me from behind and tried to kill me. I cannot tell you the pain, the searing, horrible pain he inflicted upon me. All because I, Alexei Ruslan, was doing my job…

Music, from who knows where, begins to play. Somber, of a Russian tone, complete with the strummy strings of the Balalaika.

Alexei Ruslan: When he grabbed me, all I could think was of my glorious Mother Russia. My comrades. My dear, dear comrades.

Ruslan reaches out to take Kenny’s hand, and Max’s.

Max looks down at the hand then at the Herald then to Kenny. A black gloved hand reaches out stiffly, hovering over Alexei’s. Max grins, his golden teeth glittering beneath the stark light of the hospital room. Kenny, for his part, just kinda stares at Alexei, not quite sure how to respond. Ruslan releases their hands, and then motions up towards Ivan, who still stands behind them.

Alexei Ruslan: And of course, Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav. For we have fought so many battles. I saw those lights, I did, comrade Starshy Praporshchik, as he lifted me. And I heard him whisper… those words… those dreadful words…

Ruslan stares out, reliving the horrible, traumatizing experience.

Alexei Ruslan: He said: “I am a rat bastard Alexei Ruslan. I have no morals. I have no conscience. You cannot trust me. And I know if you weren’t running away, you would waffle me with those great fists of yours and I would cry like a child. But you can’t, because I’m a snake, Alexei, so I’m going to try to kill you.”

Ruslan nods. The strength of the Balalaika grows with the intense, emotional moment.

Alexei Ruslan: Yes.. yes… he said all of that, in that one moment! Such was his mouth, so full of venomous words!

Ruslan flutters his eyes, is he about to faint from the horror of reliving this experience? He looks to Max and Kenny.

Alexei Ruslan: Max… Kenny… please… comrades.. Listen to me….

The Commissar of the Red Army is across the room opening cabinets, rummaging through it like a bored child. Hearing his name he cranes his head toward Alexei as Kenny leans in to listen closely to Ruslan’s next statement.

Alexei Ruslan: Defeat those Whoresmen for me… in case I don’t make it. They say I might die at any moment…

Nurse Sokolovskaya rolls her eyes and stomps away. Max’s eyes fill with interest at the prospect of Ruslan simply dying at any moment.

Alexei Ruslan: …if it is to happen during the broadcast, I want to die with a smile on my face, knowing my dear boys are victorious.

Max Kael: I mean we were planning on defeating them so we can eventually win the Tag Team Championships but sure, we can also do it to, you know, put a dying smile on your face. Right, Comrade Freeman?

Kenny Freeman: Um…

Kenny can feel the pressure mounting on him, pushing him to give a proper response.

Kenny Freeman: …of course, Alexei. We’ll win one for the gipper, so to speak.

Ivan clears his throat. Always with the Reagan talk, that one.

Ivan Stanislav: Er… and rest assured, Alexei, myself and Hall will be victorious. Now, no more of this sad talk. You are not going to be leaving us anytime soon. But, that being said, we have some gifts, do we not?

With that, Kenny nods to Randall, who unwraps the box they brought in…unveiling a Food-O-Matic 3000, because of course. Alexei says nothing in response, just staring at the processor and then at the Masters, who step away from the bed.

Stanislav then looks over at Max. The Commissar drags his attention away from Alexei, still expecting him to die at any moment. His eyes turn up to Ivan quizzically before he snaps his fingers.

Max Kael: Ah yes! My the Herald!

Clapping his hands twice, the Herald once again jumps into action. He retrieves a crowbar, seemingly from thin air, and begins prying the wooden crate open. It’s an arduous affair as the Herald isn’t terribly strong. As Bentley struggles to strip away the nails and wooden panels, Max looks around the room with a broad smile. He even winks at Alexei, clicking his tongue before the Herald victoriously trips off the lid of the wooden crate.

Max Kael: In the past people have said that I’ve lifted the spirits of everyone I’m around! Just as I am uplifting Comrade Kenny Freeman with our training. So I thought to myself, Alexei Ruslan could use his spirits lifted as well. But it had to be a gift that a man of your character would truly love.. And then it came to me… heh-heh..

A sharp whistle from Max cuts through the air as the Herald immediately begins digging through the soft hay, discarding it on the floor until he grasps something heavy. Yanking it up and out of the wooden box, the Herald reveals a bronze bust of Commissar Maximillian Wilhelm Kael. It’s eerily well made, the bust capturing Max’s grotesque grin, manic eyes and each cruel curve of his face.

Max Kael: You need a bust of me! A statue of such remarkable quality that it actually looks like the eyes are following you around the room. But wait, there’s more!

The Herald carries the bust to a small table next to Alexei’s bed, setting it down so it’s staring directly at him. Max leans against the bust allowing one arm to swing around its neck as he glows with pride. With his other hand Max grabs the forehead of the bust and pushes it back to reveal its built on a hinge. The Head clicks backward to reveal a large red button hidden in the neck of the bust.

Max Kael:: Behold.. The shiny red button. A literal Chekov’s Gun, this red button is connected to.. Something.. But nobody knows for sure what! A bomb? A timer that will slowly release poison gas? Maybe it’ll cause an orphanage to catch on fire?! ..heh-heh.. But whatever this button does..

He snaps the head back down, that haunting bronze face staring back at Alexei.

Max Kael: I’m sure you’ll know when the time is right to push it.

With another wink Max uncoils from the bust and returns to his place next to Kenny Freeman. There is an awkward silence. Arina looks at Alexei, Alexei looks at Ivan, Ivan looks curious. Ruslan clears his throat.

Alexei Ruslan: Oh uh… yes… why thank you Commissar Kael so… thoughtful. This will look so nice in my… office…

He stares at the bust. It stares at him.

Alexei Ruslan: I am great fan of, cult of personality and all of that, uh…. Yes…

Ivan clears his throat.

Ivan Stanislav: Ahem, I too have something for you, old friend. This comes from, you know, the top. It is my turn!

Ivan says triumphantly, producing a small case from his uniform pocket. He leans down and offers it to Alexei. It is a medal.

Ivan Stanislav: Hero of Russian Federation. From our glorious President Putin himself! For selfless valor in the face of anti-Russian odds. You have earned it!

Alexei blinks and then smiles. His mustache curls.

Alexei Ruslan: Vanya this…

Somehow, Max’s head slowly rises from behind the back of the hospital bed, looking down at the medal and Alexei.

Max Kael: If only you didn’t have that pesky neck brace on, you could wear it.. such a pity!

Ruslan jumps and though his neck is “seriously injured” he has no issue looking up at Kael, who is looking straight down at him. Their noses almost touch.

Alexei Ruslan: Uh huh… yes… er well I am awful tired…

Kael withdraws from his place from behind the hospital bed, sinking like the sun behind the headboard. But meek, quiet Arina chimes in. She speaks in angular, broken English. She waves the little card.

Arina Timofeyevna: Um. Mr. Ruslan. There is gift. From PRIME. It come in mail yesterday.

She shows the camera. Indeed, it says “FROM PRIME” in blue letters, set in front of the white envelope. Alexei smiles.

Alexei Ruslan: Oh, how thoughtful. Open it for me, please, Ms. Timofeyevna.

Ivan chuckles happily to himself while Arina does so. It is a simple card, which she opens and allows Alexei to read aloud.

“Roses are Red
And so are Russians
We hope you recover…

Ruslan’s expression shifts.

…from your Colton Concussion…
Love Ami and… Deb”?

Stanislav screams.

Ivan Stanislav: NYET!

Arina squeaks and throw herself on the ground, Ivan tries to shield his face, and Kenny and Randall jump back. Max and the Herald have somehow disappeared. The small card somehow erupts with an enormous explosion of glitter, which bursts forth and blasts all over Alexei’s face, the ceiling, the hospital bed, and the floor in an explosive POP!!

It is silent in Alexei’s hospital room. Ruslan and Stanislav have taken the brunt of the glitter. The fact that the glitter burst so high to reach Stanislav’s head is a testament to its effectiveness. How they’re going to get it out of their facial hair is anyone’s guess. Ivan coughs once, and glitter bursts from his mouth in a plume. Kenny and Randall dust themselves off in the periphery.

Then, all hell breaks loose as Ivan and Alexei begin yelling and cursing in Russian, gesticulating angrily, shaking their fists, gnashing their teeth. All the while, they’re a glittery kaleidoscope of shimmering dots.

Kenny, Randall, and Arina all sidle out the door as we cut to ringside.

“You think I’m funny? Funny how?”

Where my heart is, rests my very soul
And the colors bleed from blue to gold

The familiar voice of Joe Pesci can be heard right before the lyrics of “Born for This” by Divide Music start to play through the speakers. Tony Gamble and Johnnie Newsman step out from behind the curtain, soaking in the chorus of boos that rain down from the crowd. Both of them have on Dallas Cowboys jerseys, though Gamble’s has the name Aikman on the back while Newsman’s has the name Parsons on it.

When the choice is mine and mine alone
I won’t give in even if you break my bones

Johnnie Newsman: HEEEY THEEERRRE SAAAN FRAAAN CIIISCOOO!!! THEEE LAAAST MAAAN LAUGHING IS HEEERE!!!!

I won’t give in ’till your sins have been atoned
All I see is the flickering lights below me

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

All I need is the power to change what I see
If I can give a little, not a second thought

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

If I’m stuck in the middle, I will take the shot, woah
All I wanna be, yeah

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

Yeah, I was born for this
I will keep my secrets high above

Johnnie Newsman: HE IS THEE TRUE SAN FRANCISCO TREAT!

In the hopes to protect the ones I love
But I wonder where in darkness lies the truth

Johnnie Newsman: BUT JUST LIKE AIYUK, HE CAN’T WAIT TO LEAVE!

Of the one who took their lives, you can’t excuse.
I don’t fear you, I won’t let you take my home

Johnnie Newsman: TOOOOOOOOOOOONYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Gamble walks up the steps, then without wiping his feet he climbs between the middle and bottom ropes to get into the ring.

Johnnie Newsman: THEEEEE GRRRRRRIIIINNNNNNNN

If I can give a little, not a second thought
If I’m stuck in the middle, I will take the shot, woah

He walks to the center then drops down to one knee, lowering his head as Johnnie continues.

Johnnie Newsman: GAAAAAAAAMMBLLLLLLEEEEE!!

All I wanna be, yeah

He stretches his arms out once more, then throws back his head to stare up at his hands with one finger on each hand pointed up to the rafters. That damn grin wide for all to see.

Yeah, I was born for this

Richard Parker: Ya know, I think PRIME should consider replacing Vince Howard with Johnnie Newsman!

Nick Stuart: You can’t be serious?

Richard Parker: I am, as a matter of fact! That’s big time, major spectacle type of announcing!

Nick Stuart: Go run that idea past Lindsay Troy later. Let me know how long it takes her to stop laughing.

The arena slowly begins to darken, as the opening moments of “Choke” by I Don’t Know How But They Found Me begin to slowly reverberate. As the riff reaches it’s peak, the whole crowd is awakened with bright lights shining down upon them as out from backstage steps Lord Cecilworth Farthington.

The camera quickly zooms into the self-assured smile that’s cracked upon the face of The Financier as he swaggers down to the right, both arms inserted into the pockets of a plain black hoodie. The jovial face of Farthington doesn’t entire match his purposeful march to the ring, his shoulders swaying to the tune of “Choke”.

Vince Howard: On his way to the ring… From Buckinghamshire, England! Weighing in at one hundred ninety seven pounds!… CECILWORTH FAAAAAAARTHINGTOOOOON!

His hands never leave the pockets as he slowly rolls under the bottom rope and leaps up into the ring. He slowly raises his left arm up into the sky and gives the crowd a cheeky little wave as he takes his place resting against the ring corner.

Nick Stuart: I think this will be quite the matchup, Rich.

Richard Parker: Oh yeah, no doubt! Two thinking men’s wrestlers, two talented, experienced guys… Gotta dock Tony points, though. Bandit handicap.

DING DING

Both men start off slowly circling on the edge of the ring, ropes just off their backs. Gamble’s stride is cocky, self-assured. While Cecilworth certainly has an air of arrogance to his as well, there’s also a hint of a predatory nature as well, like a hidden wolf ready to pounce. Farthington stops, as does Gamble. Change of direction from both men.

The crowd starts to bubble just a bit with frustration. They’re not the only ones, as Farthington stops again. Brakes on for Tony as well. The Financier finally starts moving towards the middle of the ring, hand raised to engage in a grapple. Gamble takes a few steps in himself before backing off to circle some more… Except Cecilworth dashes in, looking to grab a leg! Tony stumbles back to the ropes with equal haste, loudly complaining to referee Ashley Barlow for a break.

Nick Stuart: Things starting off a bit slow here. Seems like Gamble doesn’t really want to engage with Farthington.

Richard Parker: C’mon, Nick! You know better! These are mind games! Tony is gonna get Cecilworth where he wants him and THEN he’ll get to work!

Nick Stuart: That sounds great, but it’s Cecilworth Farthington we’re talking about here, Rich! Getting him where you want him is no easy task!

By now, Farthington has broken before five and backed up per Barlow’s instructions. He stands just back of center in the ring, hands on his hips. He speaks and though his words aren’t picked up on camera, his annoyed shrug, the sharp way he moves his arms and overall body language get the message across pretty clear; let’s fight!

For his part, Gamble rolls his eyes before motioning for Cecilworth to calm down. The Grin finally starts moving to engage again, hand raised in much the same way as Farthington’s was earlier. The Conga Crusher looks to meet Gamble. The pair start to jockey for advantage, hands slapping the opposite, looking for just the right moment to move.

Nick Stuart: Cecilworth has Tony’s arm! He’s trying to take him down!

Richard Parker: Get out of there, Gamble! No, really, get out of there and let him do that to Jiles instead!

Farthington has Gamble worked down to his knees, putting heavy pressure on his shoulder joint, trying to drive him downward. Tony keeps a good base, but starts to weaken under the stress from his larger opponent. Farthington twists around, locking his legs around Gamble’s left arm and forcing him onto his back!

The Permascar Superstar is very quick to clasp his hands together, rolling onto his side to relieve the pressure. Cecilworth keeps his left hand around Gamble’s wrist while starting to hammer at the grip of Tony Two Books. It’s having an obvious effect, as Scarface’s hands get dangerously close to separating…

Nick Stuart: Cecilworth’s done it! The hands ar- OH! Come on!

Richard Parker: What?! What happened?!

Nick Stuart: You saw that, Rich! That was a finger, right to the eye!

Richard Parker: You have no idea what I saw, thank you very much! Plus, if you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying!

Ashley Barlow admonishes Tony Gamble for the illegal action, words he completely ignores. With Farthington compromised, trying to check his vision, Gamble jumps on him, tugging Cecilworth’s legs back in a Boston Crab! The taller man grunts, face twisted in a pained grimace. Happy Heelmore wrenches back further, cackling as he does!

