ReVival 53

GOLDEN 1 CENTER
SACRAMENTO, CA

EARLIER TODAY

The feed starts with a shot of the staff entrance. A little piece of sanctuary for the PRIME roster and staff, where they can enter the building without being hounded by fans looking for an autograph…or ring ra–excuse me, courtesans, trying to give their phone number to Enemigo IX.

We’ll figure out his secret someday.

Anyway. We’re out here recording for a reason, and that reason is pulling up to the building right about…now.

A car arrives; pulling neatly into one of the available parking spaces. It’s a gray SUV; no point in mentioning the make or model because they all look the same. The driver’s door opens, and a man steps out.

Who would drive such a basic bitch car, even as a rental? Why, it’s the basic bitch himself, Nate Colton!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”

…goes the live crowd as they watch along with us.

The New Diamond grabs a large bag from the back of the vehicle. He throws the strap over his shoulder, and after closing the hatch and locking the doors, he walks toward the arena.

For someone about to face the biggest challenge of his career, Nate Colton looks remarkably collected. No outward signs of nerves, anxiety, or any kind of negativity at all.

Until suddenly, there’s a lot of signs.

Nate Colton: What the actual hell is this?

As the camera turns to show what Colton is staring at we see The Red Army blocking entry via the rear doorway. Ivan Stanislav stands at the forefront, clad in his dazzling crimson uniform and myriad of medals, Alexei Ruslan, who has been absent since ReVival 51, stands at Ivan’s right. He has a bright scarlet neck collar on and a scowl that could freeze blood. Kenny Freeman crosses his arms and stands to the left of Ivan, nibbling his lower lip. Randall Schwartz and Speedy Riggs loiter along the wall, but watch carefully. Max Kael is conspicuously absent.

Stanislav wears a customary Russian glare, but he suddenly spreads his arms and transforms his frown into a smile.

Ivan Stanislav: Comrade Colton!!

With a flourish, Speedy Riggs pulls a red and yellow letterman jacket (complete with hammer and sickle on the breast and COLTON on the back) from behind him and snaps it into view. He grins and approaches Nate from the side. Ruslan looks about to burst with rage while Ivan and the rest continue to stand in Nate’s way.

Ivan Stanislav: We have something for you! Honorary member of Red Army for one night only! You have nothing to fear tonight, Nate! We will be protecting you. No Banditry. No underhandedness. Not a hair on your head shall be harmed while you prepare for this important Universal Title match!! DYAAHAAHAA!!

Nate Colton: I gotta deal with your bullshit now? Can’t even wait–get away from me–until I get in the building?

The brief interjection is directed toward Speedy, who may or may not be trying to work out the logistics of removing Nate’s signature blue ring jacket without the New Diamond noticing. It takes just a jerk of Colton’s arms to send Speedy twisting on his heel, 180 degrees, and move back towards the wall. Ivan watches and lifts a brow, before clearing his throat, still not moving.

Ivan Stanislav: The Red Army will be escorting you to your special room, Colton. At least one of us will be watching the door at all times. You are Russia’s favorite son tonight, dear boy. Millions of her sons and daughters are counting on your victory tonight.

In the light of this thrilling development, Nate looks…less than thrilled. Downright agitated, even. He takes a deep breath, ready to give Ivan a piece of his mind…but thinks better of it.

Nate Colton: Good for them.

He says it through gritted teeth, so you can tell he means it.

Nate Colton: I’ll pass on the escort and the “special room” though. Don’t even want to think about what you’ve got going on in there.

Ivan grits his teeth, clearly his rage is bubbling beneath his “friendly” smile and he forces it back down. He clears his throat. Ruslan balls up his fists and bites his lower lip, but otherwise remains silent. Stanislav speaks through his teeth.

Ivan Stanislav: I… am doing everything I can, Colton, to make your evening successful. Now, we are going to walk with you to your room, and make sure no superkicks emerge out of nowhere…

Alexei Ruslan mutters.

Alexei Ruslan: Мы должны устранить этого крысиного ублюдка и покончить с этим, Иван. (We need to eliminate this rat bastard and be done with it, Ivan.)

Ivan ignores Alexei and turns slightly. He spreads one broad arm towards the door while Freeman parts in the opposite direction.

Ivan Stanislav: Lead the way… son.

Stanislav doesn’t take his eyes off of Colton while he boils.

Nate Colton: Knock it off already. The whole world knows what you’re up to; you couldn’t have made it more obvious if you wrote it across the side of the goddamn building.

Randall Schwartz turns and gives the side of the building a good, long calculating look.

Nate Colton: Get this through your thick skull, Ivan. I know you like to think you’re the only person who actually matters around here. But this night, this match…is not about you. In fact, most things aren’t about you, but especially tonight. I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. So pack up your toy soldiers and leave me the hell alone.

Alexei and Kenny, who still flank Stanislav for the most part, spread out a bit more, widening what could be a man-made net of painful communism. Riggs and Schwarts, farther back by the building, also move outward a bit, but Ivan remains in the center. He points an enormous, calloused finger down at Colton’s face.

Ivan Stanislav: Now you listen to me, Colton. You might not want our help. You might think you do not need our help. Whether you want to admit it or not, you are outmanned against the Bandits, and they will stop at nothing to squelch your young, ambitious dream! Dispense with your moral high ground. You are going to be protected one way or the other, and you cannot stop us.

Nate Colton: Yeah, about that.

As if on cue…

“HURTS SO GOOD! COME ON BABY, MAKE IT HURT SO GOOD!”

A voice pierces the tension like an air raid siren, as another vehicle roars into view and screeches to a halt right next to Nate’s rental. It’s actually pretty good.

“SOMETIMES LOVE DON’T FEEL LIKE IT SHOULD, YOU MAKE IT…HURT SO GOOD!”

The doors open, and a trio of maniacs pile out of the car. Yes, it’s the rest of this generation of Coltons–brother Benjamin, sister Jennifer, and cousin Dennis.

Jennifer/Dennis: Hurt so good! Come on baby, make it hurt so good!

Those two are…not as good as Benny.

Benjamin Colton: Last one to the door’s from Illinois!

They all bolt away from the car, though Jenny’s first step is on the back of Benny’s shoe.

Benjamin Colton: You shitty…shit!

Jennifer Colton: Hahahaha! Flat tire, bitch!

As they close the distance between their parking lot and the mob at the door, Nate smirks at the Russian Bear. In short order, the New Diamond is flanked by a veritable rainbow of Colton jackets.

Jennifer Colton: We didn’t show up at the Dork Entrance by mistake, did we?

Dennis Colton: There’s no such thing.

Jennifer Colton: Then how do you explain all these dorks?

Benjamin Colton: Hey, what gives with that new jacket? Red is my color!

Dashboard

Stanislav grinds his teeth and balls his huge hands into fists while Riggs hides the jacket behind his back.

Ivan Stanislav: …I should have known…

Alexei Ruslan: I hate when Coltons multiply…

Stanislav booms over the din of the Coltons, pointing at each of them in turn.

Ivan Stanislav: Now listen up all of you. Your brother is in good hands. I will stop at nothing to ensure his safety and victory this evening. So each and every one of you rugrats can go home!!

Nate Colton: See, that’s the problem. I know damn well that you’ll “stop at nothing.” Seems like you’ve got some trouble respecting people’s boundaries.

Dennis Colton: A lot like your boy Vladdy Poots.

Nate Colton: So it’s pretty clear that you’re only “watching my back” so you can look for the best place to stick the knife. Pretty clear I can’t trust you or any of your idiots, so I don’t want you involved. Now, these idiots? Them, I trust.

Ivan spreads his arms and leans forward, his huge head looming down towards Nate. His wide mouth twists into a sadistic grin that bares his teeth, slightly hidden beneath the haggard strands of his salt and pepper beard.

Ivan Stanislav: You are right, Nate, you cannot trust me. What, you think this is not professional wrestling? You want to join some patty-cake club where everyone plays nice? I have news for you…

Cut to Kenny Freeman for just a moment. Close up shot to the camera.

Kenny Freeman: Speaking of news, be sure to tune in to the Red Manifesto!

Back to Ivan and more serious matters.

Ivan Stanislav: …that is not where you are. Now, you can whine, and moan, and complain about the circumstances all you like. Believe me, Ivan does not want his star hitched to your all-American wagon, but here we are. I would rather rip your bloody head off and break it between my fingers, and then liquidate every one of your wretched siblings! I would rather ALLOW Cancer Jiles to knock your smug face into the rest of your skull, but here we are.

Ivan grits his teeth and straightens his back, it looks like he’s channeling every atom of his being not to completely freaking lose it. Yet, he steps off to the side and motions to the entrance, he begins shaking with rage, shackled by the fact that he needs Nate Colton in one piece, and in doing so, his words grow from a growl into a roar.

Ivan Stanislav: So, without any more prattle from any of you, consider your insistence that the Red Army step down under consideration. And now denied. Now, if you want to go to your dressing room, and turn it into some party animal’s discotech, by all means. But other than that, there’s not a DAMNED THING YOU CAN DO ABOUT WHAT MY RED ARMY DOES!!!!

Nate Colton: There’s one thing.

And with that, the New Diamond unshoulders his bag and lets it fall to the pavement. Jennifer and Dennis, sensing the shift in Nate’s tone, hold up their fists and prepare for battle.

Benjamin Colton: Oh shit, are we fighting? Let me fix my shoe first!

Jennifer Colton: Group your poop, Alexa.

Nate Colton: Your call, Ivan. How’s this gonna go down?

The rest of The Red Army bristles. Alexei immediately has his baton in his hand. Kenny squares up and after a moment, Randall drags his eyes away from his building (yes, he was still staring at it) and blinks, mouthing “oh” and prepares himself. Even Speedy sighs and folds up the jacket. Ivan narrows his eyes.

A tumbleweed, one of those Sacramento types, blows between the Coltons and the Communists.

Ivan smiles and finally nods his head, motioning for everyone on his side to stand down. His eyes don’t once leave Nate’s.

Ivan Stanislav: Have it your way, Nate. You earned the shot. You make it a family affair. Do not let me down.

Nate reaches down and grabs the handles of his bag–likewise, never taking his eyes off of the Russian Bear–and stands back up.

Nate Colton: I never let down the people who matter.

WIthout another word or a backwards glance, the New Diamond walks through the entrance and toward his destiny, whatever it may be. Jenny follows, throwing up a finger toward Alexei as she does. Finally the Lads, who make sure the Masters of the Moscowverse know what’s up.

Benjamin Colton: Kennall.

Dennis Colton: Randeth.

Ivan crosses his arms over his broad chest and turns to watch them leave. Ruslan pockets his baton and slides up next to Ivan.

Alexei Ruslan: Well? What now?

Ivan narrows an eye as the door to the Golden 1 Center closes behind the Coltons.

Ivan Stanislav: Keep an eye on them.

Ivan nods.

Ivan Stanislav: All of them.

With that, the Red Army files into the Sacramento Center. Randall waits near the door and, as Ivan enters, he asks.

Randall Schwartz: Hey Ivan, where’s Max?

Ivan shrugs and enters, while Randall pulls up the rear, the door shutting behind them.

.

.

.

Just as everyone has left Max Kael comes rushing into frame, red faced and panting. Leaning forward he rests his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. He looks at the Staff Entrance and then around his surroundings noticing that no one seems to be here.

Max Kael: I mi-

We cut away as ReVival 53 begins.

https://prime-wrestling.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/08/ReV53-Commercial.mp4

Nick Stuart: Welcome to ReVival 53! We’re in gorgeous Sacramento, California, and we have three amazing title matches tonight, including Coral Avalon defending the Universal Title against Nate Colton! But first we have PRIME newcomer John Obvious taking on Chip Trager!

Before that…

SIGNS!

I HAVEN’T SEEN A SINGLE PERSON SAY “YOU’RE IT” THIS WHOLE TAG LEAGUE
HEY FRED YOU CAN USE MY BATHROOM, PAXTON DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO OPERATE A SMARTLOCK
FLAMBO AND YOUNGBLOOD FAILED THEIR PERCEPTION ROLLS IN SAN FRANCISCO
IF COLTON WINS WE RIOT
NOT THE FIRST TIME DAYTONA HAS DEALT WITH SNOW
REAL MEN WEAR COWBOY HATS AND HAVE FIFTY ILLEGITIMATE CHILDREN AND BEAT THE SHIT OUTTA JASON SNOW LETS GO DAYTONA YEEHAW REVIVAL FIDDY TREE
DON’T LET DAYTONA DIAMONDS DO LINES WITH JASON SNOW! THAT’S NOT HOW IT WORKS!
IF FLAMBO JOINED THE BANDITS, WOULD HE BE A FABERGE EGG?
FINALLY, A KING BRINGS THE TITLE TO SACRAMENTO
AVALON’S FOREHEAD IS TOO BIG TO FAIL

A quick and abrasive “DUH!” fires out over the PA before the opening chords to the Bad Company classic “Feel Like Makin’ Love” play through the arena along with an obnoxious and ill fitting amount of pyro for the tone of the theme.

“Baby, when I think about you
I think about love
Darlin’, don’t live without you
And your love”

Stepping out underneath a tron with his chosen surname displayed in Vegas inspired neon, John Obvious reaches center stage, smiling ear to ear with hands out to either side to signal showtime.

“If I had those golden dreams
Of my yesterday (yesterday)
I would wrap you in the heaven
‘Til I’m dyin’ (dyin’, dyin’)
On the way”

With the bridge underway, John moseys on down the ramp with a pointer finger out for a waiting mouth or not so waiting sniffer, depending on the gender of the fan he’s interacting with. He’s quick to roll into the ring and take to the turnbuckle just in time for the chorus.

“Feel like makin’
Feel like makin’ love
Feel like makin’ love
Feel like makin’ love
Feel like makin’ love to you”

He shoots multiple poses and bicep flexes with the emphasis of each line before hoping down and taking to his corner, spouting bullshit as he leans back.

After a few moments, “R.O.C.K. in the U.S.A.” by John Cougar Mellancamp plays and Chip Trager arrives under the PRIMEView. He runs down, smiling and waving, before entering the ring and looking at his opponent with determination.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: All right, here we go, starting off what will prove to be an incredible night of wrestling. John Obvious walks forward, all business, and sends a stiff shot to Chip’s face!

Richard Parker: While Captain Obvious has a silly name, I think I’m going to like him if this is what he has to offer.

Chip looks around as the crowd anticipates his response. After a moment, he delivers his own chop to Obvious’s chest, which gets a cheer.

Nick Stuart: Chip Trager isn’t backing down! He’s ready for a fight!

John takes a few steps back, smiles, then rushes forward with a huge lariat, knocking Trager to the ground.

Richard Parker: Well he’s got one!