Unfortunately, that leaves him open for Farthington to reach back and pick the ankle, sending Gamble crashing forward! Keeping a hold of the leg, Cecilworth slickly rolls them both over before seamlessly transitioning into a spinning toe hole! One rotation! Gamble screams in pain! A second rotation! More cries of agony! A thir- NO! Tony pulls Farthington into a small package!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: I didn’t like the eye poke, but that was a smart reversal by Gamble.

Richard Parker: I told ya! Find the opening and take advantage! It’s too bad he’s not as smart with the company he keeps…

Farthington is quick to his feet and looks to knock Tony’s head off with a short Penalty Kick! Gamble just ducks under, rolling Cecilworth up into a school boy!

ONE!

KICKOUT!

Again, The Financier is up quickly and tries to crush Gamble with a double stomp! And again, Tony rolls out of the way at the last second! Rolling Prawn Hold!

ONE!

KICKOUT!

Both up for a third time. Gamble shoots in quick, potentially looking for yet another roll-up!

OOOOOOOH!

The crowd reacts to the STIFF slap from Farthington, who’s obviously tired of these games! With Gamble on roller skates, Cecilworth wraps The Grin up in an Octopus Hold! Ashley Barlow positions herself in a way to see a tap or hear a verbal submission. Gamble slowly drops to the ground!

Tony Two Books looks like he’s fading! Before Barlow can call for the bell, the Permascar Superstar uses a burst of energy to roll Cecilworth onto his shoulders! He quickly releases the hold before a pin could even be counted, that particular trick one Farthington is now well onto.

Nick Stuart: I think Tony is going to have to come up with a different plan of attack.

Richard Parker: Yeah… I mean, credit to Gamble for thinking on his feet but it’s no easy task trying to outwrestle Cecilworth Farthington!

Back to his feet, Farthington pulls a dazed Gamble up as well. He looks to shoot him into the ropes, but Tony grabs the top rope! Another attempt, Gamble holds strong! A third attempt proves to be costly, as The Grin does move forward, but locks in a front face lock and quickly drops Cecilworth with a DDT!

Tony drops a leg onto his opponent and wastes no time following up with an elbow as well. Knowing he’s got the advantage for now, Gamble takes a moment to recover, jawing with a few ringside fans. He scoops his opponent up off the mat before putting him right back down with a vertical suplex!

Nick Stuart: Not much height on that suplex.

Richard Parker: Yeah, no shit. Look who executed it. Hey, you think they’d let Tony bring his books into the ring so he could make his suplex more devastating?

Nick Stuart: It’s Tony Gamble. He’d sooner hit his opponent with them!

Gamble stomps away at his downed opponent, causing Cecilworth to roll outside for a breather. Tony follows behind, stalking the unsuspecting Financier. When the moment is right, he gives Farthington a hard shove in the back, propelling him into the ring post!

BOOOOOO!!!

Ashley Barlow sternly implores Gamble to get Cecilworth back in the ring, as she’s already hit five on her count. He tries to wave her off, but her persistence leads Tony to roll back into the ring… and right back out, breaking the count. He waves off her continued nagging as he pulls a slumped down Farthington up. You know the expression “Playing possum?” How a possum will play dead so it can either attack or run away?

Well this possum is attacking. Cecilworth grabs the off-guard Gamble and whips him into the barricade! When he bounces off, the Conga Crusher whips him to the other side, drawing both a loud crash and an even louder reaction from the crowd!

YAAAAAAAAH!

Cecilworth is quick to move in. He grabs Gamble’s left arm and slams it down on the barrier not once, not twice but thrice! He drags Gamble to the ring, sending him in and following quickly behind at the count of seven.

Nick Stuart: Gamble is really favoring that arm now.

Richard Parker: Of course he is! It got smashed into the barricade three times!

Nick Stuart: You don’t approve all of a sudden?!

Richard Parker: I didn’t say that! Just pointing it out for any moron at home that was too busy picking their nose instead of paying attention!

Nick Stuart: That’s uncalled for, Rich.

Richard Parker: Truth hurts sometimes, Nick.

With Gamble wallowing in agony on the mat, Cecilworth gives him little reprieve. He lays The Grin’s left arm out to the side and plants a vicious stomp to the elbow. Tony yelps out in pain and tries to curl his arm into his body. Farthington doesn’t let it happen; the appendage is splayed out again and meets the same fate as it did previously. Another attempt to cover up, deja vu.

After the third stomp, Gamble rolls to the ropes for sanctuary. Cecilworth draws in but Tony grabs him by the waistband with his good arm and falls back. Farthington’s neck catches the top rope, causing him to stumble back while clutching his throat! He coughs while bent down, trying to recover. Gamble wastes no time trying to capitalize…

Nick Stuart: Stop Laughing at Me! That patented front Russian Legsweep!

Richard Parker: Yeah, but he didn’t get all of that! Not the way he wanted to anyway, that arm is really bothering him!

Gamble tries to move as quickly as his battered body will let him for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-KICKOUT!

Scarface knows he can’t just let this advantage potentially slip away. He locks his legs around Cecilworth’s right arm and slides his own right arm between his adversary’s left arm and neck. He tries to lock in the smile for me, but his left arm isn’t cooperating! He tries to find some way to navigate the hold, but remember the concern about losing the advantage? Farthington rolls back and in, using Gamble’s earlier strategy against him!

ONE!

TWO!

TH-KICKOUT!

Tony desperately yanks Cecilworth up to his feet, trying to position him for another Stop Laughing at Me. Farthington struggles against his smaller opponent, but Gamble remains stubborn in trying to hit the move! The Financier manages to twist around while grabbing the left arm. Maintaining wrist control, Farthington tugs Tony forward and smashes a knee into the elbow joint!

Gamble cries out in pain and tries to scurry away! No such luck as Cecilworth sticks tight to him! Front face lock leads to Worthless! He quickly floats into the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: That was close! Are we sure that wasn’t a three?!

Richard Parker: No no! Two! It was two! Barlow confirmed it!

Nick Stuart: Okay okay, I believe you! Regardless, Tony Gamble is in deep trouble now! Can he dig himself out of this hole?

Richard Parker: Gonna be a hell of a tall order on his part and we know how well that kind of stuff goes for ol’ Two Books!

Farthington goes to try and wrangle the arm into Article 51, his cross armbreaker. Gamble fights feverishly, swinging elbows, kicking his legs, anything he can do to keep the hold from being applied. He manages to scramble to his feet, but Cecilworth closes in, smelling blood!

Farthington gets the arm and wrings it, but Tony ducks under and gains position! Farthington does the same, Gamble responds in kind! Another go around, but this time, Tony opts for going behind into a hammerlock instead. Cecilworth is quick to counter with the same! A stiff right elbow from Gamble gives him just a bit of space.

The Grin charges forward and hits the ropes. On the rebound, he tries to throw another elbow. Unfortunately for him, Cecilworth uses a lighting quick drop step, working behind Gamble. He goes to lock in a sleeper, but Tony drops down, possibly looking for a flash pin! There’s a problem, though.

Farthington dropped down with him.

With both men in a seated position, the Financier rolls both men backwards but twists and turns to end up on the side of his opponent!

Nick Stuart: Article 51! He’s got it locked in fully now!

Richard Parker: Gamble’s in trouble! He better find an escape and quick or this is over!

When your arm’s being viciously cranked on by a man with the knowledge and talent that Cecilworth Farthington possesses, you don’t have to be told twice to find an escape. Tony tries to roll over into a pinning combination. Shut down by the long legs of Farthington. He tries to crawl towards the ropes. The pair are in the middle of the ring and Cecilworth is firmly planted where he is. Finally, Tony tries to wiggle out, thrashing limbs, hoping for any kind of retreat from the hold. There is no escape.

Nick Stuart: There it is! Gamble taps!

DING DING DING

Farthington releases the hold quickly and collapses back, letting out an exhausted huff.

Vince Howard: The winner of this match, by submission… CECILWORTH FAAAAAAARTHINGTOOOOON!

Nick Stuart: Great win for Farthington, but Tony Gamble certainly came ready tonight!

Richard Parker: No shame in dropping one to a guy like Cecilworth Farthington. Guy is a wrestling machine!

We cut backstage.

A running sink in the backstage bathroom of the Cow Palace, aka the most dangerous place in the world to be at ReVival 52.

Standing in front of the sink and mirror is Mr. Three Jordans himself (one on his back, two on his feet), Fred Dick.

Save for the running water, it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Fred splashes some water in his face, sings a little tune.

Fred Dick: Old McDonald had a farm, we the tag team champs! And on that farm he had some Stallions! They the tag team champs! With a big dick here and a rare steak there. Here a dick, there a steak, everywhere a dick steak. Old McDonald…

Fred wipes his face. Looks at his reflection in the mirror.

There, stood behind him, he sees Paxton Ray wearing a Rip Hamilton-style nose protective mask, holding a machete.

Fred starts to panic, but then grins to himself.

Fred Dick: Holy shid. For a second there, I thought I saw Paxton Ray in a Rip Hamilton mask carrying a big ace machete.

Fred Dick wipes his eyes. Looks again.

Fred Dick: OH MY GAWD IT’S PAXTON RAY IN A RIP HAMILTON MASK CARRYIN’ A BIG ACE MACHETE!!!

Paxton Ray: What up Dick.

Paxton shoots his hand forward, pushing Fred’s face directly into the mirror. Fred careens off, tumbling to the ground. Paxton waves the machete around as he stands over Fred. Then, he sniffs.

Paxton Ray: Did ya jus’ piss yourself, Freddie?

The camera can make out a dark spot on Fred’s shorts as The Bayou Butcher laughs.

Paxton Ray: Don’t worry kid. I ain’t really gonna use this machete. I just liked the imagery.

He tosses the machete away and bends down closer so he’s in Fred’s face.

Paxton Ray: But I am gonna make it so you’re scared shitless t’ever go in a public bathroom again.

With that, he lifts Fred up and once again tosses him into the mirror. Fred slumps down onto the sink, and Paxton throws an overhead fist into the back of Fred’s head.

Paxton Ray: So ya didn’t wanna be done with me, huh cuz? Fine. I was gonna let ya live. Let ya find some other schmuck t’run your game on. But now?

Paxton grabs Freddie and flings him into the urinal, cracking porcelain and plaster as he slumps to the ground.

Paxton Ray: Ya broke the nose of a chargin’ bull. And ya, Dick?

Paxton rushes forward and sends a knee into Fred’s face. He bends down next to him as blood drips out of Fred, then uses his hand to smear the blood over Fred’s face and hair.

Paxton Ray: Ya got red all over ya.

Paxton pats Fred’s cheek and stands up, wiping blood on his shirt as he walks away, the camera staying on Fred’s bloody visage.

Nick Stuart: Well, Paxton Ray was not supposed to be here tonight, but there he was!

Richard Parker: I bet Fred wishes he wasn’t, but Paxton showed up looking like Michael Myers, and it’s fitting because I think he’s going to try to terrorize Fred some more!

Fred crawls to the nearest urinal. He clings to it like a coed at three in the morning. Blood spills into the toilet from his face like a lazy river’s peaceful waterfall.

He rips a fart, the kind that pops the butt cheeks like a machine gun. You can’t tell if the wince that follows is from the pain he feels, or the actual fart itself.

We’ll never know.

We cut away.

Vince Howard: The following match is our MAIN! EVENT!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: The fans here in San Francisco having been waiting for this match all night.

Richard Parker: That they have. A triple threat main event. We could talk about it forever, but let’s get right to the introductions.

The lights dim.

A cool breeze moves through the air.

Smoke begins to fill the top of the entrance ramp.

Up on the Crumbotron a merry montage of superkicks plays.

Richard Parker: I think I’m going to be sick. I can’t believe Hessian would do this to us.

A spotlight clangs to life and shines down upon the entrance ramp. Then, the most discernible guitar riff in the business hits like a superkick to the face.

“I’m the one your mama warned you about”

“When you see me, I will leave you no doubt”

“I’m the coolest man that ever walked this earth”

“I’ve been the coolest since the day of my birth…”

Out from the back steps The Greek God of COOL. His hair simmers, his boots sprinkle with salt, and his T-shades blot out the blinding light shining down upon him.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! BOOM-BOOM!

An intense, scorching, volcanic, hell-fire volley of pyrotechnics illuminates The Cow Palace.

“…I AM THE COOL!”

The COOLYMPIAN stands at the top, gyrating away without a care in the world. Then, he removes his T-shades, casually tosses them up above his head, and the monster standing behind him snatches them out of thin air.

Nick Stuart: He’s not gonna do what I think he’s gonna do, is he?.

Richard Parker: He better not.

Nick Stuart: He’s gonna do it.

Richard Parker: NO! Don’t do it. Don’t you dare. You’re a Hall of Famer!

Big Hess, Murderer of Shows, PRIME Hall of Famer and former UNIVERSAL CHAMPION,  beloved and cherished, does the unthinkable. He puts the T-shades on, and surprisingly doesn’t get a frostbitten nose. Unsurprisingly, Dirty Dick’s head spins around like he’s been possessed.

So not a full Newell, but close.

Nick Stuart: I can’t believe my eyes.

King COOL turns to see what all the fuss is about — like he doesn’t know — however something else does in fact catch his ire. He rushes towards the curtain, and starts to berate whoever is standing behind it. Then, eventually, Bobby Dean, dressed down in funeral blacks, sheepishly walks out.

Nick Stuart: Poor Bob. Custody battles are never pretty. Doesn’t matter how beautiful you are.

Richard Parker: At least he gets two Christmas dinners now, so not all bad news for the Honaleean.

Before making their way down to the ring, the three funeral black Bandits pose awkwardly at the top of the ramp, Jiles still incensed beyond belief at Bob’s unwillingness. Of course, Bobby then starts to bring up the rear and eventually out of view. Luckily for him, the Maestro finds another 400 pound man to occupy his venomous vitriol.

Richard Parker: I wonder if he’d be talking like that if Hessian wasn’t there to back him up?

Nick Stuart: Yes.

Jiles slithers under the bottom rope, his eyes wide and ready for a show.

Hessian steps over the top rope, his gaze is sharp, focused, and string a hole through Round 2.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the team of CANCER! JILES! And THE MURDER SHOW! HESSIAN!

Richard Parker: I thought it was sick watching Jiles parade around with Avalon for most of the past year, but this is ten times worse.

Nick Stuart: You want to talk about animosity in this match, everyone in that ring hates Jiles. Ivan and Hessian just battled when Hessian ended up setting up Ivan at the end to get superkicked by Jiles. Jiles loathes Nate Colton. Jonathan-Christopher Hall and Coral Avalon just battled at Tropical Turmoil. Nate Colton and Coral Avalon will face off at ReVival 53 for the Universal Title. Nate Colton and Ivan Stanislav will face off at Tropical Turmoil. Coral Avalon and Cancer Jiles will face off as well at Tropical Turmoil — and one of those two matches will have the Universal Title at stake!

Richard Parker: That’s… a lot.

Nick Stuart: You’re telling me. I didn’t even talk about Jonathan-Christopher Hall and Nate Colton—

Richard Parker: We have no time for that.

“The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir blasts over the PA system of the Cow Palace as the typical chorus of boos erupts from the audience. There’s no happy, teeny boppy music, no love to be had. Just red. A lot of red.

Vince Howard: Weighing in at a combined weight of 660 lbs: IVAN STANISLAV and JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!

The Russian Bear emerges first from the backstage area, with Max Kael at his side. Stanislav marches purposefully towards the ring, his huge hands clenched into fists, while Kael, in a rather dapper crimson uniform, grins wickedly beside him.

Vickie Hall is next to follow, wearing the cutest PRETTY PINK© dress, with matching bows in her hair. She turns and motions towards the back, and a sullen Jonathan-Christopher Hall appears, his hair messed up, bags under his eyes…

Richard Parker: Wow, Jonathan-Christopher looks awful. Poor Vickie, it has to be such a chore looking after him right now.

Nick Stuart: (Not even acknowledging the last sentence) Our former Universal Champion might not have taken his loss too well, maybe?

Vickie skips back to JCH and grabs up his arm, but the former Universal Champion shrugs her off and instead power walks faster towards the ring, trying to get away. Stanislav waits at one side of the ring for JCH, but the Timid Tiger instead turns and goes around the opposite side from Stanislav. The Russian Bear glances down at Max and mutters something, but he’s clearly not happy. Ivan turns and stomps around his side of the ring. Max, meanwhile, stares at Vickie like a piece of steak with PRETTY PINK© bows and licks his lips. Vickie simply giggles in response.

Ivan meets Jonathan-Chirstopher on the other side of the ring and points at him, yelling…

…but JCH ducks under Ivan’s arm and walks past him, climbing on the apron. Ivan blinks and clearly sees red.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think this team is very much in sync.

Richard Parker: They’re a well oiled machine. This team has won two other matches against some of the best in the business. It’s called strategy, Nick. You wouldn’t understand.

But if it’s really strategy, it’s very well choreographed, because Ivan rounds and climbs up to the apron, next to JCH. Stanislav tries to talk to him again…

…and JCH skirts around the ring post to the opposite side. Ivan looks completely flabbergasted as he grinds his teeth and wipes his combat boots on the apron. He instead directs his unfathomable rage towards his upcoming opponents.

With two teams hanging around the ringside already, it’s time for the third.

Darkness hits the Cow Palace, and the fireflies come out in response because people have cellphones and bitches gotta see. Then…

Cameras cut backstage to a cameraman standing by in a crowded hallway. It’s in the upper deck judging from the signage, and there’s fans milling around trying to get back to their seats. Only there’s this cameraman standing by, and that’s pretty weird.

Then they all come alive and start cheering, as two men wearing large, ridiculous fur capes step into view. We can only see the backs of their blonde heads as they come into view, but the sheer raucous ovation they’re getting from the surrounding fans is enough to make it obvious who they are.

Without a word, one holds out their fist, and the other bumps it. Then they start walking. The crowd before them parts ways, allowing them passage. The cameraman follows them as they walk with a collective purpose through the sea of people.

Back out in the arena. A familiar song hits the PA system – that of the PRIME Universal Champion, Coral Avalon. That’s Monster Siren’s “Real Me”, if you didn’t already know. The spotlight does not shine on the stage, however. In fact, the spotlight isn’t sure where exactly to shine to find the Universal Champion or the scion of the Colton family.

It doesn’t take long, however. A spotlight finds itself deep in the crowd, near to the skybox that Avalon had begun to commandeer. The spotlight shines upon a man who often dressed in the colors of a king, but until a month ago had not been able to call himself in full. His once-leonine fur cape now had the heads of wolves attached to the shoulders. He’s wearing his ring gear underneath it, and the Universal championship around his waist gleams in the light.

The King of Conquerors has arrived.

The crowd surrounding him goes nuts, only held back by event staff as Coral Avalon surveys the landscape before him.

And they only grow crazier when another man walks into the spotlight just behind him. That man is wearing a satin jacket. That man is also wearing his own fur cape over the top of it. It’s on loan from Avalon, the old one with only one lion’s head on it from Coral’s first match in the ReVival era. Colton looks bemused at the fact that Avalon put him up to wearing it for this entrance.

After a few moments of Avalon standing there, taking in the energy of the San Francisco crowd surrounding him, he begins to walk down the stairs and Colton follows in behind him. Well, okay, so Avalon stops momentarily to take a selfie with a few fans, much to the visible disgust of at least two Russians in the building.

Vince Howard: And their opponents! First, wrestling out of Evansville, Indiana! He weighs in tonight at two hundred and forty pounds! He is the NEW DIAMOND! HE IS NAAAAAAAAAAATE COOOOOOOOOLTOOOOONNNNNN!!!

Colton, behind Avalon, raises his arms in the air in such a way so that the cape he’s been asked to wear won’t fall off of his shoulders. Avalon, who’s done taking selfies on the way to the ring, makes his way to ringside.

Vince Howard: And his tag team partner… residing in Seattle, Washington! He weighs in tonight at two hundred and fourteen pounds! He is the KING! OF! CONQUERORS! THE PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! COOOOOOOORAAAAAALLLLL AVALOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!!!

They make it to the ringside area and hop over the barricade near the entrance ramp. As it so happens, that’s about as far as Bobby Dean made it during the entrance of Jiles and Hessian before Avalon and Colton reached him. Avalon taps Dean on the shoulder, and Dean smiles like he’s seen an old friend. Because he has! He definitely has no idea what’s going on with Jiles and Avalon right now.

In the ring, Jiles – who still has the T-shades on – can only watch Bobby follow along with Coral and a visibly confused Nate Colton as they both make their way to the ring. Colton immediately sheds the cloak he was given the moment he reaches the stairs into the ring, while Avalon enters the ring with his cloak still on.

Nick Stuart: In two weeks’ time, these two men will be adversaries for the PRIME Universal championship in Sacramento. But tonight is a huge main event and they’ll need to work together if they hope to survive.

Richard Parker: I hope Ivan rips out Jiles’ ribcage and stabs Avalon in the face with it.

Nick Stuart: Okay, first of all, that’s really graphic. Second of all, I’m not sure how physically possible that is.

Richard Parker: It’s Ivan, anything is possible!

Avalon removes the Universal championship belt from around his waist and steps onto the second turnbuckle, before raising it high over his head. All the while, he keeps taking the occasional glance behind him, because there’s at least a few men behind him that’d love to jump him right this second. Colton, however, maintains his focus in their corner and wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen if it came to pass.

He hops off the second rope, handing the championship over to Elvis Nixon before removing his cloak, finally ready to begin. Elvis hands off the championship before giving his final set of instructions.

The Cow Palace pulsates with anticipation, a living, breathing entity of its own. The air crackles with electricity as the capacity crowd roars, their voices melding into a thunderous cacophony that reverberates through the steel and concrete structure.

DING DING

As the bell rings, its sharp peal cutting through the din, three titans converge at the center of the squared circle. The canvas groans under their combined weight, a foreboding harbinger of the carnage about to unfold.

Nick Stuart: The atmosphere in the Cow Palace is absolutely electric! You can feel the anticipation crackling through the air!

Richard Parker: I’m still waiting to see some cows, Nick. If you call a place the Cow Palace, there should be plenty of cows here! Maybe they’re all hiding from the impending bloodbath.

Nick Stuart: …I don’t think that’s how it works, Richard.

Hessian’s massive frame casts an ominous shadow across the ring, his 7’2″ stature towering over most opponents — except for one. The man to his left, seething with unbridled rage, is Ivan Stanislav. The Russian Bear nearly matches Hessian’s height, his eyes cold and calculating as he sizes up Hessian. The betrayal from two weeks ago, when Hessian not only refused his offer to join the Red Army but lured him into a trap, burns fresh in his mind. His gaze then shifts to the other man in the ring, a target of his wrath he’s been itching to get his hands on.

At ringside, Bobby Dean paces back and forth, a look of utter confusion on his face. He drifts between Colton and Avalon’s corner and Jiles and Hessian’s corner, seemingly unsure of where his loyalties lie.

Richard Parker: You could cut the tension with a knife, Nick. These guys look ready to tear each other apart!

Nick Stuart: The animosity is palpable, Richard. This isn’t just a match; it’s a powder keg waiting to explode!

Nate Colton, the New Diamond, stands defiantly between the two behemoths. He stretches to his full 6’4″ frame, yet still finds himself dwarfed by his opponents. However, the determined set of his jaw and the fire blazing in his eyes make it clear he’s not to be underestimated.

Nick Stuart: Colton’s facing an uphill battle here, but he’s no stranger to adversity. He’s got the heart of a champion!

Richard Parker: Heart? Please. He’s got the survival instincts of a lemming, Nick. He’s about to get crushed between two mountains of muscle and mayhem.

The three men circle each other slowly, a deadly dance of titans. The crowd’s roar diminishes to a low, anticipatory murmur, the tension in the ring palpable even in the furthest reaches of the arena. Suddenly, like a coiled spring releasing, Colton explodes into action.

Nick Stuart: And we’re off to a blistering start!

Richard Parker: Finally! I thought these three were auditioning for a statue garden.

Colton launches himself at Hessian, a blur of motion. His fists fly in a flurry of quick jabs, each one landing with a meaty thud against Hessian’s broad chest. The big man stumbles back, more surprised than hurt, his back slamming into the turnbuckle with a rattle of steel and cable.

Richard Parker: Well, look at the New Diamond, thinking he’s David taking on Goliath. Spoiler alert: this isn’t going to end well for him.

Nick Stuart: Colton’s showing incredible bravery, taking the fight straight to Hessian!

Stanislav, seeing his opportunity, moves with a speed that belies his massive frame. He charges forward, his arm extended in a vicious clothesline aimed at the back of Colton’s head. But Colton, with instincts honed from years of training, senses the danger. At the last possible second, he ducks.

Richard Parker: How did he… Is Colton part owl? He’s got eyes in the back of his head!

Nick Stuart: That’s years of experience and ring awareness, Richard!

Stanislav’s meaty arm whistles over Colton’s head, missing by mere inches. The Russian’s momentum carries him forward, unable to stop his charge. Colton, in a display of quick thinking, drops to the mat and rolls, causing Stanislav to trip over him. The crowd gasps collectively as Stanislav crashes into Hessian, both men colliding with a sound like thunder. The turnbuckle groans under their combined weight, the top rope vibrating violently from the impact.

Nick Stuart: Incredible! Colton just used Stanislav’s own momentum against him!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching two freight trains collide, Nick! I almost feel bad for the turnbuckle.

Colton kips up to his feet, a grin spreading across his face as he surveys the damage. But his victory is short-lived. Hessian, shaking off the collision like a bear swatting away an annoying fly, reaches out with one massive hand and grabs Colton by the throat. Colton’s eyes widen in shock as his feet leave the mat. Hessian holds him aloft, his face a mask of fury. The crowd holds its breath, anticipating the devastating slam to come.

Nick Stuart: Hessian’s got Colton up in the air! This could be the beginning of the end!

Richard Parker: I hope Colton’s got good insurance, because he’s about to become one with the canvas!

But before Hessian can complete the move, Stanislav, having recovered, grabs Colton’s legs. For a moment, Colton is suspended between the two giants, a human tug-of-war rope. Then, with a coordinated effort that speaks to their veteran status, Hessian and Stanislav simultaneously release Colton, sending him soaring across the ring.

Nick Stuart: Oh my God! Colton’s been launched like a human projectile!

Richard Parker: It’s raining Colton, Nick! Duck and cover!

Colton flies through the air, his body parallel to the mat, before crashing down with a sickening thud that echoes throughout the arena. He bounces once, twice, before rolling to a stop at the edge of the ring, his chest heaving as he gasps for breath.

Nick Stuart: The impact! Colton might have internal injuries after that devastating throw!

Richard Parker: If he survives tonight, he’ll be feeling that for weeks. Maybe months. Possibly years.

At ringside, Coral Avalon, Colton’s partner, leans forward, his knuckles white as he grips the top rope, concern etched across his features. He shouts encouragement to his partner, urging him to get up.

Back in the center of the ring, Hessian and Stanislav face each other. There’s a moment of silent acknowledgment, a shared appreciation for their teamwork. But as quickly as it appears, the moment passes. These are not allies, but opponents, and both men know it.

Nick Stuart: The temporary alliance is over! It’s every man for himself now!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching two alpha wolves circling each other, Nick. This is going to get ugly fast.

Stanislav strikes first, his meaty fist connecting with Hessian’s jaw in a thunderous right hook. Hessian’s head snaps back, but he doesn’t go down. Instead, he retaliates with a devastating headbutt that would have felled a lesser man. The sickening crack of skull meeting skull reverberates through the arena. Both men stagger back, momentarily dazed. Hessian shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, a bruise already forming on his forehead.

Nick Stuart: These two are trading blows like heavyweight boxers! The sheer power behind those strikes is astounding!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching two mountains collide, Nick. I’m surprised the ring is still standing!

They clash again, this time grappling in the center of the ring. It’s a contest of raw power, neither man willing to give an inch. The muscles in their arms and backs strain with effort, veins standing out like cords. The ring ropes vibrate from the force of their struggle, the canvas creaking ominously under their shifting weight.

As they grapple, Colton stirs at the edge of the ring. Slowly, painfully, he pulls himself to his feet using the ropes. His chest is an angry red from the impact of his fall, and he winces with each labored breath. But the fire in his eyes hasn’t dimmed. If anything, it burns brighter.

Richard Parker: Look at Colton, trying to play the hero! The kid just doesn’t know when to stay down.

Nick Stuart: That’s the heart of a true champion, Richard. Colton’s not out of this fight yet!

Richard Parker: Heart? Please. All the heart in the world won’t save him from those two monsters.

Nick Stuart: Don’t count him out just yet, Richard. Colton’s got the kind of determination that can turn the tide of a match!

Richard Parker: Determination? Ha! Right now, he’s got two unstoppable titans to deal with and not much time left before he becomes a Colton-shaped stain on the mat.

Colton surveys the scene before him: two titans locked in a test of strength, neither able to overpower the other. A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth as an idea forms.

With a deep breath, ignoring the protest of his bruised ribs, Colton launches himself at the ropes. He hits them at full speed, using their elasticity to propel himself back across the ring. As he flies through the air, he twists his body, aiming for the backs of both Hessian and Stanislav. The crowd rises to its feet as Colton soars through the air, a human missile on a collision course with the two giants.

Nick Stuart: Colton’s taking a huge risk here! He’s putting it all on the line!

Richard Parker: It’s not bravery, it’s stupidity! He’s gonna splatter himself all over those two behemoths!

Time seems to slow as Colton approaches the two giants, still locked in their grapple. At the last possible moment, Hessian senses the danger. He releases his grip on Stanislav and ducks.