Trager hits the canvas hard, holding his head, and Obvious wastes little time pressing his advantage. He bends over the younger man and starts to deliver punches to his face.

Nick Stuart: Chip Trager, coming off a loss to Sage Pontiff on the last show, giving up twenty years and nearly fifty pounds to newcomer John Obvious. It’ll be a tough climb.

Obvious continues his brutal assault, then stands up and opens his arms wide, causing the fans to boo. They don’t know much about him, but they do know that when a larger man beats up a smaller man and brags about it, they need to boo with all their might.

Richard Parker: I was right, I like him.

Nick Stuart: Of course you do.

Richard Parker: Don’t blame me, Nick. Blame the higher powers that made me this way.

Nick Stuart: You’re blaming God?

Richard Parker: No, the other higher powers. They know who they are.

Obvious returns to Trager, who is fighting to his feet. Obvious overpowers him and lifts him up in a vertical suplex. But instead of falling, he stands there and holds him.

Nick Stuart: What strength from Obvious!

Chip kicks his legs as Obvious turns, yelling at the crowd, before dumping Trager behind him. The young man lands in a heap, and Obvious smirks and applies the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Chip kicks out, shaking his head as he does so.

Nick Stuart: As I said before, Chip had a tough loss against Sage Pontiff last ReVival, and he’s looking to prove himself, prove that he belongs, but John Obvious is trying to do the same thing!

Richard Parker: And I think you can argue he’s doing a better job so far! Unless you think getting hurt and moaning in pain are good things, in which case I’d like to see your internet history.

Obvious lifts Chip up and guides him to the corner, then starts assaulting him with boxing hooks in the corner. As Trager slumps, Obvious grabs his arm and slings him with all his might into the opposite side.

Nick Stuart: John Obvious is 6’2, 235, a large man, maybe not the biggest man in PRIME but definitely has a remarkable size advantage over Chip Trager that he’s using right now.

Obvious runs into the corner for a splash, but Trager moves out of the way, sending Obvious to crash against the turnbuckle pad. Before he can recover, Chip begins to bang Obvious’s head into the turnbuckle – once, then twice, then several times before Jimmy Turnbull comes in to separate them.

Nick Stuart: Chip moved, and now he’s turning the tides!

As Chip waits for Turnbull to check on Obvious, the bigger man tries to sneak a low blow mule kick past the ref, but Chip dodges and grabs his leg, then takes him over with a dragon screw.

But he doesn’t let go of the leg. Instead, he sends an elbow drop into the knee and uses his elbow to press Obvious’s knee further into the ground.

Nick Stuart: Chip likes to wrestle an old school style, more interested in inflicting damage than exciting the crowd.

Richard Parker: Is that why my eyes are glazing over?

Nick Stuart: No, your eyes are glazing over because you ate three servings of ribs from catering before the show.

Richard Parker: You know what they say, when in Sacramento!

Nick Stuart: …what?

Richard Parker: Everyone knows Sacramento is the King of Ribs. That’s why their basketball team is called the Sacramento Kings. It’s actually short for the Sacramento King of Ribs.

Nick Stuart: …what?

Obvious tries to escape, then notices he is close by the ropes. He hangs his arm around it and Turnbull immediately reacts, breaking the hold. As Trager releases, Obvious turns and flings his other foot at Trager, tripping his feet out from under him. He stands up and hits a standing senton flip, then covers him.

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: Another kickout from Chip Trager. He’s showing a lot of resiliency so far.

Richard Parker: What about John Obvious showing a lot? He’s the one kicking ass. Like the ancient philosopher Shawn Carter said, I respect the shooter.

John Obvious again tries to deliver punishment to Trager in the form of a leaping knee drop, but Trager rolls out of the way and gets back to his feet, then grabs Obvious and hits a Russian Leg Sweep. Obvious gets up and Trager immediately scoops him up and body slams him down.

Nick Stuart: What strength from Trager, slamming a man 45 pounds heavier! Now Trager with the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

Obvious kicks out. As he sits up, Trager gets behind him and wraps him up in a headlock. Obvious struggles, but Trager has it locked in tight.

Nick Stuart: Smart move from Trager, who looks more aggressive than he did against Sage Pontiff.

Richard Parker: That’s probably because Obvious doesn’t stink as much as Pontiff.

Nick Stuart: Are you serious?

Richard Parker: Deadly. We sit ringside, Nick, and I can taste the patchouli and swamp ass when Sage is in the ring.

Obvious is scooting on his butt to try and move. It’s a slow process, but since he has the strength advantage, he is making incremental progress. He gets to the ropes and puts his feet on them. Turnbull gets down to his knees to tell Trager to break the hold, but as he does Obvious continues to walk up the ropes. Chip is forced to stand as a result, then falls backwards as Obvious lands on him. Turnbull sees Chip’s shoulders are down and leaps on the count.

ONE!

TWO!

THR…

Nick Stuart: Chip gets the shoulder up! And John Obvious is giving Chip Trager everything he can handle!

Richard Parker: The newcomer is really showing us something here.

Obvious looks a little miffed that Chip kicked out, but he changes that frustration to determination. He does the universal throat cut motion, then lifts Chip up and tucks his head under his arm.

Nick Stuart: My notes here say he likes to finish opponents off with his version of a brainbuster, could that be what he’s looking for here?

Richard Parker: He better be careful, that move has paralyzed people in this very fed!

He lifts Trager up and holds him, much like he did earlier in the match. And like before, Chip kicks his legs. This time, though, he has enough momentum to put himself back down. He then stands up, sending Obvious over his shoulders.

Nick Stuart: Trager with the reversal!

Chip, quick as a flash, runs over and grabs the leg, and without any flair or showmanship applies a figure four leg lock. As soon as it’s locked in, Obvious begins screaming.

Richard Parker: Middle of the ring, nowhere to go!

Obvious rights, scratches, claws, but he can’t hold out forever, and he taps.

DING DING DING!

Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER…CHIP! TRAAAAAAAAAAAAGER!

Nick Stuart: Well, John Obvious gave Chip a tough match, but Trager was able to overcome and pick up his first win in PRIME!

Richard Parker: Good analysis, Captain Obv…

Nick Stuart: And let’s cut to commercial.

..PREVIOUSLY..

Commissar Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, Junior Officers Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz are seen standing on a podium just outside the Kremlin in Moscow. It’s snowing in August because Mother Russia doesn’t believe in Global Warming. Rows of Russian soldiers in full dress are lined up around the stage.

The gathered crowd is cheering, excited to know when Ivan Stanislav is going to show up.

They will be going home disappointed.

Prancing up the stairs comes the Herald with a pillow on which rests three medals. Loud, powerful Soviet era music blasts over the speakers as blocks of soldiers turn and salute the stage.

It’s like a Communist version of the Throne Room scene at the end of A New Hope. Only this is Russia so Randall, clearly the Chewbacca of this group, also receives a medal. I guess that makes Kenny Han Solo and Max, Han Solo+ cause nobody wants to be that pussy, Luke Skywalker.

–

Max Kael: Yes, I’ll have the soup.

Server: Excellent choice, sir.

The server collects the menu and moves away from the table. Max sighs, picking up the rolled napkin containing silverware. He carefully lays out his utensils before tucking the napkin into the collar of his uniform.

He is suddenly hit with a running Knee Driver to the back of his head by a tall, powerfully built, handsome Japanese man. Max is sent crashing through the table he is seated, wood, glass and silverware exploding in all directions. His body goes limp in the wreckage.

Soup was a bad choice, it seems.

–

Max picks up a bazooka and aims it out of the office building window next to him.

Max Kael: And you’re sure this is our target?

Across the room the Herald nods enthusiastically .

The Herald: Oh yeah, definitely! The instructions were very clear.

Shrugging, Max looks back down the sight of the bazooka to the old woman on the porch of his apartment building smoking pipe while reading a newspaper.

Max Kael: Buh-bye, Mrs. Krotechzora. Someone should have been nicer to Lil’Boris in second grade..

The Herald: FIRE ZE MISSILE!

There is a bright flash of light before the rocket propelled grenade launches from the bazooka, hurling toward its intended target.

Max Kael: I gotta say, the Russian version of the Make-a-Wish foundation is a lot more fun!

THE RED MANIFESTO

We cut to the Red Manifesto stage where the News Babushka is seated at her ancient radio communications desk. She flashes a toothless smile toward the camera.

NEWS Babushka: Welcome to the RED MANIFESTO, please stand by for Commissar Maximillian Wilhelm Kael!

Soviet March Trap Remix by FEARSTbeats – Xorow plays as Max rides his golden elevator down from the giant Lenin head. He’s in his Red Army drip including crimson uniform and chest full of medals. He dances down the elevator and across the shiny blood red floor where a microphone stand awaits him.

Max Kael: Worms of PRIME, it is I, Commissar Maximillian Wilhelm Kael of the Red Army coming to you LIVE from Kaelingrad!

Canned laughter fills the red stage as Max waves at a crowd that isn’t there. As the cheering dies down, Max continues.

Max Kael: As you can see from the shiny new medal that I’m wearing that I followed through on my promise and sent those Big Dick Stallions to the fuckin’ glue factory. With that loss it all but ensures that Fred Dick and STRONK Godson will not be going on to claim those beautiful chunks of gold and leather. So SAD!

There is a collective “awwww” from the fake audience as Max makes a sad, pouty face, rubbing his hands beneath his eyes as though he were crying.

Max Kael: Of course I don’t want to waste any more breath on the Poor Whoresmen. Let’s turn our attention to the thus far undefeated but toxically disjointed Twins?, which I still contend is a stupid fucking name. Zapp and the Anglo Luchadore, two men in the setting sun of their careers hoping to try and turn it into a sunrise. Sadly for their little narrative they’re running into the Masters of the Moscowverse Part Deux: The Freeman-Kael Connection!

Loud cheering, whooping and whistling. There are even a few “Jerry” chants, a holdover from the Jerry Springer show the track was ripped from.

Max Kael: Right now they lead the entire tournament but that’s all set to change when Kenny Freeman and I crush yet another hopeful team. I’m honestly not even sure why these two idiots are even bothering to get in the ring. For their own longevity, I’d highly suggest they just bow out, give up the ghost and preserve what little life remains in their haggard old bodies. Otherwise we’re going to have to send you old men up North to the farm with all the rest of the dead bitches.. Heh-heh..

A collective “Oooooooh” from the crowdless crowd sounds.

Max Kael: Speaking of sending bitches to the farm, FLAMBERGE, you fickle French fuck. I’d always heard that your countrymen were cowards but it looks like you’ve taken Marie-Antoinette’s advice because you take the Goddamned cake. And we’re ain’t talking about RIA’s kneepads and boots here, I’m talking triple layer, extra dark shit cake topped with fuck you fondant. You WILL face me even if it KILLS someone to get you in the ring!

A vein pulses on Max’s forehead as he spits the words out of the microphone, his eyes glaring straight down the camera.

Max Kael: …okay, and just one more bit of business. RIA, I’d tell ya to go fuck yourself but I’m not even sure you could do that the right fucking way.

That practiced, vile smile snakes back on Max’s face as he swallows up his rage.

Max Kael: Our guest tonight is a returning friend of the show, STETSON KING! Let’s join him now!

He slinks across the stage like a man eager to watch cars and planes fucking and he’s trying to hide the boner. Reaching his desk he plops down in the chair and spins to look at his guest, already seated on the couch across from him.

Stetson King: WHOOO-BOY, this is what I call HOSS-SPIT-TAL-I-TEE, speak ya true and say amen,  family! Well hells bells, if it ain’t the COMMIE-SAR hisself, good ole MAX-E-MILLION! How ya feelin’ old hoss? We had ourselves a hootin’ ole time the other week, ain’t we?

Max Kael: I’m doing smashing and it’s true! You got to mug that prick, Daytona Diamonds, the Whinestone Cowfucker! Then later in the night my associates and I delivered a near fatal blow to Fred Dick and STRONK Godson. I’m sure it was a real sad night of drinking and protein shakes at the Poor Whoresmen club house! Got any plans for tonight, Mr. King?

Leaning back behind his desk, Max wears a cheshir-.. Er.. wears a Tony Gamble grin. Minus the scars of course.

Stetson King: WEEEEEEEELLLLL Mister Kael, y’know ole Stetson plans to whip the piss out of that…what’s his face? Stevie boy? Mr. Wondbread? The Vending Machine King? Anyway, I’m fixin’ to drop The Suplex Bishop on his bald dome and bring his IQ down to that of a hammer, if we’re both stompin’ in the crick.

Max Kael: I’ve known Stevie-boy for a bit now and I’ve got to warn you, he’s a sneaky son of a bitch BUT. But. I will say this about him, he pays his bills. Take that for what it is.

Speakin’ of sneaky sons of bitches…

The first noise sounds like distant war drums. The second, more like splintering wood… and then, well, a fucking axe pierces through the wall of The Red Manifesto’s set. The camera zooms in close on the crack in the wall to see Daytona Diamonds’ face peeking through, wild-eyed and grinning like a madman.

Daytona Diamonds: HOWDY Y’ALL!

The axe takes one more good whack at the wall before pulling away. For a moment, there’s silence. Kael and King have already stood up as Red Army guards rush onto the scene. A few of the guards walk up to the wall, one even getting brave enough to lean forward and peek through the crack… until a STRONK-driven wheelbarrow holding a passed out Harley Walker barrels through like some late stage capitalism version of the Kool-Aid Man.

As I’m sure you can imagine, the scene descends into chaos.

The rest of The Poor Whoresmen come pouring out through the STRONK-shaped hole in the wall, Daytona gripping that aforementioned axe and Fred Dick spinning nunchucks above his head. Lowell Dot Com brings up the rear, clumsily holding a broomstick that’s been sharpened to a fine point.

Lowell Dot Com: We ain’t fightin’ fair! This is prison rules! CUMCROW, activate!

Lowell reveals the prison tattoo on his ankle that reads “CUMCROW” in clumsy, uneven letters.

Lowell Dot Com: Now who do I have to suck off to get my cigarettes?

But there are no cigarettes to be had. There is only… violence.

Red Army guards descend on the Poor Whoresmen like a flock of pissed off putties. Unfortunately for them, they are little to no match for the raw, likely pock ridden fury of the Whoresmen.

A guard flies through the air, narrowly missing Max’s head as he dives for cover. Weighing his options, Max stands back up, smiling nervously at the camera.

Max Kael: ..hmm.. It’s getting a little bit too hot in here for my liking..

He reaches beneath his desk, pushing a button as a trap door opens up where his chair had previously been. He looks toward the camera as calamity breaks down all around him.

Max Kael: Remember, comrades, in chess, the pawns go first! Come-on Stetson!