Stanislav, caught off guard by the sudden release, stumbles forward. Colton crashes into him with the force of a cannonball, his entire body becoming a weapon. Both men go down in a tangle of limbs, rolling across the canvas.

Bobby Dean, still looking perplexed, has now wandered over to Jiles and Hessian’s corner.

Nick Stuart: What a move by Colton! He just took out Stanislav with that high-flying attack!

Richard Parker: Oh, come on! That was pure luck, Nick. Colton’s just delaying the inevitable. He’s like a fly trying to take down a bear – annoying, but ultimately doomed.

Nick Stuart: This match is far from over, and Colton just proved he’s still very much in the fight!

Richard Parker: Fight? More like he’s flailing around hoping for a miracle. Those two giants are going to turn him into a human pretzel any second now.

Nick Stuart: And the crowd is going wild! The energy in here is absolutely electric!

Richard Parker: These people would cheer for a ham sandwich, Nick. Colton’s luck is going to run out faster than my patience for this nonsense.

Avalon pumps his fist at ringside, shouting encouragement to his partner. Hessian, having avoided Colton’s attack, wastes no time in pressing his advantage. He grabs Colton by the hair, yanking him off Stanislav with one hand. With his other hand, he hoists Stanislav to his feet, his fingers digging into the Russian’s throat. For a moment, Hessian stands tall, a colossus with an opponent in each hand.

Then, with a roar that drowns out even the crowd’s noise, Hessian slams Colton and Stanislav’s heads together with bone-crushing force.

Nick Stuart: Dear God! Hessian just turned Colton and Stanislav into human cymbals!

Richard Parker: Now that’s what I call using your head, Nick! Or in this case, using someone else’s head!

The crack of the impact silences the arena for a split second before the crowd erupts again. Colton and Stanislav crumple to the mat, both men momentarily stunned. Hessian stands over them, his chest heaving, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. As Hessian turns to climb the turnbuckle, planning to follow up with a devastating splash, movement stirs at ringside.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall is pacing nervously. His eyes dart between the action in the ring and his wife Vickie at ringside, a mixture of confusion and anger playing across his features. He seems torn between helping his partner and staying out of the fray.

Nick Stuart: Hessian is looking to end this with a high-risk maneuver! He’s going up top!

Richard Parker: This is it, Nick! If Hessian hits that splash, Colton and Stanislav are going to need spatulas to peel themselves off the mat!

Nick Stuart: But look at Jonathan-Christopher Hall at ringside. He seems conflicted, like he doesn’t know whether to get involved or not.

Richard Parker: Hall needs to grow a spine and help his partner! This is a tag team match, after all. If he just stands there, he’s about as useful as a chocolate teapot!

In the ring, Stanislav is the first to stir. The Russian Bear shakes his head, trying to clear the fog from Hessian’s skull-rattling attack. He sees Hessian perched atop the turnbuckle, preparing to launch himself at the prone Colton. With a grunt of effort, Stanislav rolls across the mat, his bulk narrowly missing Colton.

Hessian, already committed to his leap, realizes too late that his target has moved. He tries to abort his splash mid-air, twisting his massive frame in a desperate attempt to avoid a crash landing. The crowd gasps collectively as Hessian plummets towards the canvas.

Nick Stuart: Hessian’s in trouble! He’s got nowhere to land!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching a Boeing 747 try to land on a postage stamp, Nick!

At the last possible second, Colton, showing incredible ring awareness despite his battered state, manages to roll out of the way. Hessian crashes into the mat with earth-shaking force, the impact resonating through the ring and into the first few rows of the audience.

Nick Stuart: Oh my god, Hessian just crashed and burned! Colton had the presence of mind to move out of the way!

Richard Parker: That was pure dumb luck, Nick! Colton’s just delaying the inevitable. Hessian’s going to get up and turn him into a human accordion any second now.

Nick Stuart: I wouldn’t be so sure, Richard. Colton’s showing incredible resilience tonight. He might just pull off the upset!

Richard Parker: Resilience? Please. He’s a crash test dummy with delusions of grandeur. Hessian and Stanislav are going to fold him up like origami any moment now.

Hessian lies motionless in the center of the ring, the wind knocked out of him. Colton and Stanislav, both having narrowly avoided disaster, pull themselves to their feet using the ring ropes for support.

Stanislav is the first to fully recover, his eyes blazing with unbridled fury. He charges at Colton like a runaway freight train, intent on finishing him off. But Colton, displaying remarkable agility, dodges to the side at the last moment, sending Stanislav crashing into the turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: What a move by Colton! He’s using his speed and agility to outmaneuver these giants!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching a chihuahua dodge a pair of rottweilers, Nick. Entertaining, but ultimately futile.

Stanislav slams into the turnbuckle with a resounding thud, momentarily stunned by the impact. Colton, seizing the opportunity, quickly follows up with a dropkick to Stanislav’s back, driving him further into the corner. The crowd erupts in cheers, sensing a shift in momentum.

Nick Stuart: Colton’s on fire! He’s not giving Stanislav any room to breathe!

Richard Parker: But how long can he keep this up, Nick? He’s like a mosquito trying to take down an elephant – annoying, but ultimately doomed!

Colton, capitalizing on his advantage, grabs Stanislav’s arm and attempts to whip him across the ring. However, the Russian Bear’s massive bulk proves too much for Colton to move. Stanislav, shaking off the cobwebs, counters with a short-arm clothesline that nearly takes Colton’s head off.

Nick Stuart: Oh! Stanislav just turned the tables on Colton with that devastating clothesline!

Richard Parker: See? I told you, Nick. It was only a matter of time before reality caught up with our plucky little underdog.

As Colton hits the mat hard, Hessian begins to stir. The Murder Show slowly rises to his feet, his eyes locked on the action before him. Stanislav, seeing Hessian getting up, momentarily forgets about Colton and charges at his now-sworn enemy.

Nick Stuart: Stanislav’s going after Hessian! The bad blood between these two is boiling over!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching two freight trains on a collision course, Nick. I hope the ring can withstand this!

Stanislav launches himself at Hessian with a massive clothesline, but Hessian ducks at the last second. Using Stanislav’s momentum against him, Hessian grabs the Russian Bear and executes a thunderous belly-to-belly suplex. The impact shakes the entire ring, and the crowd gasps in awe.

Nick Stuart: What power from Hessian! He just tossed Stanislav like he was nothing!

Richard Parker: I’ve seen smaller earthquakes, Nick! Stanislav’s going to be feeling that one in the morning.

As both giants struggle to their feet, Colton sees his opportunity. He springs to the top rope with cat-like agility, balancing precariously for a split second before launching himself into the air.

Nick Stuart: Colton’s taking to the skies! This could be a game-changer!

Richard Parker: Or it could be the dumbest move of his career. My money’s on the latter!

Colton soars through the air, aiming a missile dropkick at both Hessian and Stanislav. The crowd holds its breath as he flies… and connects! Both giants stagger backward, caught off guard by Colton’s aerial assault.

Nick Stuart: Incredible! Colton just took down both Hessian and Stanislav with that spectacular dropkick!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching David take on two Goliaths, Nick. And somehow, impossibly, it’s working!

Colton quickly capitalizes on the moment, grabbing Stanislav and attempting to lock in the Colton Clutch ’24. However, the Russian Bear’s raw power proves too much, and he manages to power out, sending Colton flying across the ring.

Nick Stuart: Colton nearly had the Colton Clutch ’24 locked in! That could have been the end for Stanislav!

Richard Parker: “Nearly” doesn’t cut it in this business, Nick. Colton’s running out of tricks, and these giants are running out of patience!

As Colton tries to recover, Hessian seizes the moment. He grabs Colton, hoisting him high into the air for his devastating Hellevator finisher.

Nick Stuart: Oh no! Hessian’s got Colton up for the Hellevator! This could be it!

Richard Parker: Time to say goodnight, Colton! It’s been fun, but the elevator’s going down!

Just as Hessian is about to slam Colton down, Stanislav charges in, clotheslining both men and causing Hessian to drop Colton. All three men crash to the canvas in a tangle of limbs.

Nick Stuart: Chaos in the ring! Stanislav just saved Colton, but I don’t think that was his intention!

Richard Parker: It’s a three-way demolition derby in there, Nick! I can’t tell if they’re wrestling or trying to tear down the building!

As the three men struggle to their feet, the crowd’s roar reaches a fever pitch. The match has descended into all-out warfare, with alliances forming and breaking in the blink of an eye.

Nick Stuart: This match has completely broken down, Richard! It’s every man for himself!

Richard Parker: Just the way I like it, Nick! Let the best monster win!

As Stanislav slumps in the corner, Colton turns his attention to Hessian, who is beginning to stir in the center of the ring. Colton knows he has to act fast to maintain his advantage. With a burst of energy, he runs toward Hessian, leaps into the air, and delivers a devastating knee strike to Hessian’s head. Hessian’s head snaps back, and he collapses to the mat once more.

Once again, Bobby Dean has shifted his position, now hovering near Colton and Avalon’s corner.

Nick Stuart: Colton is on fire right now! He’s taking down these giants one by one!

Richard Parker: He’s got to be running on fumes.

Colton, breathing heavily, takes a moment to gather himself. He glances at Coral Avalon, who is shouting encouragement from ringside. With renewed determination, Colton moves toward the corner where Stanislav is still recovering. He aims a massive boot at Colton’s midsection, but Colton is ready. He sidesteps the kick and grabs Stanislav’s leg, using the Russian’s momentum against him. Colton manages to lift Stanislav off his feet. For a breathless moment, the massive Russian is horizontal in the air. Then Colton falls forward, slamming Stanislav’s body into the mat.

Nick Stuart: Unbelievable! Colton just managed to take down Stanislav with that incredible slam. The crowd is going wild!

Richard Parker: Oh, come on, Nick! That was pure luck. Colton’s a fluke artist. A one-hit wonder. Stanislav and Hessian will be back on their feet in no time, and Colton will be a greasy spot on the mat.

The impact shakes the entire ring. Stanislav bounces off the canvas, his face contorted in pain. Colton, however, doesn’t have time to capitalize. As he tries to stand, his legs buckle, the toll of the match finally catching up to him. Colton then drops to his knees and drapes his body across Ivan’s body as Elvis Nixon begins a count.

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: And Hessian slams his body into both men, stopping the count!

Richard Parker: That was a close one! Hessian just saved the match for his team.

Nick Stuart: This match is an absolute war of attrition. None of these men are willing to give an inch!

Richard Parker: And these brain-dead fans are loving it! They’re just here for the carnage. They wouldn’t know talent if it slapped them in the face.

Hessian, breathing heavily, pulls Colton off Stanislav and lifts him into a fireman’s carry. The crowd gasps, anticipating a devastating move. But before Hessian can execute, Coral Avalon steps onto the ropes, catching Hessian’s attention and giving Colton a moment to wriggle free.

Colton lands on his feet and quickly delivers a swift kick to the back of Hessian’s knee, causing the giant to buckle. Avalon, still on the apron, shouts instructions to Colton, urging him to capitalize on the opening. Meanwhile, Stanislav begins to stir, shaking off the effects of the slam.

Avalon shouts encouragement to Colton, urging him to get up. On the opposite side, Hall’s pacing has become more frantic. He pulls at his hair, muttering to himself, his eyes never leaving the prone form of his tag team partner. In his corner, Cancer Jiles watches the scene with calculating eyes. He hasn’t been tagged in yet, but he’s analyzing every move, every weakness. His fingers drum impatiently on the top rope, eager to enter the fray.

Richard Parker: Look at that, Nick! Coral Avalon is cheating right in front of the referee! Hall needs to grow a spine and do something about it!

Nick Stuart: Avalon is just trying to give his partner a fighting chance. You can’t blame him for that!

Richard Parker: I can and I will! Avalon should be banned from ringside for this! Hall, get in there and save your partner!

Nick Stuart: Banned? Avalon is in the match!

Richard Parker: And what’s your point?

Nick Stuart: My point is, this is a tag team match, and Avalon is doing exactly what he should be doing to support his partner.

Hessian turns around and wraps his massive hand around Colton’s throat. Colton desperately swings his forearm, clubbing Hessian’s meaty forearm, trying to break free. As Hessian’s grip loosens, Stanislav charges forward, connecting with a running shoulder that catches Colton in the sternum and flips him inside out.

Colton crashes to the mat, gasping for breath, the wind completely knocked out of him. Hessian and Stanislav exchange a brief glance, a silent agreement to deal with Colton first before turning on each other again. They advance on Colton, who is struggling to get back to his feet, the crowd’s roar growing louder with each passing second.

Nick Stuart: Colton is in serious trouble here! He can’t take much more of this punishment!

Richard Parker: I told you, Nick! Hessian and Stanislav are unstoppable together. Colton’s got no chance!

Hessian grabs Colton by the hair, hauling him to his feet with a single, powerful motion. Stanislav moves in, delivering a thunderous punch to Colton’s midsection, doubling him over in pain. The two giants then whip Colton into the ropes —

SLAP!

— and as he rebounds they hoist him up — one arm wrapped around each one of his legs as they hold him into the air.

But before they can execute, Coral Avalon leaps into the ring, charging at the two behemoths. He lands a dropkick to the back of Stanislav’s left knee, eliciting a yelp from the Russian Bear. Hessian, distracted by the sudden appearance of Avalon in the ring, loosens his grip on Colton, allowing him to wriggle free and drop to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Avalon to the rescue! He’s giving Colton a chance to recover!

Richard Parker: This is chaos, Nick! Absolute chaos! The referee needs to get control of this match!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think he does as Avalon tagged himself in and Nixon acknowledged it!

Richard Parker: What?! What kind of rules are we following here?!

Avalon quickly follows up with a series of rapid-fire strikes to Hessian, backing the giant into the ropes. Colton, regaining his footing, joins his partner, and together they launch Hessian across the ring with a double Irish whip. Hessian rebounds off the ropes, and Avalon and Colton catch him with a double dropkick, sending the big man stumbling backwards.

Colton and Avalon exchange a quick glance, a silent plan forming between them. In a stunning display of teamwork, Colton suddenly grabs Avalon and launches him skyward. The Universal Champion soars towards the unsuspecting Hessian, twisting his body in mid-flight to deliver a devastating Carnwennan to the giant’s chest. The impact echoes through the arena as Hessian crashes to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Incredible teamwork by Avalon and Colton! They’ve got Hessian down!

Richard Parker: They better not celebrate too soon. Stanislav is still in this match!

Avalon and Colton turn towards Jiles, expecting him to rush into the ring, but he stands there, hands raised in the air as if he was being robbed at a bank. They look over at Hall, who seems to be seething at the sight of them, but also just as equally upset with Ivan.

As if on cue, Stanislav charges at Avalon and Colton, looking to take them both down with a running clothesline. But Avalon and Colton duck under the attack, and Stanislav’s momentum carries him into the ropes. Avalon and Colton quickly turn around, delivering a back body drop that sends the Russian Bear crashing to the floor before he rolls out of the ring.

Nick Stuart: What a move! Avalon and Colton have cleared the ring!

Richard Parker: This is unbelievable! I can’t believe these two are standing tall right now! I blame Elvis Nixon for this! I will lodge a formal complaint!

The crowd erupts in cheers as Avalon and Colton stand in the center of the ring, breathing heavily but determined. They exchange a nod, knowing the battle is far from over. Outside the ring, Hessian and Stanislav begin to stir, their eyes filled with fury as they prepare to re-enter the fray. Colton slips out of the ropes at the orders of Nixon, leaving Avalon alone. Hessian steps back into the ring — eager to mix it up with the Universal Champion — while Ivan slips under the bottom rope, gets to his feet, and slams his meaty paw into the chest of Jonathan-Christopher Hall. Hall, looks at his partner before he enters the ring and stares down the man who took the Universal Championship from him.

From ringside, Vickie Hall’s voice rises above the crowd noise, cheering enthusiastically for her husband. ‘You’ve got this, JC! Show them what you’re made of!’ Jonathan-Christopher visibly flinches at the sound of her voice, his eyes darting nervously in her direction before quickly looking away, a mixture of discomfort and anxiety crossing his features.

Nick Stuart: And now, it’s Avalon, Hessian, and Hall in the match! The tension is palpable!

Avalon and Hall waste no time, charging at each other with a ferocity that ignites the crowd. Hall throws a wild punch, but Avalon deftly ducks under it and counters with a sharp elbow to Hall’s jaw. The impact sends Hall reeling, but he quickly regains his footing and retaliates with a knee to Avalon’s midsection.

Nick Stuart: Avalon and Hall are going at it tooth and nail! This is personal for both of them!

Richard Parker: Look at Hessian, just watching like he’s enjoying a show. He knows he can pick up the pieces when these two are done.

Avalon backs up, clutching his midsection, but his eyes remain locked on Hall. He lunges forward, catching Hall with a lightning-fast dropkick that sends him sprawling into the ropes. Hall bounces off and comes back with a clothesline, but Avalon ducks and catches Hall with a spinning heel kick on the rebound.

As Hall struggles to his feet, Vickie leans into the ring, reaching out towards him. ‘JC, honey, get up! You can do this!’ Hall’s eyes widen as he notices her outstretched hand, and he stumbles backwards, putting extra distance between himself and the ring apron where Vickie stands, a look of confusion and hurt flashing across her face.

Nick Stuart: What a counter by Avalon! He’s taking the fight to Hall with everything he’s got!

Richard Parker: But how long can he keep this up? Hessian is just waiting for his moment to strike.

Hessian watches the exchange with a calculating gaze, his massive frame looming over the ring like a predator biding its time. Avalon and Hall continue to trade blows, each one more brutal than the last. Hall manages to catch Avalon’s arm and whip him into the corner, following up with a running splash that leaves Avalon gasping for air.

“Vickie’s voice cuts through the arena once more, ‘That’s it, baby! Crush him!’ Hall’s momentum falters for a split second as he glances towards his wife, his face contorting in a grimace of discomfort. He quickly turns his attention back to Avalon, but the brief distraction is evident.”

Nick Stuart: Avalon is in trouble now! Hall’s got him cornered!

Richard Parker: And Hessian is moving in! This could be bad news for Avalon!

Hessian finally decides to make his move. He steps forward, his eyes locked on Avalon, but before he can close the distance, Hall charges at Avalon again. Hessian pauses, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he watches Hall deliver a series of vicious punches to Avalon’s midsection.

Avalon, despite the onslaught, refuses to go down. With a burst of energy, he shoves Hall away and springs to the top rope. In a fluid motion, he launches himself off, aiming a flying crossbody at Hall. The crowd erupts as Avalon soars through the air, connecting with Hall and sending both men crashing to the mat.

Nick Stuart: What a move by Avalon! He took Hall down with that high-flying attack, showcasing the athleticism that’s made him the Universal Champion!

Richard Parker: Don’t get too excited, Nick. Hessian’s still in the ring, and he’s looking to turn Avalon into a blue and gold pancake!

Hessian steps forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over the ring as he aims to pick apart a dazed Avalon. But the Universal Champion, displaying the ring awareness that’s kept him at the top, rolls away at the last second and kips up to his feet with cat-like agility. Avalon and Hall slowly rise, both acutely aware that the Murder Show is now a looming threat.

The three men circle each other, the tension crackling like electricity. The crowd’s roar crescendos, a tidal wave of sound that threatens to lift the roof off the Cow Palace. Hessian makes the first move, lunging at Avalon with a clothesline that could decapitate a lesser man. Avalon ducks, showcasing his speed, and Hessian’s momentum carries him straight into Hall. The two collide with a sickening thud, and Avalon seizes the moment, delivering a picture-perfect European Uppercut to Hessian’s jaw that sends the giant stumbling back.

Nick Stuart: Avalon with that devastating European Uppercut! Hessian is reeling!

Richard Parker: But Hall’s right behind him! Avalon better grow eyes in the back of that planet-sized forehead of his!

Hall, recovering quickly, grabs Avalon from behind and locks him in a sleeper hold, channeling all his frustration and confusion into the move. Avalon struggles, his face contorting with effort as he fights for breath. Hessian, shaking off the effects of the uppercut, moves in to assist Hall, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. But Avalon, with a surge of adrenaline that speaks to his champion’s heart, manages to flip Hall over his shoulder, sending him crashing into Hessian.

Nick Stuart: Unbelievable! Avalon just turned the tables on both Hessian and Hall! The Universal Champion is showing why he’s the best in PRIME!

Richard Parker: Oh, put a sock in it, Nick. Avalon gets a few lucky moves in, and you’re ready to build him a shrine. Get a grip!

Hessian, his face a mask of fury, gets back to his feet and immediately charges at Avalon with the force of a runaway freight train. He connects with a devastating clothesline that nearly takes Avalon’s head off. The impact sends the Universal Champion stumbling backward into the ropes, his legs rubbery and barely able to support him. Hessian, sensing blood in the water, follows up with a thunderous headbutt that echoes through the arena. Avalon’s eyes glaze over, clearly dazed from the brutal assault.

With Avalon reeling, Hessian doesn’t waste a second. He wraps his massive hands around Avalon’s throat, lifting him effortlessly off the mat. The crowd gasps as Hessian hoists Avalon high into the air, showcasing his immense strength. With a fierce roar that would make a lion cower, he executes a choke toss, sending Avalon flying across the ring like a ragdoll. Avalon lands with a sickening thud right in front of his former stablemate, Cancer Jiles, who watches the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and calculation.

Meanwhile, Jonathan-Christopher Hall lies sprawled out on the mat, still recovering from the earlier exchange. He lifts his head slightly, just in time to see Avalon crash-land in front of Jiles. The arena is a cacophony of cheers and gasps, the audience fully engrossed in the high-stakes drama playing out before them.

Nick Stuart: Avalon is in serious trouble now! Hessian is showing no mercy, treating his former War Games teammate like public enemy number one!

Richard Parker: This is what happens when you step into the ring with monsters, Nick. Avalon might be tough, but he’s like a chihuahua trying to fight a pack of wolves here.

Nick Stuart: You would think that Hessian would have some affinity towards Avalon since they were on the same War Games team together. There’s got to be some respect there!

Richard Parker: Respect? In PRIME? Don’t make me laugh, Nick. Hessian knows there’s no money in being aligned with the guy wearing the gold. It’s every man for himself in there!

Hessian stands tall, his chest heaving as he surveys his handiwork. He glances over at Jiles, who gives him a slow, deliberate nod, impressed with how well this partnership is working. As Avalon pulls himself up, using the ropes for support, Hessian begins to advance once more, murder in his eyes. But before he can reach Avalon, a sudden movement catches his eye. Hall, having regained some of his composure, is slowly crawling towards the action, determination etched on his face.

Hall gets back to his feet and starts slamming his fist into the chest of the Murder Show, each blow fueled by his inner turmoil. Hessian laughs—the shots feeling like annoying mosquito bites—before he wraps his hand around Hall’s throat. Hall struggles, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination, but Hessian’s grip is like iron. The crowd watches in horrified anticipation, sensing that Hall is in serious trouble.

Richard Parker: Is JCH about to be… Murder Showed? I hope he’s got good life insurance!

Nick Stuart: This would be a horrible time for that to happen! Hall needs to find a way out of this, and fast!

Avalon, seeing his opening, immediately closes the gap. With precise timing honed through countless battles, he connects with a basement dropkick to the left knee of Hessian. The Murder Show howls from the pain, his grip on Hall loosening as he instinctively reaches for his injured knee. Hall, gasping for breath, stumbles backward, momentarily free from Hessian’s clutches.

Avalon quickly gets back to his feet, his eyes darting between Hessian and Hall. He knows he has to act fast to maintain the advantage. Hessian, still reeling from the dropkick, attempts to rise but is clearly struggling. Sensing the perfect moment, Avalon charges at Hessian, delivering a series of rapid kicks to his midsection. Each strike lands with a sickening thud, driving the giant back toward the ropes.

Nick Stuart: The educated feet of Coral Avalon find their mark against Hessian — the man who he hand-picked for War Games and who has now turned his back on him! This is personal!

Richard Parker: It’s the forehead, Nick. I mean, that thing is massive. It’s probably got its own gravitational pull. Hessian can’t escape its orbit!

As Avalon continues his assault, Hall regains his composure and joins in, his conflicted emotions momentarily forgotten in the heat of battle. Together, they double-team Hessian, their combined efforts overwhelming the giant. The crowd erupts in cheers, sensing that the tide of the match is turning. Hessian, now on the defensive, tries to fend off the relentless onslaught but is clearly outmatched by the two determined opponents.

With Hessian momentarily subdued, Avalon and Hall turn their attention to each other. Avalon, thinking he’s earned himself some grace from Hall, lets his guard down for just a moment. But Hall, driven by his own desire for victory and the turmoil of his recent experiences, seizes the opportunity. With a sudden burst of energy, the former Universal Champion connects with a spinning heel kick that catches Avalon square in the jaw. The impact sends Avalon sprawling to the mat, his vision blurring from the force of the blow.

Nick Stuart: Hall just took out Avalon with that devastating kick! This match is far from over, and alliances mean nothing in the heat of battle!

Richard Parker: I told you, Nick! In a match like this, you can’t trust anyone. It’s every man for himself! Even among your partners! You don’t think Avalon and Colton won’t rip each other apart? Or Stanislav and Hall for that matter? This is PRIME, not a knitting circle!

The chaos continues as Hessian, now back on his feet and looking for revenge, charges at Hall with a fierce determination that would make a raging bull jealous. Hall barely has time to react before Hessian’s massive shoulder slams into him, sending him crashing into the turnbuckle with enough force to shake the entire ring. Hessian then turns his attention to the fallen Avalon, lifting him off the mat like a sack of potatoes and preparing to deliver another brutal move.

But Avalon, showcasing the resilience that’s made him champion, slams his boot into Hessian’s midsection with every ounce of strength he has left. The big man doubles over in pain, caught off guard by the sudden counterattack. Seizing the moment, Avalon executes a swift DDT, planting Hessian’s head into the canvas with a sickening thud. The crowd goes wild as Avalon struggles to his feet, knowing he has to capitalize quickly.

However, before Avalon can press his advantage, Hall connects with a running forearm to the back of the Universal Champion’s neck and skull, the impact reverberating through the arena! Avalon collapses onto his knees, but Hall, channeling all his confused emotions into raw aggression, yanks him to his feet and connects with a Falcon Arrow that plants Avalon square in the center of the ring.

Vickie seizes the moment to call out to her husband again. ‘Remember why you’re here, JC! Do it for us!’ Hall’s shoulders tense at her words, and he turns his back to her, moving to the opposite side of the ring. The discomfort in his body language is palpable, drawing curious murmurs from the crowd.

Nick Stuart: What an incredible series of moves! Coral Avalon is down, and Hall is taking control! The former champion is showing why he held that title!

Richard Parker: Finally, Hall showing some backbone! Avalon thought he could play the hero, but he’s just another victim now. This is what happens when you let your guard down, Nick. In PRIME, mercy is for the weak!

Hall, sensing victory within his grasp, climbs to the top rope with a determined glint in his eye. He prepares to deliver The Space Between Us—his signature Frog Splash. The crowd holds its collective breath as Hall leaps into the air, soaring towards the prone Avalon below like an eagle diving for its prey.

Nick Stuart: Hall is going for The Space Between Us! This could be it!

Richard Parker: If he hits this, it’s all over for Avalon!

But at the last possible second, Avalon, showcasing the instincts that have made him a champion, manages to get his knees up. Hall crashes down onto them with full force, the impact resonating through the arena. The crowd winces in sympathy as Hall rolls across the mat, clutching his ribs in agony.

Nick Stuart: Avalon got his knees up! Hall is in serious pain now! The champion’s resilience is on full display!

Richard Parker: That’s got to hurt! Hall might have just broken a rib or two! He’s going to be feeling that one for weeks!

As Hall writhes on the mat, Hessian seizes the opportunity like a predator pouncing on wounded prey. He scoops Hall up effortlessly, his massive arms bulging with effort, and with a roar of determination that shakes the rafters, charges across the ring. In one fluid motion, Hessian slams Hall down with a devastating running powerslam, the impact shaking the entire ring and sending shockwaves through the crowd.

Nick Stuart: Oh my God! Hessian just planted Hall with that monstrous powerslam! The ring might never be the same!

Richard Parker: Now that’s what I call making an impact, Nick! Hessian just turned Hall into a human pancake! I hope someone brought a spatula to peel him off the mat!

Hessian, sensing the need for fresh energy, reaches out and tags in Cancer Jiles. The self-proclaimed Greek God of Cool saunters into the ring with a smug grin, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. Simultaneously, Avalon, unaware of the tag, rolls over and tags in Nate Colton. The New Diamond rushes into the ring with a burst of adrenaline, connecting with a running clothesline that sends Jiles crashing to the mat with a thunderous impact.

Nick Stuart: Colton comes in like a house on fire! He’s taking the fight straight to Jiles!

Richard Parker: Oh great, another blonde wonder trying to play hero. This’ll end well.

Without missing a beat, Colton rushes over to Ivan Stanislav, delivering a running forearm that connects squarely between Ivan’s eyes, knocking him off the apron with a resounding thud. Colton turns around, only to find Jiles back on his feet, a look of pure venom in his eyes.

Nick Stuart: Colton’s taking on all comers! He just knocked the Russian Bear off his perch!

Richard Parker: He better watch his back. Jiles isn’t known for fighting fair, and Stanislav isn’t going to forget that little love tap.

Jiles, true to form, quickly jabs a thumb into Colton’s eyes, temporarily blinding him. The crowd boos vociferously as Jiles, with a theatrical flourish, pie-faces Colton over the top rope. Colton tumbles to the outside, landing in a heap next to the seething Stanislav.

Nick Stuart: Jiles with the dirty tactics! He’s willing to do anything to gain the upper hand!