Stetson King: You ain’t gotta tell me twice, ole hoss. That sonuva bitch has a damn spear!

Another wave of Red Army guards pour onto the step to fight off the invading Poor Whoresmen. With a final wink at the camera and a sparkle of his golden teeth, Max jumps down his escape hatch leaving it open for Stetson to follow. Across the set-turned-battlefield, Daytona Diamonds climbs a Red Army guard right in the face with the handle of the ax. A gush of blood shoots out of the poor goon’s nose, spraying across Daytona’s face. He looks up and sees Stetson King just as Max disappears down the trap door.

A slow grin curls on the corners of The Rhinestone Cowboy’s face.

Stetson surveys the chaos before his gaze meets Daytona. Then he, too, disappears down the escape tunnel which closes behind him.

If this were Kill Bill, that alarm music would start playing right… about… now.

We cut elsewhere.

Few arrivals are made with as much fanfare as that of the eGG Bandits.

For starters, few arrivals look like they happen in slow motion like an eGG Bandit arrival does. Which, as fate would have it, just so happens to be the case for this arrival. However, instead of their usually designated backstage Rockstar entrance, this entrance picks up with five grown-ass men casually walking in slow motion unison down a long hallway.

Of course, the degree of how grown-ass these men are fluctuates because Hessian, Bobby Dean, and Tony Gamble are among them and they definitely skew the math.

Bobby mostly.

Well, and Tony since he is the size of a child.

Anyway, while these five children of the corn slowly walk like the rockstars some think that they are, “Wolf Totem” can also be faintly heard.

Or imagined.

IYKYK.

At the center of the carton or cartoon formation stands the proud and dignified Champion, Coral “The Jet” Avalon. In front of him is the one man vanguard. All seven feet of him. Behind the Crowned King of PRIME, Two Books and a Beaute from Honalee walk confidently inside the grotesque shadow cast by his forehead.

Lurking behind all of them…

Running counter intel if you will…

A cock, and a roach.

In electric blue for the first time in a bit, the Maestro of COOL.

The gang’s all here.

In fact, it’s only Avalon who doesn’t bother with the tracksuit. He does have the belt to contend with. Plus, he’s a fancy lad through and through, so he’s wearing the blue waistcoat PRIME has become accustomed to seeing him wear.

So yes, there is still very much trouble in paradise.

Also of note, the Bandits of the egg aren’t on their way to their usual den of a locker room. That, like the tracksuit, is for non-champions. No, they’re on their way to the eGG Den 3.0, aka the Champion’s Advantage, aka the Den of Conquest, aka the Best Nest, aka Noah’s Perch, aka the Bandopticon, aka the Throne Room.

In slow motion, of course.

They’re going in slow motion even as fans around them are, in normal motion, reacting to the arrival of the Bandits. Don’t ask how it works, you’d get more questions than answers. Anyway, there’s pushing and shoving as event security keeps the riff raff away. And there’s as many cheers (for Avalon) as there are boos (for the rest of them).

Their slow motion walk continues even when Matt Mills approaches the five of them. PRIME’s Hall of Fame senior reporter stands by in 1x speed as the rest of the Bandits walk up to him in slow motion. It takes a few moments before the Bandits’ speed catches up to the rest of reality.

Matt Mills: Mr. Avalon, you’re defending the Universal Championship for the first time against Nate Colton in tonight’s MAIN EVENT. Your thoughts heading into the biggest match of your career?

Coral Avalon: Nate Colton’s a tough competitor. I know he’s leveled up since the last time we crossed paths. But tonight, he’s a deer staring down an eighteen-wheeler coming for him, and that big truck’s got “KING OF CONQUERORS” written on the sides.

Everyone nods.

Matt Mills: Earlier, Ivan Stanislav opened the show stating how he’s willing to help Nate defeat you for your championship. Do you have any thou–

Mills doesn’t get to finish his question, not before KING COOL snakes his way forward to the head of the pack.

Cancer Jiles: I’m sorry what was that? What did sloppy Stanislob the salted sailor of the seven seas say? Was it that his little throat still hurts after Captain COOL kicked his Adam’s apple in, and that he can’t wait to close night one of UltraViolence to a thunderous pip, squeak, and half empty house?

A collective HA ensues.

Even Coral.

And Mills.

Gamble, from left field, adds, “I remember my first carotid artery.”

Of course another collective HA ensues.

Cancer Jiles: Fuck that stupid Russian crumb, and whatever his unbearable ass had to say that surely plunged our ratings to start of the show. I DARE HIM, MATT. I dare him to overstep his bounds tonight. I do. Please, for the love of Zeus, let him stick his nose in OUR business. I dare him to find out.

Mills goes to ask another question.

Hard pass.

No go.

Cancer Jiles: This forehead here, well it don’t fuck around. You get it?

It’s been a while since Jiles paid Coral a compliment. Backhanded, adamantly flexed forehead index point or not.

Cancer Jiles: And neither do we.

Sounds… ominous, and foreboding, and… well, ominously foreboding.

Cancer Jiles: Now if you wouldn’t mind, it’s going to take Bobby all the way until segment 17 to get to Noah’s Perch while walking in slow motion, and I don’t want any of us to get caught out here with our pants down. Not to mention Coral still needs to put his ring gear on.

Cut to…

ReVival 53 picks back up with a very much alive PRIME Hall of Fame announce team.

Nick Stuart: Up next, two up and comers looking to advance their way up the proverbial ladder here in PRIME. Steve Harrison, and Stetson King.

Richard Parker: Who?

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.

Richard Parker: Oh. Him.

Nick Stuart: You have no idea who he is.

Richard Parker: Shhhh.

Stetson 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.

Nick Stuart: The young man definitely has an aura to him.

Richard Parker: Yeah, deranged.

The Ghost of Industry ignores the crowd and their futile attempts to high five him or send jeers his way, He walks with arms still outstretched, smiling as 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, still smiling gently, only a few teeth showing.

Richard Parker: From the looks of it I guess there aren’t many dentists in Miami, Oklahoma.

Nick Stuart: That’s not very nice.

The lights dim, and the melodic song “Monsters,” by Phish begins to play.

Easy now, easy now
Easy now, easy now
I wake up in my bed
With monsters in my head

Steve Harrison slowly emerges at the top of the entrance ramp. The green robe he has on flows behind him as he takes a few steps forward. Then, he closes his eyes and comes to a stop at the top of the ramp.

Easy now, easy now
Easy now, easy now
I wake up in my bed
With monsters in my head

Steve’s eyes open at the last mention of Monsters and “Set Your Soul Free,” by Trey Anastasio w/ Derek Trucks begins to rapidly play. He puts his arms in the air and nods towards the crowd as he begins to walk a bit faster down the ramp.

Richard Parker: This idiot. Who does he think he is with this entrance? Jiles?

Nick Stuart: Did you know Jiles and Harrison were tag team champions a couple of times?

Richard Parker: Don’t tell me.

Nick Stuart: The pit.

Richard Parker: Now I hope a meteor hits him on his way down to the ring.

Harrison pays no mind to the fans’ reaction to him. He doesn’t seem to care if they boo or if they cheer, as his concentration lies on the ring in front of him. Upon reaching said ring, he gets to the steps and swiftly makes his way up and steps inside the apple of his eye.

Nick Stuart: One has to wonder, Rich, if there are any lingering effects from the last show when Steve was……. abducted by Crash?

Richard Parker: No, I don’t even think one person wonders about that.

Nick Stuart: I’m one person.

Richard Parker: Fine. Two people.

The former man of milk looks out at the crowd, runs from one corner to the other, leans against the turnbuckle, takes his robe off and hands it to the ring attendant. She vomits almost immediately.

B.O.

Nick Stuart: Both these two look ready to go! Both come into the match at one and one. Should be a good test for both of them.

PRIME official Ashley Barlow quickly runs down the rules of the match before calling for the bell.

DING DING

Harrison and King start to slowly circle each other inside the ring, each looking for the right moment to strike. The somewhat larger Harrison charges in with a clothesline, to which Stetson ducks under. The Vendor King of PRIME doesn’t stop though, instead he continues forward, bounces off the ropes, and on the rebound hits King with a shoulder block that knocks The Ghost of Industry off his feet. He’s not down for long though, seeing as he is able to quickly roll out of the way of a Steve Harrison elbow drop.

Nick Stuart: Both men back on their feet after a quick exchange to start the match.

Steve and Stetson spend the next few minutes feeling each other out, with no one being able to gain an advantage. King is able to dodge an eye poke, and hits a vertical suplex after landing a series of meaty hooks to Harrison’s ribs.

Those sitting ringside would later go on to swear Harrison shit himself from the impact.

Richard Parker: Are we sure that is soot on his face?

Not wasting a moment, or maybe it’s just his desire for violence, King pops up and brings Harrison with him. Stetson hastily whips Harrison into the ropes, and on his way back is leveled with a Stetsonliner, aka a stiff clothesline that turns Harrison halfway inside out.

Richard Parker: He just knocked the shit out of him!

Proverbially speaking.

King drops down for a quick cover.

ONE

TWO

Nick Stuart: Harrison powers out at TWO!

Stetson pops up with the fervor of a coal miner heading off to lunch. He measures Harrison up, and goes to doublefist sledgehammer the bridge of his opponent’s nose. However, Steve is a veteran of the ring. He’s learned under Cancer Jiles’ harsh instruction. A former pupil, never really capable of rising up the ranks to become an official eGG Bandit. Still, he did pick up a trick or two from the Salty Dog. Like, how to get away with a timely low blow that the referee doesn’t see.

Richard Parker: Ouch.

The Oklahoma native’s knees instantly pinch together. He drops down to the canvas clutching at his marbles. Harrison gets admonished by Ashley Barlow, but since she didn’t see it her hands are tied.

Nick Stuart: Harrison got away with one there.

The Suplex Saint shakes free of the cobwebs left by Stetson’s earlier assault, and launches one of his own. To start, a Belly to Back Suplex as soon as Stetson gets up to his feet. Harry waits for him yet again, but this time around hits him with Belly to Belly.

Nick Stuart: The old vet is now giving it back in spades to the up and comer!

Richard Parker: HOW do you suppose the old vet got that brown stain on the back of his tights?

Harry keeps up with his attack, landing some kicks to the downed Stetson King. He grabs him by the hair, pulling him back up to his feet. Then, Harrison lights up King with a chop that sends him back down to the canvas.

The Miracle Man takes a moment to catch his breath and play to the crowd. That merch isn’t going to sell itself. After he has had his fill, he refocuses his attention on the other man inside the ring. He goes to reconvene his attack, but King surprises him with a headbutt. The Ghost of Industry follows up by sneaking behind Harrison and locks him up with a sleeper hold.

Nick Stuart: He’s got it locked in tight! King’s headbutt was the perfect setup move, and Steve Harrison is starting to fade!

Richard Parker: Good. This match has already gone on long enough.

In a moment of desperation, Harrison drops his ass, and is able to break free/counter the hold via a sitout jawbreaker. King reels backwards grabbing at his face, eventually finding refuge in the corner. Harrison gets upright and gives chase. He drives his shoulder into Stetson’s gut. Not once, not twice, but three times. King stumbles out of the corner, clearly feeling the punishment. Harrison measures him up, getting ready to drive his knee into the back of King’s neck.

Nick Stuart: My how the tides have changed! It’s now Steve Harrison’s turn, and he’s about to Enlighten Stetson King! If he hits this it’s all over!

Richard Parker: Maybe one day there won’t be any stupid set up move names for us to poorly sell. I know. A boy can dream.

Harrison goes.

King spins out of the way at the last second.

There’s a quick flurry of punches, blocks, and counters. Both competitors are doing their best to gain the upper hand, but neither can do so. King swings, and lands a vicious overhead chop. He goes to do so again, but Harrison blocks it and returns the favor with an open hand chop of his own. King doesn’t back down, and once again the two begin dusting it up in the center of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Neither man refuses to give into the other! What a battle!

Richard Parker: What ever happened to this match almost being over?

Harrison ducks a punch, and lands a drop kick to Stetson’s shin, which catches The Ghost of Industry by surprise and allows Harrison to move in and destroy King with a picture perfect side Russian leg sweep.

Richard Parker: Is that gimmick infringement, or is Harrison the next private in the Red Army?

The Miracle Man goes for a cover.

ONE

TWO

Nick Stuart: KING KICKS OUT! That was close!

Richard Parker: Unbelievable.

Harrison smacks the mat in frustration. He even tries to plead his case with Barlow, but his words fall upon deaf ears. While all of this is going on, Stetson King starts to stir on the mat. He gets to his feet, reaches out, and spins a very much surprised to see him Steve Harrison around.

Nick Stuart: Harrison took his eye off the ball and it might wind up costing him!

The Oklahoma native whips Harrison into the corner, and charges in looking to decapitate his opponent while at the same time setting up his signature move. The only problem with that is Steve’s ring awareness gets better the longer the match goes on. As such, he shuffles out of harm’s way as King crashes chest first into the corner.

Harrison pounces.

He won’t get a better opportunity.

Nick Stuart: The Miracle Man didn’t waste a second locking in that cross face chicken wing! You know what comes next!

Richard Parker: Don’t jinx it! This match has gone on long enough!

After a few seconds of chickwinging, Harrison obliterates King with Soulshine, his variation of a cross face chickenwing suplex. He doesn’t waste any time hooking the leg.

ONE

TWO

Nick Stuart: Three! What a match! These two guys really gave it their all here tonight! Both can leave here with their heads held high, just Steve Harrison can hold his a little higher.

Richard Parker: Finally.

Barlow raises Harrison’s arm in victory as Vince Howard announces the winner.

The show stays… at ringside.

Stetson rolls to the outside, clutching the back of his head and neck. Steve Harrison gets his hand raised, giving Stetson a sassy grin before exiting the ring. Stetson slaps the ring, shouting an expletive, before walking over to the ring bell and snatching a microphone away. He rolls back into the ring, clearly flustered. The crowd has switched from cheering Steve Harrison to booing Stetson.

Stetson King: Y’all…this don’t mean NOTHIN’. Nah, nothin’ at all. Ole Stetson King can take a loss or two, that’s fine. Because I’m gonna outlive all these geriatric PRIME mainstays, ya hear me true?

Nick Stuart: Well, looks like Stetson’s already trying to flip the script and downplay his loss.

Richard Parker: Y’know what, did he lose Nick? I’m not sure he did.

Nick Stuart: We JUST saw him lose.

Richard Parker: Stop gaslighting me, Nick.

The crowd boos Stetson, but Stetson doesn’t seem to care.