Richard Parker: Dirty? That’s called strategy, Nick. Maybe if Colton spent less time on his hair and more time studying the art of wrestling, he wouldn’t be eating canvas right now.

Jiles, reveling in his momentary advantage, turns his attention to Jonathan-Christopher Hall. With ruthless aggression, he begins stomping at Hall’s face, each impact driving Hall’s head deeper into the canvas. The crowd’s boos reach a fever pitch, but Jiles pays them no mind, lost in his own world of sadistic pleasure.

Nick Stuart: This is despicable! Jiles is treating Hall like he’s nothing more than a doormat!

Richard Parker: Well, if the shoe fits, Nick. Hall’s been nothing but a glorified coat rack for Stanislav this entire match. Maybe Jiles is just trying to wake him up.

Cancer gets to his feet and struts around the ring confidently, a smug grin plastered on his face. He laughs mockingly at the fallen Hall and then turns his attention to Coral Avalon, who is leaning against the ropes, trying to catch his breath. Jiles points directly at Avalon, his grin widening as he waves at him in a taunting manner.

The Universal Champion glares back, his eyes burning with a mixture of rage and determination. But Jiles isn’t done with his psychological warfare. He puckers his lips and blows Avalon a mocking kiss, further enraging the crowd and Avalon himself.

Nick Stuart: Jiles is playing mind games now, trying to get under Avalon’s skin!

Richard Parker: It’s working too, Nick. Look at Avalon’s face. He’s about two seconds away from losing his cool, and that’s exactly what Jiles wants.

With a flourish, Jiles looks back down at Hall, who is barely stirring on the mat. In a final act of disdain, Jiles takes his shoe and drags it slowly and deliberately across Hall’s face, the sole scraping against Hall’s skin. The crowd erupts in a cacophony of boos and jeers.

Nick Stuart: This is beyond disrespectful! Jiles is crossing every line imaginable!

Richard Parker: Oh, quit your pearl-clutching, Nick. This is PRIME, not a church picnic. Jiles is sending a message, and that message is loud and clear: he’s here to win, no matter what.

Outside the ring, Nate Colton shakes off the impact of his fall, only to realize that Ivan Stanislav is looming over him, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and cold determination. Stanislav seizes the moment, grabbing Colton by the arm and yanking him to his feet with startling force.

Nick Stuart: And now Colton and Stanislav are going at it outside the ring! This match has devolved into absolute chaos!

Richard Parker: Chaos? This is poetry in motion, Nick! Colton’s about to learn why you don’t poke the Russian Bear.

Stanislav wastes no time, tossing Colton into the barricade with a thunderous crash that reverberates through the arena. Colton winces in pain, his body contorting from the impact, but he quickly gets back to his feet, determination etched on his face. Stanislav charges at him like a freight train, but Colton, showcasing his agility, sidesteps at the last second, sending Stanislav crashing into the barricade himself.

Nick Stuart: What a move by Colton! He’s not backing down from Stanislav, showing the heart of a true champion!

Richard Parker: Heart? More like a death wish. You don’t trade blows with Stanislav unless you’ve got a good health insurance policy.

Colton, seizing his moment, takes a deep breath and charges at Stanislav, delivering a series of rapid-fire punches to the Russian Bear’s midsection. Stanislav grunts in pain but remains standing, his massive frame absorbing the blows like a steel wall. Colton then grabs Stanislav’s arm and whips him into the steel steps, the impact echoing throughout the arena like a cannon shot.

Nick Stuart: Colton is taking it right to Stanislav! This is incredible! The New Diamond is living up to his family’s legacy!

Richard Parker: Legacy? Please. The only thing Colton’s going to inherit is a world of pain. You don’t fight the Russian bear, you run from it!

Stanislav, now visibly enraged, pushes himself off the steps and lunges at Colton with the fury of a Siberian blizzard. The two men exchange fierce blows, each one more powerful than the last. Colton manages to land a solid uppercut that rocks Stanislav’s head back, but the Russian Bear counters with a headbutt that sends Colton reeling, stars exploding behind his eyes.

Nick Stuart: These two are tearing into each other! Neither one is willing to give an inch in this battle of wills!

Richard Parker: This isn’t a battle, Nick. It’s a public execution, and Colton’s playing the role of the condemned.

Back in the ring, Cancer Jiles has Jonathan-Christopher Hall back on his feet and connects with a knife-edge chop so vicious it leaves an angry red handprint on Hall’s chest. Hall winces in pain, but Jiles is relentless, unleashing a barrage of dirty tricks. An eye rake leaves Hall clutching at his face, a back rake paints red trails down Hall’s spine, and an open hand slap echoes through the arena like a gunshot.

Nick Stuart: Jiles is using every underhanded tactic in the book! This is hard to watch!

Richard Parker: Hard to watch? It’s always hard to watch Cancer do… anything!

As Jiles bounces off the ropes, he aims a knee at the back of Hall’s head, looking to put an exclamation point on his assault. But Hall, showing incredible resilience, ducks underneath it at the last second. Jiles goes sailing past him, barely able to stop his momentum before crashing into the turnbuckle. Hall seizes the opportunity and gets to his feet, his eyes burning with newfound determination.

Nick Stuart: Hall’s not done yet! He’s showing the kind of resilience that made him a former Universal Champion!

Richard Parker: Don’t get too excited, Nick. Even a broken clock is right twice a day. Hall’s just delaying the inevitable.

With a burst of energy that surprises even Jiles, Hall wraps his arms around the Greek God of Cool’s waist and, with a display of raw power, lifts him off the mat. In one fluid motion, he executes a German Suplex that sends Jiles crashing down onto the back of his skull. The impact is jarring, and Jiles’s body goes limp for a moment as he hits the canvas.

Nick Stuart: What a counter by Jonathan-Christopher Hall! That German Suplex could be a game-changer!

Richard Parker: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Hall might have actually done something right for once. Jiles didn’t see that coming at all!

Hall, breathing heavily, doesn’t let up. He gets back to his feet, pulling Jiles up by the arm. Jiles, still dazed from the suplex, offers little resistance as Hall whips him into the corner with bone-jarring force. Hall follows up with a running forearm smash that connects with Jiles’s jaw, snapping his head back like a PEZ dispenser.

Nick Stuart: Hall is on fire! He’s turning the tide in this match!

Richard Parker: This is what happens when you underestimate your opponent, Nick. Jiles is in trouble! Come on, JCH, break his neck! Make him pay for that shoe incident!

Hall grabs Jiles by the wrist and pulls him out of the corner, setting him up for another big move. The crowd is on their feet, sensing that the momentum has shifted. Hall lifts Jiles onto his shoulders, looking for a fireman’s carry slam, but Jiles, showing his cunning, rakes Hall’s eyes once more, forcing him to drop Jiles to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Jiles with another eye rake! He’ll do anything to stay in control!

Richard Parker: And Elvis Nixon is helpless — he’s lost all control of this match! It’s beautiful chaos, Nick!

Jiles, regaining his composure, quickly follows up with a sharp elbow to Hall’s temple, stunning him. He then bounces off the ropes once more, looking to capitalize on Hall’s momentary disorientation. But Hall, driven by sheer willpower and perhaps a touch of desperation, catches Jiles mid-stride and lifts him into the air, slamming him down with a spinebuster that shakes the ring and sends shockwaves through the crowd.

Nick Stuart: Hall with a devastating spinebuster! The tide of this match is turning faster than a whirlpool in a tsunami!

Richard Parker: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Hall might actually have a chance here. If he can keep this up, we might see Jiles scrambling for once!

As both men lie on the canvas, gasping for breath, the crowd’s roar reaches a fever pitch.

Hall, now with the upper hand, knows he needs to keep the pressure on Jiles if he wants to secure the victory. With a determined expression etched on his face, he pulls Jiles back to his feet, ready to deliver more punishment.

Nick Stuart: Hall’s not letting up! He knows he needs to keep this momentum going if he wants to put Jiles away!

Richard Parker: Oh, this is going to be beautiful. Come on, Hall, make Jiles regret every dirty trick he’s ever pulled!

But before Hall can capitalize, Hessian enters the ring with a thunderous roar that shakes the rafters. He yanks Hall away from Jiles with his immense strength, sending the former champion stumbling back like a rag doll. Hall’s eyes widen in shock, clearly caught off guard by the sudden intervention. Hessian, eyes blazing with an intensity that could melt steel, prepares to follow up on his attack, his fist clenching in anticipation of dealing out more punishment.

However, before Hessian can make his next move, Coral Avalon seizes the moment. With the agility of a jungle cat, Avalon springboards off the top rope, soaring through the air like a blue and gold missile. The crowd holds its collective breath as Avalon flies towards Hessian, his form a blur of motion. With the precision of a surgeon and the grace of a ballet dancer, Avalon connects with a flying forearm that lands flush against Hessian’s jaw.

The impact is immediate and devastating. Hessian’s head snaps back from the force of the blow, his massive frame staggering from the unexpected strike. He reels backward, momentarily disoriented, as Avalon lands gracefully on his feet, ready for whatever comes next.

Nick Stuart: What a move by Coral Avalon! He just took Hessian down with that incredible flying forearm! The Universal Champion is showing why he holds that title!

Richard Parker: I’m so conflicted, Nick! I wanted Hall to destroy Jiles. Hessian stopped that — and I don’t go against Hessian — but then Avalon stopped him, and I want to applaud that because I wanted to see Jiles destroyed! My brain is breaking!

Nick Stuart: Not quick enough for my liking, Richard.

Hessian shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, but Avalon is already on the offensive. The Universal Champion knows he can’t let up, not against an opponent as formidable as Hessian. With a burst of speed that belies his exhaustion, Avalon follows up with a series of rapid kicks to Hessian’s midsection, each one driving the giant back further, the sound of impact echoing through the arena.

Nick Stuart: Avalon is relentless! He’s not giving Hessian any room to recover!

Richard Parker: This is what makes Avalon the champion, Nick! He’s always one step ahead, even when he should be running for the hills!

As Hessian struggles to regain his balance, Avalon glances over at Hall, who is still recovering from being yanked away by Hessian. The two men lock eyes for a brief moment, a silent understanding passing between them. They need to work together, at least for now, to take down the towering threat of Hessian.

The crowd’s excitement reaches a fever pitch as Avalon and Hall prepare to double-team Hessian. With a nod, they both charge at the giant, delivering a double clothesline that sends Hessian over the top ropes — but in a display of inhuman athleticism, he lands on his feet like a cat.

Nick Stuart: Avalon and Hall are working together! They’re taking the fight to Hessian!

Richard Parker: And yet Hessian is still on his feet, even though he’s outside the ring! It’s like trying to fell a redwood with toothpicks!

Hall motions for Avalon to take a high-risk move to take Hessian out. Avalon — fueled by the memories of ReVival 51 and the betrayal he suffered — bounces off the ropes and is about to leap over the top rope when Hall suddenly slams his knee into Avalon’s midsection. The Universal Champion’s eyes widen in shock and pain as the air is driven from his lungs. Hall — driven by the bitter memories of Tropical Turmoil and his lost championship — then connects with a spinning clothesline that flattens Avalon onto the mat with a sickening thud.

Nick Stuart: Oh my God! Hall just turned on Avalon! The temporary alliance is shattered!

Richard Parker: That’s what you get for trusting anyone in PRIME, Nick! Hall’s finally remembered who his real enemies are!

Meanwhile, on the outside of the ring, Nate Colton and Ivan Stanislav continue their fierce brawl. Colton throws a series of punches, each one landing with a meaty thud, but Stanislav absorbs them with little effect, his massive frame like a mountain withstanding a light breeze. The Russian Bear counters with a powerful headbutt that sends Colton staggering backward, stars exploding behind his eyes.

Nick Stuart: Colton is giving it his all, but Stanislav is just too powerful! It’s like watching David take on Goliath, but Goliath is winning!

Richard Parker: Colton’s in deep trouble here, Nick. Ivan Stanislav isn’t just a force of nature, he’s a whole natural disaster rolled into one!

Stanislav doesn’t let up, wrapping his bear-like paw around Colton’s throat and hoisting him into the air like a trophy. With a roar that could wake the dead, he chokeslams Colton across the steel steps! Nate’s body rolls off the steel steps as he groans in agony, every nerve ending screaming in protest, while Stanislav watches on with a look of sadistic glee on his face.

Nick Stuart: Stanislav is absolutely dominating Colton! This isn’t looking good for Nate at all!

Richard Parker: Colton’s as dumb as a box of rocks, Nick, especially when he’s outmatched against someone like Stanislav! He should’ve stayed in his little Midwestern promotions where it was safe!

With another earth-shaking roar, Stanislav executes a brutal belly-to-belly suplex, sending Colton flying over the barricade and into the crowd. The fans scatter like frightened birds as Colton crashes down among them, writhing in pain and gasping for air.

As the chaos continues, Hessian and Kael lock eyes with one another. The two immediately begin trading blows, Kael going with reckless abandon in order to give Ivan Stanislav any leg up he can get against Hessian later in the match. Their brawl carries them around the ringside area, neither man willing to give an inch.

Nick Stuart: Stanislav just threw Colton into the crowd! This is absolute chaos! Someone needs to stop this before Colton gets seriously injured!

Richard Parker: Colton might be out of this match for good after that! Stanislav isn’t just a monster, he’s the whole monster manual come to life!

Stanislav, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent, drags Colton back to his feet, preparing to inflict even more punishment. The crowd watches in tense anticipation, aware of the brutal strength Stanislav is about to unleash. Colton, barely standing, groans in pain, his body battered and bruised from the relentless assault. Stanislav’s eyes gleam with a mix of anger and satisfaction as he grips Colton’s arm, ready to deliver another devastating move.

But before he can make his next move, a shadow looms behind him. Hessian, not wanting to be left out of the carnage, charges forward with a fierce determination that would make a charging rhino pause. With a roar that shakes the very foundations of the arena, he slams his forearm into the shoulder and neck of the Russian Bear with immense force. The impact is immediate and powerful, sending Stanislav stumbling forward, momentarily stunned by the surprise attack.

Richard Parker: Clear the fans out! We can’t have another lawsuit! I can’t lose my paycheck over these maniacs!

Nick Stuart: Security is frantically trying to make some room as Ivan and Hessian are now battling it out in the crowd! This match has completely broken down!

Stanislav’s grip on Colton loosens as he tries to regain his balance, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. Colton, seizing the brief respite like a drowning man grasping at a lifeline, drops to one knee, clutching his ribs and trying desperately to catch his breath.

Hessian, eyes blazing with an intensity that could ignite steel, doesn’t let up for a second. He follows up with a series of rapid punches to Stanislav’s midsection, each blow landing with a sickening thud that makes the nearby fans wince in sympathy. The Russian Bear grunts in pain, his massive frame absorbing the strikes but clearly feeling the impact. Hessian, capitalizing on his momentum, digs his shoulder into the midsection of the Russian Bear and drives him into a row of now vacant chairs, bending the steel into unimaginable shapes!

Nick Stuart: Hessian with a brutal attack on Stanislav! The tides are turning once again in this unpredictable match!

Richard Parker: Hessian just might be the game-changer here, Nick! Stanislav didn’t see that coming at all! It’s like watching two freight trains collide!

Hessian, not content with mere destruction of arena property, connects with an open-handed chop across the chest of Ivan Stanislav. The sound echoes throughout the arena like a crack of thunder, causing nearby fans to jump in shock. The impact is so fierce that it leaves a visible red handprint on Stanislav’s chest, and the Russian Bear winces in pain, momentarily taken aback by the sheer force of the blow. The crowd reacts with a mix of gasps and cheers, fully aware of the intensity and power behind Hessian’s strike. Stanislav stumbles back, clutching his chest, his expression one of both surprise and unbridled fury as he realizes that Hessian is not an opponent to be taken lightly.

But Ivan Stanislav, the embodiment of Russian might, is far from finished. With a look of fierce determination that could freeze hell itself, he fires off a forearm across Hessian’s chest, the impact resonating with a deep, echoing thud that sounds like a cannon blast. The Russian Bear’s eyes blaze with an intensity that could melt steel as he follows up with a massive headbutt that snaps Hessian’s head back, momentarily dazing even the Murder Show. Wasting no time, Stanislav wraps his massive hand around the throat of Hessian, his grip tightening like an anaconda constricting its prey.

With a roar that reverberates through the arena and possibly several neighboring counties, Stanislav hoists Hessian into the air, holding him aloft for a brief, suspenseful moment. The crowd watches in breathless anticipation as the Russian Bear displays his incredible strength, Hessian’s feet dangling helplessly above the ground. Then, with a thunderous force that could register on the Richter scale, Stanislav slams Hessian down onto the ringside barricade, the steel structure bending and groaning under the weight of the impact like a piece of tinfoil. Hessian’s body contorts in pain as he crashes onto the unforgiving barricade, the force of the chokeslam leaving him writhing on the barricade.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav with a devastating chokeslam onto the barricade! Hessian is in serious trouble now! I’ve never seen anything like this!

Richard Parker: That was brutal, Nick! Ivan summoned all of Russia for that one! He just turned Hessian into a human accordion!

But just when it seems the carnage can’t escalate further, Colton, showing a resilience that defies belief, charges behind Ivan like a man possessed. He connects with a running forearm strike to the back of Ivan’s neck and skull, the impact resonating through the arena. Stanislav spins around, his face a mask of unbridled fury, his eyes blazing with a rage that could set the air itself on fire. With a roar that would make a lion cower in fear, he wraps his massive hands around Colton’s waist, hoisting him high into the air as if he weighed no more than a child. The crowd gasps collectively as Stanislav displays his immense strength, holding Colton aloft for a moment that feels like an eternity.

Then, with a savage force that defies description, Stanislav drops Colton chest and stomach first onto the back of the prone Hessian, who is still lying across the ringside barricade. The impact is brutal beyond words, the combined weight of the two wrestlers causing the barricade to bend even further, threatening to snap completely. Colton’s body contorts in agony as he crashes down onto Hessian, both men writhing in pain from the devastating move.

Nick Stuart: Dear God! Stanislav just used Colton as a human weapon! Both Colton and Hessian are in serious trouble! This is beyond barbaric!

Richard Parker: That was a monstrous move by Stanislav! He’s showing no mercy out there! It’s like watching a nature documentary where the lion decides to use one gazelle to beat another gazelle to death!

Back in the ring, the action is no less intense. Jonathan-Christopher Hall, channeling all his pent-up frustration and confusion, connects with a stiff knee across the face of Coral Avalon, causing the Universal Champion to stagger backward like a punch-drunk boxer. Hall, not wasting a single precious moment, grabs Avalon by the arm and yanks him to his feet with a fierce determination that speaks to the turmoil raging within him. He drives his shoulder into Avalon’s stomach with the force of a battering ram, forcing the air out of the champion’s lungs in a painful whoosh, and pushes him forcefully into the nearby corner.

With a relentless fury that would make even the most hardened warrior pause, Hall repeatedly drives his shoulder into Avalon’s solar plexus, each impact causing the Champion to gasp for breath like a fish out of water. The crowd winces with every brutal blow, feeling the intensity of Hall’s assault. Avalon, trapped in the corner like a butterfly pinned to a board, tries desperately to cover up and protect himself, but Hall’s attacks are unyielding, driven by a cocktail of emotions that threatens to consume him.

Nick Stuart: Hall has completely snapped! He’s unleashing months of pent-up frustration on Avalon, and the Universal Champion is in serious trouble!

Richard Parker: This is what happens when you push a man too far, Nick! Hall’s finally remembered who he is, and Avalon’s paying the price! It’s beautiful, in a twisted sort of way!

Jonathan-Christopher Hall continues his assault on Coral Avalon, delivering a series of brutal shoulder thrusts into the Universal Champion’s midsection. Each impact reverberates through the arena, forcing Avalon to double over in agony, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Hall steps back for a moment, his eyes burning with a fierce determination that speaks to the inner turmoil driving him. He knows he’s got Avalon on the ropes and wants to capitalize on this advantage.

Nick Stuart: Hall is not letting up! He’s got Avalon in a world of trouble right now! The Universal Champion needs to find a way out of this, and fast!

Richard Parker: This is what Hall needs to do, Nick. He can’t give Avalon any room to breathe. It’s like watching a boa constrictor slowly squeeze the life out of its prey!

Hall charges forward once more, aiming to deliver another powerful shoulder thrust. However, Nate Colton charges into the ring, catching Hall off guard with a lightning-fast German Suplex. The impact causes Hall to divert attention from Avalon, who seizes the moment. With cat-like agility, Avalon springs off the ropes and launches himself at the dazed Hall, connecting with a picture-perfect Rhongomyniad. Avalon hooks Hall’s leg as Colton is dragged back out of the ring.

ONE!

TWO!

Hall barely manages to get his shoulder up at the last possible second.

Nick Stuart: We almost saw deja vu with Avalon pinning Hall!

Richard Parker: Emo Hall would’ve been super Emo Hall if that’d happened.

Seizing the opportunity, Avalon takes a precious moment to catch his breath before springing into action. He grabs Hall by the arm, dragging him to his feet, and whips him into the opposite corner with all his remaining strength. Hall crashes into the turnbuckle with a sickening thud, the force of the impact causing him to slump against the ropes. Avalon wastes no time, charging forward and delivering a running forearm smash that connects with Hall’s jaw, snapping his head back.

Nick Stuart: What a forearm smash by Avalon! Hall is in serious trouble now! The tide of this match is turning!

Richard Parker: Emo Hall can’t allow Avalon any kind of momentum right now. He needs to pull himself together before Avalon turns him into a human punching bag!

With the crowd rallying behind him, their cheers reaching a fever pitch, Avalon follows up with a series of rapid strikes—chops that echo through the arena, punches that could fell a lesser man, and kicks that would make a Muay Thai champion proud. Each blow lands with precision and power, driving Hall further into the corner. Avalon then hoists Hall onto the top turnbuckle, positioning him for a high-impact move that could potentially end the match.

Nick Stuart: Avalon is setting Hall up for something big! This could be it! We might be witnessing the end of this brutal contest!

Richard Parker: Hall is in a precarious position. He needs to find a way out of this, or he’s going to be nothing more than a greasy stain on the mat!

Avalon climbs the ropes, his eyes locked onto Hall with laser-like focus. With a display of athleticism that belies his exhaustion, he executes a top-rope hurricanrana, sending Hall crashing down to the mat with incredible force. The crowd erupts in a deafening roar as Avalon lands gracefully on his feet, his momentum building with each passing second.

Nick Stuart: What a hurricanrana by Avalon! Hall is down and out! This could be the turning point of the match!

Richard Parker: This could be the beginning of the end for Hall! Avalon is on fire! It’s like watching a blue and gold wrecking ball in action!

But just as Avalon seems to have gained the upper hand, Ivan Stanislav, having dealt significant damage outside the ring, begins making his way back towards the squared circle with a menacing glare that could freeze hell itself. The crowd’s reaction is a cacophony of boos and gasps as the towering Russian Bear approaches. His eyes, cold and calculating, lock onto Coral Avalon, who is momentarily distracted by his successful hurricanrana.

With the speed and ferocity of a Siberian tiger, Stanislav reaches through the ropes and grabs Avalon by the ankles, yanking him out of the ring with startling force. Avalon hits the floor hard, the impact jarring him back to reality. He quickly scrambles to his feet, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and determination as he looks up at the massive figure of Ivan Stanislav looming over him like a colossus.

The Russian Bear’s face is a mask of unbridled fury, his intentions as clear as day. He cracks his knuckles with a sound like breaking branches, preparing to unleash his wrath on Avalon.

Nick Stuart: Oh no! Stanislav has Avalon outside the ring! This is a nightmare scenario for the Universal Champion!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching a grizzly bear corner a chipmunk, Nick! Avalon better pray for a miracle, or he’s about to become Ivan’s new fur coat!

Coral Avalon, knowing he can’t face Ivan Stanislav head-on without risking immediate annihilation, begins to circle the ring with the desperation of a cornered animal. He tries to keep some distance between himself and the Russian Bear, his mind racing for a way out of this predicament. Stanislav pursues him with a determined stride, his massive frame moving with surprising agility for a man his size. Avalon darts around the ring, using the ropes and ring posts to his advantage as he tries to outmaneuver the towering Ivan.

Nick Stuart: Coral Avalon is trying to stay one step ahead of Stanislav! He knows he can’t let the Russian Bear catch him or it’s all over!

Richard Parker: I’m not quite certain how Avalon is managing to move that fast when he’s carrying a fifty-pound bowling ball on his shoulders. Maybe that massive forehead is actually filled with helium!

Avalon, seeing a brief opening, slides into the ring, hoping to use the change in terrain to his advantage. Stanislav pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he looks up at Avalon. Seizing the opportunity, Avalon sprints towards the ropes on the opposite side of the ring. He bounces off them with all his might and sprints back towards Stanislav, leaping onto the top rope and launching himself into the air like a blue and gold missile.

With a display of incredible athleticism that draws gasps from the crowd, Avalon goes for a flying forearm aimed directly at Stanislav’s head. The audience watches in breathless anticipation as Avalon soars through the air, his form perfect and his intent clear. But Stanislav, showcasing his immense strength and lightning-fast reflexes, catches Avalon in mid-air, holding him aloft with ease as if he were nothing more than a rag doll.

Nick Stuart: Avalon with a flying forearm—but Stanislav caught him! This is a disaster for Avalon!

Richard Parker: The Russian Bear’s strength is unbelievable! Avalon is in serious trouble now! Crack that massive forehead open like a coconut, Ivan!

Stanislav’s grip tightens on Avalon, his massive hands threatening to squeeze the life out of the Universal Champion. He prepares to deliver a devastating move that could potentially end Avalon’s night, and maybe his career. But before he can execute his brutal plan, Cancer Jiles, showing his opportunistic nature and living up to his reputation as the Greek God of Cool, connects with a vicious chop block to the back of Stanislav’s right knee. The impact forces Stanislav to buckle, and he drops Avalon to the mat before he can inflict any further damage.

Nick Stuart: Jiles with a chop block to Stanislav’s knee! The Russian Bear is down! I can’t believe what I’m seeing!

Richard Parker: Why would he do that?! Has Jiles lost his mind?!

Nick Stuart: Wait a minute… I think I know what’s going on here. Jiles wants Avalon in good enough shape when he faces Colton at ReVival 53!

Richard Parker: Oh. Duh. Sometimes I forget how devious Jiles can be. It’s like watching a snake slither its way through a mine field!

Coral Avalon, having narrowly escaped the clutches of Ivan Stanislav, turns his attention to Cancer Jiles. The two men lock eyes, and the tension in the arena becomes so thick you could cut it with a knife. Jiles, sensing the intensity in Avalon’s gaze, raises his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, taking slow, cautious steps backward, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

Nick Stuart: Coral Avalon and Cancer Jiles are staring each other down! You can feel the electricity in the air!

Richard Parker: Jiles is trying to back away, but Avalon isn’t letting him off the hook that easily! It’s like watching two gunslingers at high noon!

As Jiles continues to backpedal, his grin widens into a Cheshire cat smile. He knows something Avalon doesn’t, and the realization sends a chill down the spine of everyone watching. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Hessian appears at ringside, the massive form of Nate Colton held aloft in his arms. With a roar that shakes the rafters, Hessian hurls Colton’s body through the air like a human javelin.

Colton crashes into Avalon with tremendous force, sending both men sprawling to the mat in a tangle of limbs. The impact echoes through the arena, drawing gasps and cries of shock from the crowd.

Nick Stuart: Oh my God! Colton just flew into Avalon! Hessian used him like a human projectile! This is absolute carnage!

Richard Parker: I guess being a hobbyist war general does pay off after all! Hessian just took out two birds with one Colton-shaped stone! It’s beautiful, in a twisted sort of way!

Cancer Jiles, ever the opportunist, sees the prone form of Nate Colton and a sadistic grin spreads across his face. With feline grace, he slinks towards the fallen New Diamond, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jiles pounces, unleashing a flurry of vicious stomps and knee drops to Colton’s midsection.

Nick Stuart: Good God! Jiles is attacking Colton while he’s down! This is absolutely despicable!

Richard Parker: Despicable? This is brilliant strategy, Nick! Colton’s already been used as a human missile; now Jiles is making sure he stays grounded!

Jiles doesn’t let up, grabbing Colton by the hair and repeatedly slamming his head into the mat with sickening thuds. Each impact draws a collective wince from the crowd, but Jiles seems to revel in their disgust, his actions becoming more theatrical with each passing second.

Nick Stuart: Somebody needs to stop this! Colton is defenseless!

Richard Parker: Oh, quit your whining, Nick. This is PRIME, not a daycare center. If Colton can’t protect himself, maybe he should’ve stayed in the minor leagues!

As Jiles continues his assault, he pauses to blow a mocking kiss to the crowd, drawing a cascade of boos that only seems to fuel his sadistic pleasure.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the ring, Vickie Hall is becoming increasingly agitated. Her eyes dart frantically between the carnage in the ring and her husband, Jonathan-Christopher Hall, who stands motionless on the apron. She begins to gesticulate wildly, her face contorted with a mix of anger and desperation.

“Do something!” Vickie shrieks, her voice cutting through the cacophony of the arena. “Get in there and fight, JC! What are you waiting for?!”

But Jonathan-Christopher Hall remains stoic, his eyes fixed on the mayhem before him. As Vickie’s pleas grow more frantic, he turns to face her, and the look in his eyes sends a chill down her spine. It’s a look of disgust, of barely contained revulsion. Without a word, he steps down from the apron and begins to walk away, leaving Vickie stunned and speechless.

Nick Stuart: I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Hall is walking away from his wife, from his team! What’s going on here?