Stetson King: (Snarling at the crowd) Nah, family, your booin’ and-a jeerin’ don’t mean nothin’ to me. I AM the wheel of progress, the ever-present chaos of change that rules our reality, and whether you or any of the old, decrepit piles of dusty old bones care or not, the train of industry is a-comin’ down the tracks. So, whether you’re a rhinestone, non-Floridian sonuva bitch that’ ain’t got the good sense god gave a goose like Decorum Deadman or any of his sons of Whores-

HONK! HONK! HONNNNNK!

Like a klaxon call from somewhere backstage, three honks. It cuts through the air and, right on cue at the side of the stage, a rhinestone-covered dump truck rolls out from behind the curtain. In the ring, Stetson King looks confused, angry, or maybe even confugry, but the PRIMEates? Oh baby, they’re cheering. They’re cheering loud. Not because they like The Whoresmen, but because they love The Slut Truck.

Vehicles get over in PRIME. It’s a thing.

Richard Parker: SLUT TRUCK! HONK HONK! Ol’ Stetson might have bitten off more than he can chew, Nick!

Nick Stuart: Where do they keep getting money for all these vehicles, Richard?! Where?!

The Slut Truck, driven by Fred Dick with a still passed out Harley Walker in the passenger seat, STRONK on the hood, and Lowell Dot Com clinging onto the side for dear life rolls out and manages to drive onto the ramp, parking itself right there and blocking the exit.

Daytona Diamonds, however, is nowhere to be seen.

In the ring, Stetson King walks right up to the ropes, pointing down the ramp and talkin’ shit like any good cowboy would, but here’s the thing. Out in the audience? Well, people are starting to murmur. Some of them are noticing something happening that Stetson King isn’t exactly privy too. You see, Daytona Diamonds is pushing his way past fans and chairs and walking right up to the guardrail. He climbs over it with the Intense Championship dragging behind him and slides right into the ring, standing right behind Stetson.

Daytona Diamonds: HEY PECKERWOOD!

Stetson King starts to turn around, but it’s already too late. Clutching the Intense title with both hands, The Rhinestone Cowboy’s already took off towards The Ghost of Industry at a full sprint.

His eyes go wide.

A smirk curves at Daytona’s lips.

BAM! The belt hits Stetson in the face so hard it sends him sideways, falling hard to the mat. Almost immediately, Daytona starts laying boots into his Stetson, screaming about how ‘I’m the only real cowboy in this company!’ and ‘Oklahoma fuckin’ sucks!’ and ‘I ain’t from Florida!’. The rest of The Whoresmen take off down the ramp, joining Daytona in the ring for the beatdown. Boots rain down, middle fingers fly, and when it’s all said and down, Daytona Diamonds has the mic in one hand and a handful of Stetson’s hair in the other, holding his head up from the mat to look him right in his dazed eyes.

Daytona Diamonds: Well, howdy there, Stetson! Ol’ Max really put you in one helluva pickle, huh? Got you barkin’ up the wrong tree like a sonuvabitch, thinkin’ you could fuck with me and the boys? Where I come from, that’s what we call a goddang mistake, pardner! Lissen, lissen, it’s alright! You ain’t known no better! You just went and fell in with the wrong crowd, ain’t that right? But lemme go ‘head and give you a word to the wise…

Daytona leans in real close, voice falling almost to a whisper.

Daytona Diamonds: If it happens again? Next time, we’ll fuckin’ kill you, buddy.

With a wink and a smile, Daytona lets go of Stetson’s hair and lets his head fall to the mat. The Whoresmen waste no time posing or posturing in the ring. They all slide out and start up the ramp towards their glittering dump truck, laughing and patting each other on the back the whole way.

Meanwhile, in the ring, half dead and almost comatose, a single arm raises slowly and, if only for a few seconds, flips off the Whoresmen before falling dead to the mat.

We cut elsewhere.

A still shot of a long, empty desert road drawing a straight line into the California horizon. Everything’s still.

The sound of an engine. A vehicle is getting closer, louder, almost there then:

ZOOOOOOOOOM!! SEBASTIAN GOLD in a black and yellow racing suit flies down the straightaway on a bumblebee-colored superbike. Golden smoke jets out behind him, leaving a chemtrail of rising, glittering smoke.

Sebastian Gold: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Sebastian rockets into the distance, disappearing in a blink. The thick trail of gold smoke hovers over the road.

Fancy cursive letters rapidly write themselves on screen:

Congrats, PRIME
it’s a GOLD

Screen fades to black; “GOLD” lingers a second longer to the sound of an engine revving, ready to go.

As the Sebastian Gold hype piece comes to an end, the camera zooms out, revealing a flatscreen backstage showcasing the PRIME newcomer.

The camera pans to the left 180 degrees, to a plastic cup with the remnants of ice, and a couple lime wedges.

Panning up along a black dress shirt, the ‘stache comes into view.

Queue a few boos in the background.

Ol’ Lizard Lip Hanlon smirks at the monitor, then draws his eyes to his empty beverage, swirling the ice within.

Hayes Hanlon: (mumbling sarcastically) I love goooooooollllllddd…

Clearly amused with himself, The Event Horizon snorts, then pivots to exit. The camera follows as he saunters down the hall, shaking the ice in his cup and ignoring technicians and assistants along his march to what is most certainly destined for a refill.

As he rounds a corner, a technician hunches over a clipboard in the corner of the hall, his back turned to Home Run Hayes.

A technician, or…oh shit is that JCH?

Jonathan-Christopher Hall reveals himself, albeit with a Las Vegas Golden Knights baseball cap on low, covering the majority of his face. He wears all black but the dead giveaway is that babyface, no-facial-hair-even-if-he-tried, but most importantly, it’s the uneasiness in his body language.

Hayes continues down the hall, as Hall himself looks like he is following Hanlon, from a distance of course. At first, there is significant tentativeness in Jonathan-Christopher’s step, but as Hayes makes a left, JCH makes the left with more emphasis.

Is Hayes aware of who is following him? It doesn’t seem like it.

Hanlon makes a right. A few seconds later, Hall makes a right. Hanlon a left. Yep, there’s JCH, he makes a left.

As Jonathan-Christopher continues to follow, the lower part of his face, the part that isn’t hidden from the baseball cap, develops a snarl, which morphs into a frown, which changes to its final form, a grit of the teeth, seething of pure anger.

Hayes continues his journey in the back, perhaps still not realizing who is trailing behind him.

For now.

We cut elsewhere.

There’s plenty of four word combinations in this world that fill all that hear them with considerable dread. Few of those word combinations are as dreadful as the specific ones said by a very specific man in this very specific context.

One man, we call him Fabby, wears a golden mask and a cheap ash gray suit. He’s carrying a very large novelty golf bag, except that instead of golf clubs, it’s full of various steel chairs. The other man, we call him Joe Fontaine, is wearing a sparkling green suit and is carrying an equally sparkling green steel chair.

Joe Fontaine: Okay, here’s the plan.

He’s gesturing with his steel chair as he talks.

The two of them are walking down a hallway that isn’t quite backstage. In fact, from the presence of a few fans who are getting ready to check out the first Tag League match of the evening, they’re somewhere in the upper deck.

Joe Fontaine: You’re going to knock on the door. And then I’m going to take this nine iron and I’m going to shove it up his ass.

Fabby makes a few questioning gestures. Namely, he’s wondering why he’s having to carry so many steel chairs when one would do, and he’s wondering why Joe referred to the chair he’s carrying as a “nine iron”. He’s not yet gotten to the question of how the “nine iron” would even fit in there before Joe has an interpretation of Fabby’s ASL.

Joe Fontaine: Oh, you think the eight iron would be better? C’mere.

Joe puts the chair in his hands back into what we’re going to call the Fabby Pouch and pulls out another steel chair. This one is a slightly lighter green. It doesn’t appear any lighter or heavier than the other one Joe used, but it’s still the “eight iron”.

Joe Fontaine: Ah, yeah. Little lighter. Probably swings real good. But you know, I’m looking to hit a big line drive here on the first attack. You know, really cave the skull in.

Fabby’s mastery of American Sign Language has him asking if Joe is still going to shove the chair up his quarry’s ass, but since Joe Fontaine does not understand ASL, Joe misinterprets it.

Joe Fontaine: Oh, the three wood? Bold choice, my friend!

Once again, our beloved(?) pack mule has to deal with his companion replacing a steel chair in the Fabby Pouch and pulling out a literal wooden folding chair. This one’s special, because it has rusty nails sticking out of it. No one would want to sit in this thing. One wonders how it even fits in the Fabby Pouch, but we’re already dealing with a scenario where a man is carrying a whole bag full of chairs.

Joe Fontaine: Now this one! This one has some heft to it. There’s hate in this chair. I got a lot of hate in my heart, you know? Haters gonna hate. Shoutouts to the haters out there, y’all know who I’m talking about.

Fabby has the expression of a man who does not know what Joe is talking about.

Joe takes this instrument of murder and continues his march through the upper deck of the Golden 1 Center until he finds a door.

That door has a particular sign adorning it: “THE THRONE ROOM”.

Yeah. You know the place. You know who Joe Fontaine is looking to murder here tonight.

Joe Fontaine: Okay, we’re here. You know that part where I said you’d be knocking? Knocking is too much of a warning. I know there’s a whole discussion about who the one that knocks is, but I say bupkis to that. So here’s the plan. We’re going to walk in, like we own the place, and then we bludgeon Coral Avalon to death with every chair in your pack. And then while he’s lying in a pool of his tears and his blood and his piss and all of the other fluids we’ve beaten out of him, we take a selfie and proclaim that we have performed a big murder in the same way that Jiles and them murdered poor Phil Atken, and then they’ll have to vacate the title and… I don’t know, put it on the line in an UltraViolence cage match between FLAMBERGE and Cecilworth and Hayes and they’ll have to sort it out through either violence or at least a really high stakes game of cribbage.

Fabby did not follow any of that. The Fabby Pouch is too heavy and he is dying.

Joe Fontaine did not care. Instead, he opens the door, and…

…Hessian is standing there.

You know, the seven foot, two inch giant that loves violence and mayhem and is probably the leading expert on the word “murder” and all of its connotations vis-a-vis professional wrestling. Dude’s got a patent, I’m just saying.

Joe stares at Hessian’s chest for a long, agonizing moment.

Then he backs away so quickly that he practically teleports, putting Fabby between himself and the Murder Show. He starts talking in a much higher pitch than normal as he quickly deduces that this was a terrible idea.

Joe Fontaine: You know what, Fabby! Let’sjustgorightnowokaythat’scoolheyHessianIlikewhatyoudidwithyourhairokaybyenow!

He drops the “three wood”, which clatters to the ground, and then he runs off like the Devil’s chasing him. Joe would not admit to this, but he definitely sounded like Jabberjaw on his way out of the scene.

Fabby stands there staring at Hessian for a long moment.

He sighs, drops the novelty golf bag of steel chairs we’d been calling the Fabby Pouch, and storms away. Less the gait of a man running for his life and more one of a man who’s just done with this nonsense today.

Big Hess stands there for a long moment, and then he closes the door like nothing had happened at all.

And ReVival 53 moves on.

Vince Howard: This is a Tag League Match scheduled for…

Long pause.

Followed by an even longer pause.

Scheduled for what, Vince!? WHAT!?

Vince Howard: ONE FALL!

Phew! The crowd ROARS, because thank god, they thought it might’ve been scheduled for two or seven.

Richard Parker: Randomly going into business for himself again?

Nick Stuart: He’s having fun. Relax.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the team of Adam Ellis and Bryan Dawkins… the Hawaiian BBQ!

“Song 2” by Blur plays the duo out as they make their way to ringside.

Nick Stuart: The wins have to start coming, well, for both teams really-

Richard Parker: Wins? This is Ellis and Dawkins’ second match!

Nick Stuart: If you would’ve let me finish, partner, I am well aware of this fact but in a tournament like this, every loss is rather serious and tough to overcome.

Ellis and Dawkins enter the ring and wait for their opponents. The ring announcer, meanwhile, helps things move along.

Vince Howard: And their opponents… the team of Anna Daniels and Rob Williams… FUCK YOUR TAG TEAM!

Richard Parker: Darn right!

“Wasted Youth Crew” by Blood for Blood takes over Blur and out come Daniels and Williams to a chorus of boos.

Richard Parker: The wins have to start coming. A loss and a draw-

Nick Stuart: You’re saying the exact same things I said about Ellis and Dawkins!

Richard Parker: (Not getting it) So?

Nick gives up as Williams greets the crowd with two middle fingers all the way down the rampway towards his opponents in the middle of the ring.

Richard Parker: We couldn’t have a more pleasant team.

Nick Stuart: If you say so.

Williams slides into the ring while Daniels walks up the steel steps. It looks like FYTT wants to get this match started AND over with as soon as possible.

The referee calls for the bell.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: As stated earlier, both teams coming off losses as the League continues on. No doubt all four wrestlers in this match are going to be at the top of their game.

Adam Ellis circles around the ring, waiting for the opportunity to strike Williams or to potentially lock up. Ron, however, looks like he wants nothing of the sort. He simply growls, lunges forward and clobbers Ellis with a swift, hard, blow. Well, that’s what would’ve happened had Adam not sensed this, and kept his distance.

Finally, Ellis takes a small step forward, lowers his upper body and comes in with a strike. Ellis whacks Williams across the side of the back with a forearm blow. Adam hits Rob again and Williams is seemingly furious he can’t get a hold of Ellis. Rob’s pushed into a free corner of the ring… when the Missouri Valley star rushes in with a high knee, catching Williams under the jaw. Ellis takes Williams’ head and rams it between his armpit, before running out of the corner with a bulldog attempt-

No! Williams shoves Ellis off at the last second and Ellis flies into the other corner of the ring. Adam spins around but it’s too late, as Williams catches Ellis in the air and delivers a ring shaking spinebuster slam!

Nick Stuart: That could do it!

Richard Parker: We can only hope!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT AND ALSO BROKEN UP BY BRYAN DAWKINS AT THE SAME TIME!

William shouts at the referee, it sounds like he’s fuming when in reality, it’s all strategy. As the referee deals with Dawkins, Anna Daniels slips into the ring, kicking Ellis square in the face. Williams follows by bouncing off the ropes and whacking Ellis so hard with a clothesline, the MVW star flips inside out before landing face-first on the mat.

Nick Stuart: Looks like Williams got some frustration out.

Richard Parker: I doubt Rob is that self-aware.

A disgruntled and sour Williams lays the boots to Ellis, proceeding to lift Adam in the air and delivers a sheer drop brainbuster-

That Ellis escapes!

Ellis with a running knee, once again hitting Williams under the jaw, looking like it significantly rattles the Legend, before bouncing into the ropes and diving at Williams’ right knee.

Adam leaps towards his side of the ring and makes a tag to Dawkins!