Richard Parker: It looks like Hall’s finally grown a spine, Nick! He’s done being Vickie’s puppet. It’s about time!

Vickie’s face crumples in disbelief as she watches her husband’s retreating form. The crowd murmurs in confusion, trying to make sense of this unexpected turn of events.

However, Hall’s attempt to exit the chaotic scene is abruptly halted as Hessian, the Murder Show himself, steps into his path. The two men lock eyes, and the tension in the air becomes palpable. Hall’s disgust quickly morphs into unbridled fury as he looks up at the towering form of Hessian.

Without warning, Hall launches himself at Hessian, unleashing a flurry of wild punches. His attacks are frenzied, fueled by months of pent-up frustration and rage. Each blow lands with a satisfying thud, but Hessian barely flinches, absorbing the strikes like a stone wall weathering a storm.

Nick Stuart: Hall has snapped! He’s attacking Hessian with everything he’s got!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching a chihuahua try to take down a grizzly bear, Nick. Admirable, but ultimately futile.

Hessian, his face a mask of cold indifference, waits for Hall to exhaust himself before making his move. With lightning speed that belies his massive size, he grabs Hall by the throat, lifting him off his feet with ease. Hall’s eyes widen in shock and fear as he finds himself dangling helplessly in Hessian’s iron grip.

Nick Stuart: Hessian’s got Hall by the throat! This could be disastrous for the former Universal Champion!

Richard Parker: Disastrous? This is justice, Nick! Hall’s about to learn why they call Hessian the Murder Show!

With a roar that shakes the rafters, Hessian slams Hall into the barricade with bone-crushing force. The impact echoes through the arena, drawing gasps from the crowd. Hall crumples to the ground, his body contorting in pain, but Hessian is far from finished.

The Murder Show grabs Hall by the hair, dragging him to his feet like a rag doll. He then whips Hall into the ring post with such force that the entire structure shudders. Hall’s head snaps back from the impact, and he staggers drunkenly, clearly disoriented.

Nick Stuart: This is brutal! Hessian is dismantling Hall piece by piece!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching a master craftsman at work, Nick. Hessian is taking Hall apart with surgical precision!

Hessian, his eyes cold and merciless, stalks towards the stumbling Hall. In one fluid motion, he scoops Hall up and hoists him high into the air, preparing for his devastating Hellevator finisher. The crowd holds its collective breath, knowing the destruction that’s about to unfold.

Nick Stuart: Oh no! Hessian’s going for the Hellevator! This could end Hall’s career!

Richard Parker: End his career? Nick, this might end his life! I hope Hall’s got good insurance!

With a thunderous roar, Hessian brings Hall crashing down onto the unforgiving concrete floor. The impact is so severe that it seems to shake the entire arena. Hall lies motionless, his body twisted at an unnatural angle, while Hessian stands over him, a towering monument to destruction.

Nick Stuart: My God! Hall might be seriously injured! Someone needs to check on him!

Richard Parker: Check on him? You might want to call the coroner, Nick. Hessian just turned Hall into a human accordion!

As medical staff rush to attend to the fallen Hall, Hessian turns his attention back to the ring, his appetite for destruction far from satisfied.

As the dust settles from Hessian’s devastating assault on Jonathan-Christopher Hall, the focus shifts back to the ring where Coral Avalon is slowly staggering to his feet. The Universal Champion shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, but he has little time to recover. Ivan Stanislav, the Russian Bear, is already advancing on him with murderous intent in his eyes.

Nick Stuart: Avalon’s barely on his feet, and now he’s face to face with Ivan Stanislav! This could be disastrous for the Universal Champion!

Richard Parker: Disastrous? It’s like watching a blue and gold lamb being led to slaughter, Nick! Stanislav is going to turn Avalon into borscht!

Stanislav wastes no time, launching into a vicious assault on Avalon. His massive fists rain down on the champion like sledgehammers, each blow threatening to end the match then and there. But Avalon, showcasing the resilience that’s made him champion, refuses to go down without a fight. He ducks under one of Stanislav’s wild swings and counters with a series of rapid-fire European uppercuts, each one landing with pinpoint precision.

Nick Stuart: Avalon’s fighting back! He’s giving everything he’s got against Stanislav!

Richard Parker: It’s admirable, Nick, but it’s like watching a man try to punch through a brick wall. Sooner or later, that wall’s going to fall on him!

Stanislav, momentarily stunned by Avalon’s counterattack, takes a step back and then charges forward like a freight train, aiming to crush Avalon with his signature Iron Curtain clothesline. The crowd holds its collective breath as Stanislav’s massive arm swings towards Avalon’s head.

But in a display of ring awareness that speaks to his champion’s instincts, Avalon ducks at the last possible second. In one fluid motion, he grabs Stanislav’s arm and uses the Russian Bear’s own momentum to flip him over his shoulder, seamlessly transitioning into the Vortigern’s Pillory omoplata armbar!

Nick Stuart: Avalon countered the Iron Curtain into Vortigern’s Pillory! This is incredible!

Richard Parker: I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Avalon just used Stanislav’s strength against him! It’s like watching David take down Goliath with a judo flip!

Stanislav roars in pain and fury as Avalon wrenches back on the hold, threatening to tear the Russian Bear’s shoulder from its socket. But before Avalon can fully capitalize on his advantage, a commotion on the other side of the ring draws everyone’s attention.

Nate Colton, his face a mask of determination and pain, has managed to pull himself to his feet. He clutches his ribs, still feeling the effects of being used as a human projectile earlier in the match. His eyes lock onto Cancer Jiles, who’s busy taunting the crowd, and a fire ignites in Colton’s gaze.

Nick Stuart: Look at this! Nate Colton is back on his feet, and he’s got Cancer Jiles in his sights!

Richard Parker: Oh, this should be good. Colton looks like he’s about two seconds away from collapsing, and he wants to take on the Greek God of Cool? It’s like watching a three-legged dog try to chase a Porsche!

Colton charges at Jiles with a burst of speed that belies his battered state. Jiles turns just in time to see Colton bearing down on him, his eyes widening in surprise. Before the self-proclaimed coolest man in PRIME can react, Colton connects with a thunderous clothesline that nearly takes Jiles’ head off.

Nick Stuart: What a clothesline by Colton! Jiles never saw it coming!

Richard Parker: I guess Colton’s got more fight left in him than I thought. But let’s see how long he can keep this up before his body gives out on him.

Jiles staggers back, clearly dazed by the impact, but Colton doesn’t let up. He follows up with a series of rapid-fire punches to Jiles’ midsection, each one drawing a pained grunt from the Greek God of Cool. Colton then grabs Jiles by the arm and whips him into the ropes. As Jiles rebounds, Colton catches him with a picture-perfect dropkick that sends Jiles crashing to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Colton is on fire! He’s taking it to Jiles with everything he’s got!

Richard Parker: I’ve got to hand it to the kid, he’s got heart. But heart doesn’t win matches in PRIME, Nick. Sooner or later, Jiles is going to find an opening, and then it’s lights out for Colton.

But Colton is far from finished. With Jiles struggling to get back to his feet, Colton seizes the moment. He grabs Jiles and hoists him up for his signature move, the exploder suplex. With a display of strength that draws gasps from the crowd, Colton launches Jiles across the ring, the impact of his landing shaking the entire structure.

Nick Stuart: Exploder suplex by Colton! Jiles is in trouble now!

Richard Parker: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Colton might actually have a chance here. Who knew the kid had it in him?

As Jiles struggles to his feet, dazed from the exploder suplex, Colton seizes the opportunity. With a burst of strength, he wraps his arms around Jiles’ waist and executes a picture-perfect German Suplex, bridging for the pin. The referee’s hand slaps the mat once… twice… but before the third count, Jiles manages to kick out.

Jiles rolls across the mat, clearly feeling the effects of Colton’s assault. But Colton, knowing he can’t let up now, quickly follows up. He grabs Jiles by the hair, ignoring Nixon’s admonitions, and drags him to his feet. With a look of grim determination, Colton sets Jiles up for his finishing move, the Colton Clutch Suplex.

Nick Stuart: Colton’s going for the Colton Clutch Suplex! This could be it!

Richard Parker: If he hits this, it’s all over for Jiles! I can’t believe I’m about to see the Greek God of Cool get pinned by the New Diamond!

With a roar of effort that seems to draw strength from the very foundations of the arena, Colton executes the Colton Clutch Suplex with picture-perfect form. Jiles’ body arcs through the air before crashing down onto the mat with a thunderous impact that draws a collective gasp from the crowd.

Colton quickly hooks Jiles’ leg, and the referee drops down to make the count.

ONE!

TWO!

But before the referee’s hand can come down for the three count, a massive shadow falls across the ring. Hessian, moving with a speed that belies his enormous size, slides into the ring and breaks up the pin with a thunderous elbow drop to Colton’s back.

Nick Stuart: No! Hessian just broke up the pin! Colton was this close to victory!

Richard Parker: Did you really think it was going to be that easy, Nick? This is PRIME, not some backyard wrestling federation. Hessian just reminded everyone why he’s called the Murder Show!

Colton rolls away, clutching his back in agony, while Jiles lies motionless on the mat, saved by the bell—or in this case, by the Hessian.

As the chaos in the ring continues to unfold, Coral Avalon releases his hold on Ivan — determined to help his partner — but the paw of Stanislav wraps itself around Avalon. The Russian Bear’s eyes burn with a fury that could melt steel, while Avalon tries to break free.

Nick Stuart: Stanislav halting Avalon’s progress! Avalon desperately trying to break free.

Richard Parker: Avalon better have a slingshot hidden in those trunks to take out Stanislav!

Stanislav, rising to his feet, charges forward, his massive frame moving with surprising speed. He aims a clothesline that could decapitate a lesser man, but Avalon ducks under it with cat-like reflexes. As Stanislav turns, momentarily off-balance, Avalon seizes his opportunity.

With a burst of speed that draws gasps from the crowd, Avalon charges forward. He leaps into the air, his body twisting with balletic grace, and connects with a devastating Rhongomyniad kick right to Stanislav’s jaw. The impact echoes through the arena like a thunderclap.

Nick Stuart: Rhongomyniad! Avalon just planted Stanislav with that incredible kick!

Richard Parker: I can’t believe it! Avalon just kicked Stanislav so hard, I think I saw some of his teeth fly into the third row!

Stanislav staggers backward, his eyes glazed over, clearly stunned by the force of the blow. For a moment, it seems as if the Russian Bear might topple over, but he manages to stay on his feet through sheer force of will. Avalon, needing Stanislav out of the way, prepares to follow up on his attack.

However, before he can capitalize on his advantage, chaos erupts on the other side of the ring. With a roar that shakes the rafters, Hessian charges at Colton. The New Diamond barely has time to turn before Hessian connects with a bone-crushing Hess Express, his massive body slamming into Colton with the force of a runaway freight train. The impact sends Colton flying across the ring, his body crumpling as he hits the mat.

Nick Stuart: Dear God! Hessian just flattened Colton with the Hess Express!

Richard Parker: It’s like watching a wrecking ball hit a house of cards, Nick! Colton might need to be scraped off the mat after that one!

But Hessian isn’t done yet. With a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth, he stalks towards the fallen Colton. In one fluid motion, he scoops up Colton’s limp form and hoists him high into the air, preparing for his devastating finisher.

Nick Stuart: No, no, no! Hessian’s going for the Hellevator! This could end Colton’s career!

Richard Parker: End his career? Nick, this might end his life! I hope Colton’s got good insurance!

With a thunderous roar, Hessian brings Colton crashing down with the Hellevator. The impact is so severe that it seems to shake the entire arena. Colton lies motionless, his body twisted at an unnatural angle, while Hessian stands over him, a towering monument to destruction.

As the crowd reels from the brutality they’ve just witnessed, Hessian turns his attention to his partner, Cancer Jiles. The Greek God of Cool is still out cold from Colton’s earlier assault, sprawled out on the mat like a discarded rag doll. With a calculating glint in his eye, Hessian drags Jiles’ unconscious form over to Colton, laying him across the New Diamond’s chest.

Nick Stuart: What’s Hessian doing? He’s… he’s putting Jiles on top of Colton!

Richard Parker: It’s brilliant, Nick! Hessian’s making sure his team gets the win, even if Jiles is out cold! He knows who butters his bread!

Suddenly, Coral Avalon, having finally shaken off Stanislav, realizes what’s happening. With a burst of desperate energy, he charges across the ring, determined to break up the pin. But Hessian is ready for him.

As Avalon reaches them, Hessian whirls around with surprising agility for a man his size. He wraps his massive arms around Avalon’s body, trapping the Universal Champion in a bear hug that threatens to squeeze the life out of him. Avalon struggles fiercely, but he’s caught fast in Hessian’s iron grip.

Nick Stuart: Avalon’s trapped! He can’t break free from Hessian’s hold!

Richard Parker: Avalon is trying to fight free, but it seems like Hessian is simply trying to keep Avalon at bay instead of hurting him.

As Avalon writhes in Hessian’s grasp, unable to break free, referee Elvis Nixon drops to the mat and begins the count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Hessian releases Avalon, who collapses to the mat, gasping for air. The Murder Show stands tall over the fallen bodies of his opponents, a look of cold satisfaction on his face.

Vince Howard: Your winners… CANCER JILES! AND! HESSIAN!

Nick Stuart: It’s over! Hessian and Cancer Jiles have won the match!

Richard Parker: What a finish! Hessian secured the victory for his team!

Hessian reaches down and pulls Cancer Jiles to his feet, who is out of it. Beneath them lie Nate Colton and Coral Avalon — and outside of the ring are Ivan Stanislav and Jonathan-Christopher Hall.

Nick Stuart: Words cannot describe… any of this. Each and every person looks absolutely spent and bodies are sprawled everywhere.

Richard Parker: I don’t know. The Murder Show looks like he’s on top of the world.

Nick Stuart: Well, true. Still, this is not the night that Coral Avalon, Nate Colton, Ivan Stanislav, or Jonathan-Christopher Hall had envisioned.

Richard Parker: I hate to say it, but Cancer Jiles is looking like the smartest person in the room right now.

Nick Stuart: He looks half dead!

Richard Parker: Half dead and victorious.

Nick Stuart: …fair.

As the crowd looks on, they are stunned by the events they have seen. Vickie Hall is lying over her husband as medical crews help him to his feet. Ivan leans against the ringside barricade — nursing a litany of bruises to his face and arms.

Nate Colton slowly starts coming to after being hit by the 1-2 punch of the Hess Express and the Hellevator. Coral Avalon sits in the corner, looking at two men he once considered allies and past them, the man he will face at ReVival 53.

Hessian looks like a monster among men.

And Cancer Jiles has a half-cocked smile that says it all… his plan has worked to perfection.

Nick Stuart: For my partner Richard Parker, I’m Nick Stuart saying thank you and good night! We’ll see you in two weeks time for ReVival 53!

FADE.

TO.

BLACK.