The Hawaiian hops over the ropes and flies towards Williams. Bryan ducks a wild, reckless clothesline attempt and delivers a crescent kick to the side of Rob’s head. Dawkins grabs Williams for a German suplex and connects. He holds on and pulls Williams up for one more. After the second German is completed, Bryan wants a final blow. He peels Rob off the canvas, holding onto his waist-

When Anna Daniels enters the ring again and sends a right strike into the side of Dawkins’ face!

The crowd boos, and the referee is trying to be all over it as Bryan fumbles into a free corner. Rob, meanwhile, is also recovering, as he regains his whereabouts and feeling in his legs. He sees Daniels is back in their corner… he slowly moves his way over, makes the tag and points her into the ring.

As if she needs direction.

Daniels is already inside and mercilessly kicking Bryan Dawkins down, every time he tries to get up. She eventually pulls him in and delivers hard knees to Dawkins’ jaw and this gets a slight “fuck yoi” out of Rob Williams, to Bryan Dawkins in the corner, as he continues to rub his own jawline from earlier.

Daniels sends Dawkins into the ropes. She’s there in a flash with a running knee to the stomach, followed by a hard DDT. Daniels rolls Dawkins over and hooks a leg.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT.

Adam Ellis thought about entering the ring but thought about it too late. Thankfully, for their team, the match rolls on. Daniels hurls Dawkins into the ropes but this time Bryan is ready for her. The second he hits the ropes, he latches his arms around them to stop himself. Daniels is right there, ready for a strike but she misses because, of course, Dawkins stopped his momentum.

Bryan removes himself from the ropes and just as quickly as Daniels misses her strike, he connects with an Olympic slam!

Richard Parker: Straight from Paris!

Parker thinks he’s cute with the Summer Olympic reference as Bryan rolls onto his feet and tries to take hold of Anna’s right leg.

But The Muse knows her surroundings. She immediately rolls into the ropes and pulls herself up before Dawkins can take a hold of her leg. A standoff between both parties, Dawkins calls her to the middle of the ring but Rob looks like he wants another go, too.

Daniels tags Williams and then both Fuck Your Tag Team members come marching across the canvas, looking to take Dawkins down.

Anna goes high and Rob goes low, as a result, Bryan Dawkins is on the canvas. Adam Ellis puts his foot between the bottom and middle rope but the ref is there to stop him.

Richard Parker: Snooze you lose, Ellis!

Nick Stuart: It’s not like Ellis was ready for BOTH Willians and Daniels to bulldoze the ring like that!

In fairness, The Muse goes back to her corner as Rob Williams sends a couple boots into the side of Dawkins’ head, lifting Bryan into a piledriver position and connecting.

The sour demeanor across Williams’ face suggests he wants this bout done NOW. Bryan’s body goes limp as Williams pushes him away without a care in the world. Rob positions Bryan on his back and hooks his leg…

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Dawkins SPRINGS to life on the kickout, shooting up in the air and making a dive towards Adam Ellis.

A tag is made!

The crowd cheers, while Rob snarls and ultimately gives the middle finger to his opponent’s side of the ring. Needless to say, Ellis is there almost immediately after to send a knee into the side of Williams’ head before he gets to his feet. Unfortunately for Williams, his age and disposition catch up to him because he was the last to hit a maneuver, yet also the last man to get on his feet. With Williams on the mat, Ellis drops down himself and applies a modified STF!

Williams shouts in pain as he tries to reach out for the ropes but realizes he’s in the center of the canvas!

Anna Daniels enters the ring again but this time Jimmy is there to put a stop to it!

The Time Lord tries to make her way past the referee, anyway, but it’s no use. The Muse is fuming and even though Rob Williams can’t see exactly what’s going on, through the lock around his neck, he seemingly starts mouthing off at the referee for doing his job.

That, or he’s swearing through the pain.

Okay, probably both. Yeah, both.

The MAIN point, however, is Rob Williams looks like he’s going to tap…

Williams lifts his free arm…

The former Five Star Champion shakes it in pain…

He lowers his arm…

He TAPS OU-

No!

The angry looking Georgian uses his free hand to push himself up and off the mat, moving towards the ropes! He’s moving quickly. Well, for as quick as someone like Rob Williams can across the mat with another man over his back, with one leg and one arm trapped.

The crowd cheers Ellis on as he tries to lean back with the hold.

Richard Parker: Adam Ellis has this move locked on like his life depends on it!

Nick Stuart: In some ways, it does. Ellis and Dawkins need this victory!

Richard Parker: Well so do Fuck Your Tag Team! We established this earlier!

Williams is almost in the ropes. Both men are putting on their best efforts right now, one to get out of the hold and one to end the match with it.

Williams reaches out-

Narrowly misses the ropes!

The apron camera shows significant frustration spreading across Rob’s face. His right arm raises again and looks like he might smack the mat profusely…

Or pass out under the pressure.

WILLIAMS GRABS THE ROPES!

The fans boo as Ellis drops the hold, stands up and then drops an elbow into the back of Williams’ neck. Adam drags Rob to the center of the ring-

When Williams rolls Ellis into a small package!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: Not something you’d typically see out of Williams but you have to win the match anyway you can!

Ellis rolls to his knees. It’s clear Dawkins wants to tag back in but Adam’s facial expressions suggest he might have the situation under control. Ellis pulls Williams onto his feet and looks for a suplex of some kind when Williams breaks free, takes two steps back and sends a discus clothesline into Ellis’ neck.

The Missouri Valley star flips inside out once more, completely slamming against the mat. Williams roars in pain as he falls into the ropes and sends an elbow into Ellis’ temple. On wobbly legs, Williams drags Ellis up with him-

Flash piledriver!

Knowing he’s spent as well, Rob looks over to his corner and sees Anna Daniels’ hand is extended. Meanwhile, on the other side of the ring, Dawkins bounces up and down at his buckle with his own hand extended.

Nick Stuart: It’s anyone’s game!

Richard Parker: Adam should’ve tagged out earlier, he didn’t need to try for another move. I’m not so sure Ellis and Dawkins are on the same page here.

Both men are crawling towards their corner, albeit Williams with a little more emphasis than Ellis because he didn’t just eat a clothesline and a piledriver.

Tag, Williams to Daniels.

The Muse storms in-

Tag, Ellis to Dawkins!

Bryan ducks the strike from Anna, hits the ropes and upon Daniels swinging around, she is knocked out with a flying crossbody block. Dawkins with a leg corkscrew, followed by a leg drop, followed up a pin.

ONE.

TWO.

SHOULDER UP.

Bryan tries to keep the momentum going. He drags Anna to a vertical base and delivers another Olympic slam. Dawkins shoots to his feet, finds the ropes-

Rob Williams is there and snatches him!

Gorilla press slam!

Adam Ellis enters the ring but it’s too late to save Bryan. All hell is about to break loose when Jimmy starts shouting at both parties to leave the ring or he might throw the match out.

However, Williams and Ellis aren’t leaving.

Rob shoves Adam.

Rob shoves Adam AGAIN.

Ellis’ back meets the ropes.

Richard Parker: You think Ellis got wind of those comments by Rob?

Nick Stuart: What comments? We work in a wrestling promotion, there are A LOT of comments, all the time!

Richard Parker: Something along the lines of: you could name twenty PRIME wrestlers and Adam’s name STILL wouldn’t come to mind! Ha.

Nick Stuart: (Not amused) Whatever.

Finally, Ellis pushes Williams back. This pisses the former Five Star Champion off as he literally shouts “FUCK YOU” and attempts a clothesline to rip Adam Ellis’ bloody head off but Ellis low bridges the vet. Rob falls out of the ring and Ellis exits along with him.

Meanwhile, inside the ring, Bryan Dawkins has recovered. He lands a belly-to-back suplex on Daniels and calls on his partner to either tag into the match or perform some kind of combination move together. It’s quite possible Adam doesn’t hear Bryan, since Ellis is only now working his way back to their corner but keeping his eyes on Rob Williams this entire time.

Dawkins shrugs and ends up accepting his fate as he nods to himself. The Former Flying Hawaiian marches over to Daniels and sends her right back to where she came from with another belly-to-back suplex.

Nick Stuart: You have to respect the changes Bryan has made to his wrestling game.

Richard Parker: No I don’t.

For a moment there, Bryan looks like he might consider going to the top rope. But it was only a BRIEF consideration because he walks over to an empty corner and perches himself on the BOTTOM rope. Once Anna is on her feet, Bryan jumps with a twisting elbow strike to the side of her head!

SLAM, she meets the canvas hard while Dawkins pumps up the crowd. Bryan grabs Daniels’ right leg and looks to apply a heel hook-

NO!

Anna kicks free! Dawkins fumbles into the ropes but Adam Ellis is there to make the blind tag!

It all happens so quickly. Adam bounces off the ropes but Rob sticks his hand out from under the bottom rope via the apron, and trips Ellis up, as Rob was on his way back to his own corner – he was low-bridged out of the ring earlier, remember? Williams keeps walking as if nothing happened (although Williams seemingly does a ‘tongue licking through the V split fingers’ bit as he continues to find his way back to his side of the squared circle). As a result, Ellis spins around to see what took place and the second he brings his attention back to the middle of the ring, Anna Daniels is upright.

WHACK!

Interrobang!

The Brazilian kick sends Ellis crashing down. The Muse is quick on the cover.

Nick Stuart: OH MY!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Bryan Dawkins can’t get there in time!

DING DING DING

Dawkins falls to his knees, a millisecond too late as the bell sounds and Daniels raises her hands.

Vince Howard: The winners of this match… Anna Daniels and Rob Williams, FUCK YOUR TAG TEAM!

The winning team’s theme song plays as the cameras pan to Rob. During the three count, he steered completely away from walking towards his corner of the ring. Instead, he simply held up a middle finger, proceeded to find the rampway and in one smooth motion, Rob changed his direction and is now walking up the ramp, towards the locker room. Anna eventually meets him there, pats Rob on the back, and proceeds to give a middle finger to the team in her wake, as well.

Richard Parker: Ha! So good! Williams doesn’t give a piss about anything.

Nick Stuart: Except he does. He tripped up Ellis and it was a major difference maker!

Williams and Daniels vanish behind the curtain as Dawkins lowers his head in the middle of the ring. Adam Ellis only now starts coming to, hearing the theme music that doesn’t belong to them and runs a hand through his hair.

ReVival stays at ringside though.

Ellis leans on the ropes following another tough loss. Dawkins sits in the corner, shooting a thousand yard stare toward the middle of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Bryan Dawkins and Adam Ellis came close but they couldn’t get their first win as a tag team and do it without the woman who brought them together – Dawn McGill.

Richard Parker: That’s Agent Zarya.  By the way, did you see the video interview she did with Alexei Ruslan this week?

Parker holds up a pinup photo of Agent Zarya posing in just a Russian ushanka hat and a Soviet flag covering her.

Richard Parker: Wow!  She looks damn hot in that Russian hat.

Nick snatches the photo away from Richard and gives him a reproachful glare.

There’s movement at the top of the stage and the crowd cheers as Lindsay Troy walks out from backstage, sans music. She strides quickly down the ramp, heading for the ring.

Nick Stuart: Well. Lindsay Troy has come out. I wonder what’s on her mind right now?

Richard Parker: Maybe she wants to look at the pinup you took from me.

Nick Stuart: I doubt that.

Vince Howard hands Lindsay a microphone before she steps between the ropes and the crowd quiets down.

Lindsay Troy: Apologies for the interruption, but this is important.

The Queen of the Ring places a hand on Adam’s shoulder. Dawkins is on standby in lockstep with his partner.

Lindsay Troy: Adam, I just received a phone call. Ginny’s in labor and is on her way to the hospital in Kansas City.

The crowd roars. Adam’s expression becomes the proverbial “deer in the headlights.” Meanwhile, Dawkins offers a congratulatory slap across the back of his partner.

Lindsay Troy: I have a car waiting to take you to the airport to fly you back home. (She smiles) Congratulations to the both of you.

Dawkins looks at Ellis and mouths “go on, get outta here” and Adam immediately slides out of the ring and takes off up the ramp. She nods to B-Dawk.

Lindsay Troy: As you were.

The Queen takes her leave as well.

Nick Stuart: Exciting times for young Adam Ellis. Congratulations Adam and Ginny!

Richard Parker: How much you wanna bet that kid comes out with a gun belt around its waist?

Dawkins gingerly lowers himself to the mat and prepares to exit the ring when he’s stopped in his tracks by Black Caviar and Blackway. He scowls and hops back to his feet, his focus now shifted to the entrance.

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

Bryan lets out a barely audible (but clearly visible) “oh great” as Rose makes her way out from the back. If looks could kill, Bryan would lose three or four lives. Dawkins notices that there is something a bit different about Rose — namely a black padded boot on her left foot, courtesy of her match at ReVival 52 against Brandon Youngblood.

Rose: Well, Bryan. Now that your partner’s out of the picture, it’s just you and me. You’ve been pointing fingers, blaming me for your injury and that loss three months ago. But here’s the kicker—you’ve lost twice now, haven’t you? So, what’s your excuse this time? I’m dying to hear the latest chapter in your saga of self-delusion.

Dawkins, less than pleased, rolls his eyes in disgust before raising the microphone to his lips.

Bryan Dawkins: Seriously? We’re doing this now, bruh? Can’t even honor the celebration of a new life…

Dawkins turns his back to Rose and leans against the ropes, shaking his head. He’s just mustered up an actual response to her tirade when the Second Coming cuts him off.

Rose: Is it that you and Ellis are a disastrous team? Or is Adam too preoccupied fantasizing about Dawn McGill and his fatherhood with Ginny to focus? Perhaps the lack of training has left you rusty? Or maybe, just maybe, Bryan, you’re not the prodigy you believe yourself to be.

Dawkins chuckles at the last statement.

Bryan Dawkins: Prodigy? Bruh, I’m 38 years old and was in my grandfather’s wrestling ring long before you inhabited Dusk’s testes. So if you’re gonna go outta your way to continue to insult me, you might wanna at least be accurate.

Rose: Sounds like a lot of practice — maybe it’s time to face facts. I bet that’s a bitter pill to choke down, isn’t it? With your track record, I doubt you can even face the truth. But here’s another jagged little pill, if you’re brave enough to swallow it. Two humiliating losses in the Tag League, and only two matches left to decide who makes it to the Finals at UltraViolence. You’ve got a grand total of zero points. Zilch. Meanwhile, Fuck Your Tag Team — applause for the creative name, by the way — has racked up three points. Big Dick Stallions, for all their bluster, have one point. One of Twins? and The Red Army will be at four and the other at two. How do you see this tragic comedy playing out? You’re practically eliminated already — even divine intervention won’t save you now. Even if you pull off a miraculous win streak, you’ll only scrape together four points. And you’d need every other team to lose too — which, let’s be real, is about as likely as a meteorite obliterating us all. Face it, Bryan, you’re done.

Dawkins, now seated atop the near turnbuckle facing Rose, tucks the microphone briefly into his tights and begins to clap obnoxiously. Eventually, he goads the crowd to join in the applause.

Bryan Dawkins: Wow–bravo, Rose. I know how tough that must’ve been for you.

A tinge of confusion flashes across Rose’s face. Dawkins continues.

Bryan Dawkins: That’s a lot of math. I’m proud of ya! Didn’t have to take that poor walkin’ boot off to count those points. You’ve gotten awfully obsessed with my record lately. Last time I checked, your 2024 didn’t look all that different from mine.

A grin from Dawkins; daggers from Rose.

Rose: You’re batting a 0, Dawkins. Don’t compare me with you. And you continue to deflect instead of facing things head on. So, since your dance card is laughably empty at UltraViolence, why not take your pitiful excuses and see if you can concoct a fresh one after I wipe the floor with you in Seattle? Or do you have another phantom injury lined up to conveniently explain away your impending humiliation? Maybe you’ll claim a sudden bout of amnesia for why you can’t muster the courage to step foot in the ring? Face it, Bryan, the only thing you’re good at is losing – and you’re about to become an expert.

Again, Dawkins overexaggerates, scratching his head whilst sporting a confused look.

Dawkins: Haven’t we gone over this already? My focus remains on the tag division no matter the outcome of this tourney. I don’t know why ya can’t get get it through your head. You and I will have our time–this isn’t over–but that time’s not gonna be ‘til the fat lady sings and she’s been quiet so far. If you’re desperate for a fight, I’m sure there’s someone else in the back who wouldn’t mind beatin’ your ass like Youngblood did a couple weeks ago.

Rose: So, you need more time to accept reality. Facts are facts, Bryan. Your days in the Tag Division are done — at least in the Tag League. I’ll grant you a moment to mull it over, but don’t dawdle. Because here’s the kicker: I always get what I want. And what I want, Bryan, is to see you squirm as you stare into that mirror, finally grasping the painful truth that you’re as out of place here as a vegan at a barbecue. You don’t belong. Never did, never will. So, take your sweet time concocting another excuse, because soon enough, reality’s going to hit you harder than I ever could.

“What’s Up Danger” again provides the soundtrack to Rose’s exit, leaving Dawkins alone in the ring to mull over the challenge laid out for UltraViolence.

We cut elsewhere.

With eyes open wide – and a smile the size of Texas – Olivia Henderson clutches a pillow she had custom made with an image of Kohime Mori on it tight against her chest.  Surprisingly, the daughter of the man known for never being at a loss for words, says nothing. Instead, she stands there in a yellow dress with a floral pattern in various shades of red and orange that bring life to the otherwise bland hallway.

Olivia Henderson: Oh Em Gee! You’re you!

The ‘you’ in question is the person pictured on the pillow. Kohime Mori, dressed in a white T-shirt with an expressive cat in it and some trendy jeans, squats down to be at eye level with the girl. The bright grin that she’s known for flashes onto her face.

Kohime Mori: I am me! I like your pillow! What’s your name?

Olivia Henderson: Kohime. I mean…

She shakes her head a few times, but the smile never wavers.

Olivia Henderson: …Olivia. My name is Olivia. You’re Kohime Mori. You’re so awesome!

She stretches her arms forward, pillow firmly in her grasp.

Olivia Henderson: You’re like my favorite wrestler, after my dad of course, because he’s like my dad, but if he wasn’t my dad, you would be first, unless Justine was still wrestling because she was so awesome too, but she’s not, and you’re so cool. I made this pillow for you!

Olivia pulls the pillow back close against her chest.

Olivia Henderson: Well, not for you, but for you, maybe I’m not explaining it right. It’s my pillow that I made of you, for me…can you sign it for me?

Kohime’s eyes sparkle. Her smile grows even wider. She nods enthusiastically, as Olivia hands her the pillow.

Kohime Mori: It’s nice to meet you, Olivia! Of course, I’d love to sign your pillow! I really appreciate the kind words. Your dad’s a wrestler, huh? Who is he?

Kohime watches the young girl, curious as to who her father might be.

Olivia Henderson: Uhm…well…his name is Tony Gamble, I’m pretty sure you know him.

Olivia’s smile isn’t as wide as it was before.

Olivia Henderson: I know he’s mean and a jerk to everybody, but he’s not like that with me, and I tell him all the time that he needs to be nice, and that he’s only mean to everybody because people don’t like him because he’s a jerk, so if he stopped being a jerk and was nice people would be nice to him, and he wouldn’t need to be mean anymore, because people would be nice to him, so he could be a nice guy and people would like him like they did Jared Sykes.

Kohime stays still for a moment, absorbing both the information and Olivia’s thoughts. There’s a fine balance to be struck here. Is Mori capable of that? She puts her smile back on as she reanimates.

Kohime Mori: That might be true. But even if he doesn’t want to change, that doesn’t define who you are. You seem very kind. It’s not always easy to find kind people out in the world. And you know what? If you keep being that kind person, maybe you’ll rub off on him?

Kohime tilts her head slightly, still smiling. Even if she didn’t particularly like Tony Gamble, Olivia had been nothing but pleasant so far. She saw no reason to take out that grudge on a sweet little girl.

??: Wouldn’t that be nice.

Victoria Henderson walks up and places a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. The mother of Gamble’s sweet little girl smiles at Kohime.

Victoria Henderson: Sadly, I don’t think she could get through that thick skin of his with a cheese grater.

Olivia Henderson: Moooom.

Olivia looks up at her mother, her cheeks slowly turning a darker shade of pink.

Victoria Henderson: Don’t mom me, young lady. I know I could still see you, but you shouldn’t have ran off like that.

Olivia Henderson: But I saw Kohime.

Victoria Henderson: And I’m sure she has more important things to do right now, and doesn’t need you bothering her right now.

Kohime raises her hands, shaking her head vigorously.

Kohime Mori: No no, it’s fine! Without fans like her, we wouldn’t be able to do this! And honestly, it’s been awhile since I’ve wrestled. And it’s okay if Olivia doesn’t change him, as long as she’s true to herself!

Kohime’s eyes widen when she realizes something.

Kohime Mori: Oh my god, I didn’t introduce myself! I’m so sorry! I’m Kohime Mori. It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.

Kohime bows deeply, as is tradition in her home country. Victoria’s bow is more of a head nod that Kohime probably does not notice.

Victoria Henderson: Nice to meet you, Kohime, I’m Victoria. I’m the reason Olivia turned out to be a nice person, despite who her father is. And thank you for that…

Victoria pointed to the pillow in Kohime’s hands.

Victoria Henderson: Even if you haven’t wrestled in a while, you were one of the first girls she saw in the ring that caught her attention.

Olivia Henderson: You and Justine! One day I hope to be able to…

Her mother cuts her off.

Victoria Henderson: No ma’am, we are not having this conversation again. If you’ll excuse us, Miss Mori.

Victoria starts to guide the young Gamble away, when she pulls away and rushes back to Kohime who still has her pillow.

Kohime Mori: Oh! You need this back, don’t you?

Kohime produces a sharpie from her back pocket, signing the pillow in both English and kanji. She hands the pillow back to Olivia.

Kohime Mori: Never let anyone tell you you’re not good enough. Work hard and believe in yourself!

Olivia rushes over to where her mom is waiting for her, glancing back at Kohime with a grin wide enough to rival her father’s.

We cut elsewhere.

Locker room. Zapp Scatino is tying his boots, getting ready for his team’s biggest Tag League match to date. Win, and they pretty much clinch a spot in the finals at Ultraviolence. Their competition, the devious Max Kael and the unpredictable Kenny Freeman of the Red Army.

His partner? He’s fully dressed in his gear already, in better spirits than he was before their match two weeks prior, but he’s holding some leafy greens. Why?

Because standing before him is a goat with only three legs, bleating at him to hand over said leafy greens.

TAL: Alright, alright, you can have the rest of them, but if you shit in the locker room, it’s just pellets for you from here on out, you hear?

Goat: BAAAAAHHHH!!!

TAL: Don’t you backtalk me, Old Max. I have connections.

The Luchador hands over the rest of his chlorophyllic payload to the goat before turning to his partner.

TAL: Did we have to bring Old Max with us? I feel like we didn’t need to bring the goat with us.

Zapp Scatino: Yeah we did. Old Max here, he’s the key to victory. Now, yeah, he’ll drop the occasional Flamberge here and there and, as perpetrated in the parking lot, a massive Stanislav, but that’s what janitors are for.  They get paid to handle that shit. Literally.

TAL: Key to victory? I don’t know. I feel like he does bring good vibes wherever he goes, but, uh. I don’t know. Feels a bit specious to pin our hopes on beating the toughest team left in this tournament on a goat with three legs.

Zapp Scatino: Spacious or not, these are three legs more than Max and Kenny Fuckpants have. And think of the beneficiary elements he brings. As a certain associate of my Uncle Frank would say: “Who needs a paper shreddin’ machine when ya got a goat?”

The Luchador rubs his chin as if to indicate he is deep in thought.

TAL: I’m sure Old Max here could use a nice snack after tonight’s match. Say, maybe we should steal Ivan’s work visa and feed it to him afterwards. That sounds like a good use of resources.

Zapp Scatino: I dunno. This stubborn little bastard’s been picky. Been tryin’ to train this stubborn fuckin’ guy to bite off Kenny Fuckpantseses dick usin’ carrots and hot dogs on this effergy I made, but he kept eatin’ the shoe. Not sure how he’ll react to that Russian prick’s credit cards.

The Luchador shakes his head.

TAL: Nevermind. But I do want to make sure we’re on the same page tonight.

Zapp sighs as he thinks The Luchador is going to do some more moralizing like he has the entire tourney so far.

TAL: I just have to say one thing, and if you agree with me, repeat it back. Ready?

Zapp contorts his eyes in anticipation and dread.

TAL: Fuck the Red Army.

Zapp Scatino: Fuck those motherless commie fucks!

TAL: Close enough.

The Anglo Luchador exits leaving Zapp with Old Max.  Zapp bangs on his chest to pump himself up and follows, dragging Old Max by a rope. Old Max lets out a bleat as we cut to ringside.

The Golden 1 Center is bathed in darkness as the lights go out. The slow, steady synth of MATAM’s “Hymn to Red October (Trapstep Vrs)” begins its slow 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: This match is set to have huge ramifications

Richard Parker: You mean how Ivan’s Red Army is going to walk out of this match tied for first place?

Nick Stuart: Or the Twins? clinch a place in the finals?

Richard Parker: Not gonna happen!

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.

Nick Stuart: Looks like Randall’s walking a lot easier this week.

Richard Parker: What, was he walking weird last week?

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, an uncommon scowl on his face.

Richard Parker: I think Kenny is putting on some muscle, Stuart.

Nick Stuart: He’s looking better, physically, than I think I think I’ve ever seen him. But at what cost?

Dashing out comes the Herald, resplendent in his fancy red Russian Herald outfit waving the crimson Red Army flag with all the fury his skinny body can muster. Bentley runs ahead before spinning around to present the flag toward the other members of the Red Army.

Nick Stuart: You notice we have an abnormally long period of time to talk during this entrance?

Richard Parker:

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: Intro-

The Herald: Nuh-uh!

Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington holds a custom crimson communist microphone to his lips. Also the Herald has a mini-cap. A little red mini-cape with red lining. It flourishes dramatically, seemingly on its 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 waving the Sacramento crowd enthusiastically.

The Herald: ..at a combined weight of Four Hundred and Five Pounds! Or Twenty Eight point Nine stone!

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 Twelve Foot, One inch or roughly Four meters!

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. The Sacramento 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 looks towards TAL and slaps a few hands as he goes down the aisle.

Nick Stuart: These two are in the lead in the tournament, and have been on quite a run.

Richard Parker: The Luchador has to be getting tired. He’s old. He wrestles like he’s 25. Remember that time he looked like loosely malformed cheese for a year?

Nick Stuart: That’s been purged Richard. Forever.

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(?)!!!

TAL turns to check in on his partner, Zapp is already a little sparked up and joins in on the hand slapping with the fans at the barricade. TAL slides into the ring and the match begins.

DING DING

Max tries to dart across the ring but Elvis Nixon manages to intervene. He demands each team choose a legal man.

Nick Stuart: Elvis Nixon is not our usual official for tag affairs. So I think he’s trying to get an early command of this ring.

Richard Parker: This might be the only time Elvis Nixon has worked a tag match.

Nick Stuart: I would agree it is rare.

Zapp reassures The Anglo Luchador and steps through the ropes as Kenny Freeman does the same. Nixon steps away and Freeman shoots across the ring, Scatino steps to the side quickly and Kenny runs into the corner. He stops himself and turns back around and catches a big chop to the chest from Scatino. Freeman fires back with a right hand of his own and sliding his way out of the opponents corner.

Nick Stuart: Smart tag team wrestling early from Freeman. He didn’t want to get cut off in no man’s land and heads back to keep his back towards Max Kael.

Richard Parker: Look at these wonderful communists. Hi Randall! I HERE YOU CAME FROM RUSSIA! TE-

Parker’s headset is cut off momentarily and Freeman dances around a little with Scatino, looking for a way in, finally Scatino catches Freeman walking too close to the sun and smashes him with a quick left jab. Scatino rushes Freeman across the ring, right hand, left hand, a chop to the chest.

Nick Stuart: Kenny’s on the retreat!

Freeman retreats into strength as Scatino comes forward at Kenny in the corner, Kael smashes him in the side of the head with a forearm. Scatino stumbles and Freeman smashes Zapp in the stomach with a quick boot, and turns Scatino around in the corner. Freeman smashes Zapp with a chop and another boot to the stomach that drives Zapp down onto the middle rope. Max steps forward and gives Zapp a second quick elbow. The Anglo Luchador begins shouting and leaning over the top rope to Nixon. Elvis tries to ignore TAL and lecture Kael, but TAL comes all the way through the ropes and Nixon turns and begins counting TAL out of the ring. Max takes notice and yells to Freeman. Kael reaches through the middle ropes and puts Scatino in a rear naked choke while cheering Freeman on to kick Scatino. Kenny stomps away as The Luchador grows more irate. Zapp slouches down and Kael lets him slump to the corner. Max and Kenny both step back and fire off simultaneous knees into Zapp’s skull.

Nick Stuart: The Red Army taking advantage of Nixon already! What a move!

Richard Parker: Zapp’s gotta be knocked loopy from that! JEEZ!

Nixon finally turns back around and Freeman steps slightly back out of the corner and tags Kael in. Elvis bends down to check on Zapp, but Max comes barging through and smashes Zapp in the chest with a boot and holds his foot down across Zapp’s neck. Nixon begins to count.

ONE!

TWO!

Max just grabs the top rope and grimaces towards Nixon.

THREE!

FOUR!

FI-

Max stumbles away at the last possible moment. Nixon berates Max who turns towards The Anglo Luchador and shouts something. TAL reaches through the ropes and Max tries to egg him on, Nixon turns his back and Randall Schwartz smashes Zapp in the side of the head.

Nick Stuart: This isn’t a handicap match!

Richard Parker: What are you talking about?

Nick Stuart: Randall Schwartz!

Richard Parker: Who?

Kael turns away from Nixon and sprints in and bashes Scatino across the face with a diving dropkick.

Nick Stuart: Ugh!

Kael turns towards Freeman and tags him in, he drags Scatino to his feet. He points to the middle rope and Freeman positions himself while Kael drops Scatino across the middle of his knee. Freeman jumps off with a hitman style elbow drop that smashes into Scatino’s sternum. Kael flips Scatino over onto his skull to add insult to injury and Freeman bunches Zapp up with a cover while Kael dives towards The Anglo Luchador. He meets TAL before he can step through the ropes with a right hand.

ONE!

Max holds TAL against the ropes.

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Scatino throws his shoulder up and Freeman jumps right back up to his feet. Kael retreats with his arms up to his corner while TAL shouts at him from across the ring.

Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador really doesn’t like the Russians.

Richard Parker: I have it on good authority they don’t like him either.

Freeman drags Zapp up, Zapp tries to throw a right hand but Freeman cuts him off with a boot to the midsection and quick snap suplex. He drags Zapp from the center of the ring to his corner and covers.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: The Luchador left Zapp out to dry there!

Nick Stuart: I think he knew it was going to take a lot more than a snap suplex to put him away.

Richard Parker: Coward! Max would have bravely ran in to save comrade Kenneth!

TAL begins stomping on the mat with his boot as Freeman transitions straight to a headlock. TAL is furiously pounding away and flailing his arms to get the crowd behind Zapp. It takes them a few moments, but as Kenny wrenches in the damndest headlock of his entire life, the crowd begins to come to life.

LETS GO ZAPP!

LETS GO ZAPP!

TAL begins flailing frantically and holding his arm out with his hand outstretched. Scatino begins to slowly crawl to the middle of the ring.

Richard Parker: TAL could stop this torture at any time! Just remember that!

Nick Stuart: It’s not the right decision, and you know it. The Luchador is waiting for the tag, and boy is he fired up.

Kenny wrenches the headlock in, as tight as he possibly can but Zapp slowly makes his way to his feet, and then The Unipowerbomber? dives across the ring and smashes Zapp in the back with a double ax handle. He kicks him in the back of the knee and drops another one as Nixon begins counting him backwards. The Anglo Luchador sees the situation and looks towards the crowd.

DO IT!

DO IT!

Richard Parker: He won’t! He’s a coward!

Nixon starts really laying into Kael who smirks at TAL as he steps through the ropes.

DO IT!

DO IT!

Nick Stuart: YES THE LAST SON OF TENOCHTITLAN WILL!

TAL darts through the ropes and smashes Freeman with a right hand, and then another, and another. He jabs Kenny in the eyes and throws him into his corner. TAL steps back through the ropes just as Nixon turns around. Max snarls as Zapp slowly makes his way to his feet. He bumbles and stumbles his way across the ring and dives.

Nick Stuart: AND ZAPP’S GONNA MAKE THE TAG!

Scatino lunges forward into the outstretched arms of The Anglo Luchador. Freeman tries to pull himself up out of the corner, but TAL springs to the top rope and leaps off with a springboard tornilla that catches Freeman in the back. Kenny and TAL smash to the canvas and Freeman manages to skid his way into the corner. He reaches up and tags in Kael.

Richard Parker: Here comes Max! He’ll fix this!

TAL springs to his feet as if he was 25 years old again and meets Kael coming through the ropes.

Nick Stuart: TAL IS A HOUSE ON FIRE! HE’S FIRING AWAY FROM EVERY DIRECTION!

Right hand to Max, another, and another, TAL drags Kael through the ropes and smashes him in the face with a knee strike. He drags Kael to his feet and smashes him into the corner with a chop. TAL steps away and comes roaring back into the corner, he blasts him across the face with a corner running back elbow. TAL spins and gives Kael the right jab, left jab, right cross combination. Kenny Freeman makes his way to his feet on the apron while Kael stumbles out of the corner and falls on his face.

Richard Parker: He’s got loaded fists! That’s the only way!

Nick Stuart: Oh c’mon! Richard!

TAL jumps to his feet and roars spinning towards the crowd. He drags Max to his feet and picks him up for the electric chair. Max instantly begins flailing his arms and manages to tag in Kenny Freeman. TAL throws Max down and Freeman half stumbles through the ropes right into a very high velocity snug headlock takeover. Freeman smashes to the canvas and TAL bounces to his feet. Freeman tries to put weight under him and takes a dropkick to the mouth.

Nick Stuart: Max Kael just tagged in an exhausted Kenny Freeman!

Richard Parker: HE HAD TO! THAT CRAZY LUCHADOR WAS GOING TO KILL HIM!

Nick Stuart: Freeman is winded and TAL is all over him.

TAL drags Freeman to his feet and puts him up in the electric chair position right away. The straight jacket is locked on, and Freeman is driven into the canvas with the Japanese Ocean Cyclone Suplex.

Nick Stuart: Freeman’s out!

Richard Parker: No way, Max wi-!

Just as Parker was about to finish his sentence, Zapp Scatino resurfaces, Randall Schwartz is looking on in horror as Kenny Freeman is just driven into the canvas. Nobody really notices Zapp, and Scatino hops onto the apron and absolutely levels Max Kael with a low blow.

ONE!

TWO!

.,..

……..

…………

………………

……………………

……………………………..

THREE!

DING DING DING!

Vince Howard: The winner of this match, and now with 6 points in the tournament… TWIIIIIIIIIIINs?

Nick Stuart: Huge win for Twins? Tonight.

Richard Parker: That dirty luchador cheated, we all saw it.

Nick Stuart: Oh c’mon Richard, anyone would have done it.

We cut to commercial.

Suddenly, and without warning, one of the hardest rap songs released in the past several years hits the speakers.

Unh, Yeah
Unh, Yeah
Unh, Yeah
Unh, Yeah
Unh, Yeah
Unh, Yeah
Unh, Yeah
Unh, Yeah
Wait a minute (uh)
Get it how you live it (uh)
Ten toes in when I’m standing on business

The beat drops to “Big Dawgs” by Hanumankind, the new theme song for the Big Dick Stallions, and Fred Dick griddies onto the entrance ramp. It looks like complete dog shit, you can barely even tell what he’s doing.

Behind him?

STRONK, pushing the Whorebarrow, which contains a wasted Harley Walker.

Behind him?

Daytona Diamonds, leisurely dragging the Intense Championship title along with him.

Behind him?

Reed Young, pumping his fists, dollar signs in his eyes as he looks out at the crowd.

And behind him?

Lowell Dot Com, a dog collar around his neck with a chain attached to it. He drags a large object behind him, hidden by a sheet.

They all bring the swag with them as the jeers rain down, as though the hatred that the audience has for them gets them bricked up and frisky.

Everyone enters the ring, save for Lowell, who remains outside with the large object hidden beneath a sheet.

Tap, tap.

Daytona Diamonds: This goddang thing on?

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Daytona Diamonds: Alright, cool, good shit. Y’all seen enough of me tonight as it is what with that certified ass-whoopin’ I put on ol’ Stetson King, so I ain’t gonna waste too much of y’alls time or nothin’, but I got some shit to say ‘fore I hand the mic over to my main man Freddy D. Tonight, I’m goin’ to war, folks. Ain’t no two ways ‘round it! I’m marchin’ my happy ass down to this ring, I’m climbin’ through them ropes, and I’m defendin’ this goddang title ‘gainst some crooked dicknose named Jason Snow.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!

Daytona Diamonds: Yeah, yeah. I know. A fuckin’ legend, ain’t that right? Y’all big Jason Snow fans out here? Fuck sake… Look, I’m just gonna be blunt as an overused dildo here: I’m gonna whoop that old fuck. I’m gonna beat his ass ‘til he regrets ever comin’ back in this ring. I’m gonna win, I’m gonna walk outta here with my title, and I’m gonna go to the titty bar after it’s all said and done to eat chicken wings and get a lapdance at the same goddang time ‘cause I’m a busy man! That ain’t no lie, that’s a fuckin’ fact!

The fans boo. They always boo. The Rhinestone Cowboy rolls his eyes.

Daytona Diamonds: That’s ‘cause I’m The Rhinestone Cowboy! I’m the goddang King of the Rodeo! King of the Ocean, too! We ain’t too far from Mexico; down there, they call me Eduardo Dinero ‘cause they know I make the money, I make the moves, and I leave the ladies shakin’! Yeehaw! What do they call Jason Snow, huh? I ain’t got a goddang clue, but I’ll tell you what I call him…

More booing. There’s probably some chanting too. Daytona doesn’t let it phase him, lookin’ over his shoulder at the rest of The Whoresmen and grinnin’ real wide.

Daytona Diamonds: A goddang peckerwood. Ain’t nothin’ to it, babies! That’s how you cut a fuckin’ promo! I got ‘em wet for you, Freddy! Get to plowin’!

With that, and the crowd even better than before, Daytona tosses the mic to Fred, who fumbles it in the air, but does manage to catch it.

Fred Dick: What piece of shit town is this again?

BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Fred Dick: Hell, it don’t matter. I could debut my new invention anywhere s’long as the people lay they eyes ‘pon it! Yessuh!!! See, it ain’t been not once, but twice, that Paxton Ray–

YEEEEEEEEEEEAH!!!

Fred Dick: Y’all shut the fuck up when I’m talking God damn it!!!

BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Fred Dick: As I was sayin’ when y’all didn’t know how to SHUT YA DAMN MOUTH… that CAJUN SUNOMA BENCH has whooped my ace in the damn bathroom not once, but twice! Made me look like an idiot. Made me urinate myself. Made me urinate myself at night, too. Had to buy me some buzzer underwear for urinators. AND THAT’S GOD DAMN SHAMEFUL AINT IT??? SAY!

The crowd’s collective mind is in an absolute pretzel.

Fred Dick: So lemme put it to ya like this. Ain’t no need to use a GOT DAMN public turlet no mo’. Ain’t no need to getcha ace whooped by Paxton Ray when you warshin’ ya face and ya balls in the sink. Ain’t no need to feel no pee shyness, ain’t no need to go to a urinal, with a feller to your left and a feller to your right, and you got yourself a full hog that won’t open its mouth and let it out. So you sigh and zip up your pants, ya walk that ace over to the sink and wash your hands, even though not nary a dribble came out of your hog on account of the pee shy! SHOW ‘EM WHAT I’M TALGIN’ BOUT, LINUS!

Lowell sighs, pulls the sheet down from the object he’s chained to by the neck…

…and reveals the largest god damn porta potty you ever seen.

Meanwhile, Reed Young looks all FUCKING JACKED at the sight of it. He jumps up and down pointing to it, and then pointing to Fred, and then pointing to it again. Oh, and then pointing to Fred. It’s like Young is witnessing the best idea in the world!

Fred Dick: INTRODUCIN’ THE PORT-O-DICK!!! The latest and greatest in portable toilet technology. Let’s face it folks, the transferrable shidder industry needed a disruptor, and this is it! You’re looking at the Double Wide Port-o-Dick Model 4.20, complete with the optional bidet attachment. Give that ace a lil’ spray, nawmean? A lil’ spray spray a day day keeps the swamp ace away-way! HAHA! PRAISE GAWD!!!

Suddenly, the PRIMETron cuts on, revealing a flat bed truck with about twenty Port-o-Dicks sitting on the bed, parked near a body of water.

And stepping out of the driver’s side to the ground?

Paxton.

Ray.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHH!!!!!

Reed Young is immediately shook and hides behind Fred Dick, as on the PRIMETron, the Bayou Butcher walks a few steps before looking at the camera. He feigns shock – very poorly, might I add, because Paxton isn’t much of an actor.

Paxton Ray: Oh, hey Freddie. I didn’t see ya there. I was busy makin’ a delivery.

The camera pans over to the truck.

Paxton Ray: I heard ‘bout your little business venture an’ jus’ had t’get a piece. These things sure are nice. Looks like ya put a lotta time an’ money into ‘em.

Paxton adjusts his face mask and walks closer to the camera.

Paxton Ray: Y’know, Freddie, I been thinkin’ a lot ‘bout what makes ya tick. You’re a strange one. Ya don’t get embarrassed ‘bout pissin’ yourself, ya don’t get embarrassed for the dumb shit ya do…hell, if I was anythin’ like ya, I’d hide in my room forever ‘cause I’d be too damn embarrassed t’go outside.

Pax begins to walk back to the truck.

Paxton Ray: So what gets ya angry? What gets under your skin? It hit me like a bolt a’lightnin’, which I gotta say is a bit embarrassin’ for me, t’be honest, ‘cause like ya, it’s jus’ too damn simple.

He reaches into the front seat of the truck and fiddles with something, then turns back around to face the camera.

Paxton Ray: What makes ya angry, Freddie? I do.

He walks towards the back of the truck.

Paxton Ray: An’ because ya wouldn’t leave me alone? I’m gonna keep on makin’ ya angry every chance I get. Includin’ now. Ya might notice some dumb Cajun asshole parked this truck a bit too close to the Sacramento River. Damn that’s clumsy a’me.

Paxton reaches the back and puts his hands on the tailgate of the truck.

Paxton Ray: Now what would be terrible is if that same dumb Cajun accidentally left the truck in neutral and pushed all’a these ugly ass toilets in the river where they belong.

With that, Paxton gives a hard push, and the truck begins rolling into the river.

Back in the ring, Fred Dick’s eyes are wide. He foams at the mouth like he caught rabies about a week ago. He shakes the ring ropes, kicks the turnbuckles, falls to his knees, screams cusswords at God.

Fred Dick: GOD DAMN IT THAT WAS ALL MY MONEY LAWD!!! LAAAAAAAWD JESUSSSSSSS I NEED MY MONEY!!!!

Fred gasps, tears falling down his face as Reed tries to reach for Dick’s shoulder but shakes his head ‘no’ at the thought of it. Instead, Young merely watches his newfound friend helplessly fall apart.

Fred Dick: WHAT AM I GONNA DO ABOUT NOT HAVIN’ NO MORE MONEY GOD, YOU ACEHOE?!?!?!

Suddenly, as though Fred just flipped a switch, he snaps right out of it.

Fred Dick: I know what the fug I’ma do. I’ma go buy me a got damn GUN, sneak it into the got damn ARENA, and SHOOT PAXTON FUGGIN’ RAY DURIN’ HIS GOT DAMN TITLE MATCH!!! Come on boys, pawn shop’s liable to close any minute.

Daytona pats Fred on the back, STRONK climbs over the top rope of the ring and picks up the arms of the Whorebarrow. Reed splits the ring ropes so Fred can exit nicely through them.

The boys begin making their way up the entrance ramp, totally ignoring Lowell, who is asking off-mic if they still need to have him tote around the porta potty. No one answers, because no one gives a shit.

Lowell sighs, starts to pull the Port-o-Dick with his neck back up the ramp. He is Sisyphus. But as he does, the Port-o-Dick door opens, and out steps Paxton Ray.

RAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Nick Stuart: What?! Paxton Ray is here! But we just saw him dumping those Port-o-lets into the river!

Richard Parker: It must’ve been on tape delay! That bastard!

Lowell doesn’t get a chance to react before Paxton grabs the chain and uses it to pull Lowell into a flat-footed Lafayette Lullaby. He crumples to the floor and Paxton runs up the ramp after Fred.

Richard Parker: Fred look out!

Paxton turns Fred around, lifts him up, and clocks him with a Lafayette Lullaby, causing the crowd to pop like crazy.

The Whoresmen turn around and see the damage, but they can’t get down to Fred before Paxton jumps over the barricade and makes his way through the crowd, turning around after ten feet in to stare and grin at his victims.

Nick Stuart: Well Fred Dick tried to use Paxton’s attack as a way to profit, but Paxton ruined that too, and delivered an exclamation point! The conflict between these two is growing by the day!

Richard Parker: What is Fred going to do for money! Can we raise a GoFundMe? H–here, Fred! I’ve got six dollars! Can someone go give Fred this six dollars?

We cut elsewhere.

“Thanks as always, buddy!”

Bartender Booth Guy, (let’s make it a thing) hands Home Run Hayes a fresh G&T somewhere in the back of the Golden 1 Center.

Watching from the shadows, our friend JCH.

Well, he looks like no one’s friend. By now, Jonathan-Christopher is shaking. This isn’t the usual little bitch simp shake, either. He’s not scared to take directions from Vickie. Vickie isn’t even there. This is a brooding madhouse. A man who’s suddenly decided he’s marching right up to Hayes Hanlon, like he’s doing this very moment, reach out and-

Hall’s hand is extended. It’s just about to grab an unsuspecting Hayes by the shoulder when Jonathan-Christopher merely sulks backwards into the distance, not going through with it.

Taking a long sip through his straw, Hanlon leaves the booth heading for JCH’s hidden location. Jonathan does his best to hide himself, but is saved as Hanlon veers left down the neighboring hallway.

Hall pokes his head out, seeing if the coast is clear. Taking a few cautious steps forward, he’s spun around with a strong grip.

Hayes Hanlon: You want my number or something, buddy?

For a very brief moment, Jonathan-Christopher swallows hard and takes a weak step back. However, as he lowers his chin into his neck, JCH starts having a conversation with… himself?

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: This man ruined your life. He slept with Vickie. Why else would she enter his locker room last week?

Hanlon’s eyebrows furl in confusion, and he looks over his left and right shoulder.

Hayes Hanlon: Excuse me, what?

Jonathan-Christopher pauses and replies back to himself.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: But he doesn’t have blonde hair. It was a blonde haired man in the video. And it was two weeks ago…

Another short millisecond break for Jonathan-Christopher to respond to his own comment.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: We don’t know that for sure anymore. Ivan Stanislav broke the tape. Your mind could be playing tricks on you.

Meanwhile, Hayes has clearly figured out JCH is batshit crazy, because who has conversations with themselves in public like this? No matter how low Hall’s voice is.

Hayes Hanlon: I don’t know what you’re going on about, but you should probably go see Dr. Fihlguud, or get a drink. Maybe both.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: No. We know the tape. We watched it a lot. Blonde man. Blonde man! Why was Hayes wearing a wig-

Hayes Hanlon: (Mouthing the word “wig?” and pushing his hand through his hair.) My hair is freakin’ gorgeous…

And suddenly, JCH lunges forward, snatching Hayes by the shoulders as Hall’s baseball cap falls to the ground in a hurry and he screams into Hanlon’s face for anyone nearby to hear.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: WHY DID YOU SLEEP WITH MY WIFE!?!?

Seething, shaking, dark black bags under his eyes, Hall is working himself into a mental breakdown. Hayes, eyes now narrowed after grab and ensuing scream, shoves Hall hard in the chest with his non-drink hand, and snarls beneath his ‘stache.

Hayes Hanlon: THAT’S not a good idea, bud. And I didn’t sleep with your freakin’ wife! The only time Vickie’s hands have been anywhere near my junk was when she smashed me in the balls to get you a win last year. Remember that? ‘Cause I sure do!

Hanlon’s comments don’t even register with Hall. Instead, he stares at Hayes, eyes wide open, adrenaline coursing through his body.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: YOU’RE A LIAR! I SAW YOU! I SAW HER…

Hayes Hanlon: You didn’t see shit. C’mon, bro. Your wife isn’t exactly in my league. I’ve got a LOT of numbers to call in my little black book, so stop following me, and go get your head checked out or something.

Hayes maintains his glare, and the Hallmark replies with angered breathing. Hanlon studies JCH for a moment. He’s always been an odd dude on the roster, but he’d never expected this crazed, manic version.

And so, he leans into it.

Hayes Hanlon: (grinning) But man, it kinda feels like you WANT me to take her for a spin. All you gotta do is ask…

The Event Horizon leers into Hall’s ear, with a devilish sneer.

Hayes Hanlon: …maybe I’ll let you watch.

Home Run Hayes gives Hall a clap on the shoulder, then takes a long sip of his gin and tonic through his straw, before shoulder past and making way back down the hallway, leaving Jonathan-Christopher with wild eyes, grit teeth, and paralyzed with rage.

We cut elsewhere.

Backstage. Catering. Many delicacies and treats can be seen sprawled across multiple tables. Why are we here? Well it just so happens one of the members of PRIME is sampling the wares. The member in question is none other than everyone’s favorite wrestler named Ria, RIA. Her arms are crossed as her head slowly sweeps back and forth.

RIA: I mean, it all looks pretty good… Damn it, I hate choosing between too much good stuff!

She waltzes over to the table farthest in the right, grabbing a plate. She peers down the line of food once again. Guess what? She still hasn’t made up her mind on what she wants to eat.

Grabbing a plate of his own, Seán O’Neill enters the scene and forms up behind RIA, next in the queue.

Seán O’Neill: No Finger Steaks this time eh? You know, those things were really starting to grow on me!

The Irishman flashes a cheesy grin and turns his own attention towards what he’ll have for his plate.

RIA: It’s usually basic bitch stuff, but sometimes they surprise ya with somethin’ different.

O’Neill grins again. You know for someone who rarely used the muscles needed for smiling before, he’s definitely becoming a much easier person to be around lately. He may still have a long way to go before he’s thought of in the same fun-loving vein as the Psychoberry, but there is noticeably less of the grumpy old bastard about him week by week.

They both move down the line, adding to their plates as they do so.

Seán O’Neill: Ahhh! Now that’s what I’m talking about…

He piles several battered chicken goujons on his plate, admiring them with fervor. The look doesn’t go unnoticed by RIA who chuckles.

Seán O’Neill: With no offense to the Finger Steaks, but fried chicken my friend, is the key!

RIA: The key?

Seán, who can resist no longer, bites into one of the goujons before responding.

Seán O’Neill: The key to life, the universe and everything!

RIA: Isn’t that 42?

Seán O’Neill: Oh no, that’s the answer!

As he says this, O’Neill turns his head to look straight at the viewers at home, clearly breaking the fourth wall, and gives them a wink. RIA looks around bewildered by this odd display from the Irishman.

RIA: What’s the question though?

Seán O’Neill: (Answering in a cryptic tone, whilst tapping his nose with his index finger) Ahhhh!

Their plates filled, the pair head towards a free table, Seán gestures towards the seat opposite RIA, seeking permission to join her, she nods in agreement and so he sets his plate down on the table. Before taking his seat though he turns it around and then climbs on, in what can only be described as ‘The Riker Maneuver’. RIA chokes back a laugh and shakes her head as O’Neill grins again.

Seán O’Neill: (Muffled, from having just shoved another goujon in his mouth) So I’ve been thinking. Our match was good craic, and I appreciate the help, but I couldn’t help wondering if it might be easier for me to learn more from you if I’m not also desperately trying to defend myself at the same time.

RIA: What’d ya have in mind?

Seán O’Neill: Well, I was thinking, for a little while at least, I could come out to ringside with you. I could be your manager, without ya know, managing anything! What do you think?

RIA takes a few moments to ponder this unexpected request.

RIA: Ya know what? Sure, why not? Kinda like a ‘do as I do, not as I say’ typa thing. Yeah sure, you’re on.

O’Neill looks up from his plate and gives RIA the ‘thumbs up’.

Seán O’Neill: Righteous!

A look of confusion flashes across RIA’s face and then she’s left shaking her head once more.

RIA: You’re kind of an odd dude, Seán.

We cut elsewhere.

Nick Stuart: Well folks, if you thought tonight felt like a pay-per-view because of the three title matches at the top of the show, get ready. The first of them is about to start.

Richard Parker: Ooh, I can’t wait. Daytona Diamonds is about to get revenge on Jason Snow for me.

Nick Stuart: Revenge?!?! Richard, what could you possibly want revenge on one of the greatest PRIME Universal Champions ever for?

Richard Parker: Allowing that Anglo Luchador to get some confidence at Tropical Turmoil.

Nick Stuart: audibly facepalms

The PAs are silent as the PRIMEView blares to life showing clips of Jason Snow’s greatest hits. The Original Villain walks out from the back, no need for pomp, pageantry, anything of the sort. He’s here for one reason and one reason only.

Gold.

He strides to the ring, the cheers of the fans in the capital of the Golden State raining on him. He’s not affected by it, but that doesn’t keep the fans from shouting louder for one of their favorites all-time.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the challenger, weighing in at 235 pounds and hailing from Parts Unknown. He is the longest reigning Universal Champion of the ReVolution, the Original Villain… Jason… SNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: Gotta wonder what’s going through Snow’s mind right now. He’s been used to having the numbers advantage during his career, but now, he’s a lone wolf. And the Whoresmen? They have been as instrumental at keeping the Intense Championship around Diamonds’ waist as his own ability has.

Richard Parker: Look, I’m gonna level with you, Nick. No one cares. It’s the Intense Championship. If you’re not looking to do anything short of dropping a nuclear bomb on your opponent to keep that title, are you even really trying?

Nick Stuart: I mean, the letter of the law says you’re right, but the spirit?

Richard Parker: Oh, save the unwritten rules crap for the next time we’re in St. Louis. Cardinals fans love that.

Nick Stuart: I didn’t know you liked baseball, Rich.

Richard Parker: Baseball? What’s that?

Snow slides into the ring and gives Jimmy Turnbull the side-eye before heading into the far corner facing the hard cam. Jimmy Turnbull isn’t the Intense Championship referee. That should be Elvis Nixon. But the story of why Elvis is needed elsewhere on the card? Another time.

The lights shut off.

Sturgill.

The closing track from Sound and Fury reverberates through the arena as the Whoresmen come out one by one.

The Ideas Man waves to the crowd and then takes his place on the forefront of the right flank of the stage.

Next, the King of Wrong Style, Mr. Three Jordans himself, middle fingers raised in the air with enough curse words coming out of his mouth to keep the FCC solvent for a year, stumbles out and takes his place behind Young on the right.

The mammoth Beast from the Deep steps out of the curtain, looking confused as is his wont. He stands with intense eyes, looking out at the crowd, pushing a wheelbarrow holding a (still) very passed out Harley Walker. For a moment, he freezes until Fred Dick and Reed Young yell loud enough to tell him to move over to his spot behind them.

Nick Stuart: Well, any semblance of fairness in this match just got thrown out the window.

Richard Parker: Again, if you wanted fairness, you should wait for later, when Don Winters and Paxton Ray *hurk*

Nick Stuart: Richard, did you just throw up in your mouth a little bit?

Richard Parker: …maybe.

And finally, the Champion.

Daytona Diamonds saunters out of the back, both arms raised up high, Intense Championship strapped around his waist. He is jaw-jacking to no one in particular as the crowd peppers him with jeers and expletives. He turns to his stablemates and they all line up behind him and start doing the Whip and Nae-Nae all the way down the ramp. STRONK even manages to do it while pushing the wheelbarrow and they’ve rigged an elaborate, Weekend at Bernie’s-esque system to make Harley’s arms move with STRONK’s.

To a fuzzy country-slash-Southern rock song about escaping the apocalypse.

Ladies and Gentlemen, your Poor Whorsemen.

Richard Parker: What impeccable choreography!

Nick Stuart: No comment.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, weighing in at 245 pounds and hailing from Carson City, Nevada, he is Rhinestone Cowboy, the reigning and defending PRIME Intense Champion… Daytona…. DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAMONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNDSSSSSS!!!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

STRONK stops at the ringside area and starts yelling at Harley to get up. He’s unaffected. Fred takes a bottle of Gatorade from his basketball shorts and pours it on the Lightning Boy, but unfortunately, it’s too warm to rouse him from his stupor. Finally, Reed gets a wide smile on his face and reaches into his coat pocket. He produces a bottle of smelling salts. He uncorks the lid and puts it under Walker’s nose. Lightning Boy startles out of the wheelbarrow, eyes wide and fists in fighting stance. He looks around the ringside area.

Harley Walker: WHERE THE FUCK AM I?!?!?!

Reed calmly tells him where he’s at and guides him to his spot around the ring. Each of the other three members of Diamonds’ retinue take a spot on a distinct side of the ring as the King of the Ocean slides into the ring, whipping his belt off his waist and holding it high in the air under a hailstorm of vitriol. He throws the belt to Jimmy Turnbull, who holds it in the air himself. He hands the belt to the attendant and calls for the bell.

DING DING

Snow emerges from his corner in fighting stance, but Diamonds is not impressed. The Intense Champion grabs his crotch and flips the OV off.

Nick Stuart: The Champion showing immense hubris here.

Richard Parker: I would disagree with you here, Nick, but I don’t know what that word means.

Nick Stuart: Which one?

Richard Parker: Yes.

Snow rolls his eyes and swings at the Champion, but ‘Tona leans back to dodge and then wags his finger.

Big mistake.

Richard Parker: OUCH!

Nick Stuart: Yeah, I don’t think the Champion’s index finger is going to be aiding his nose candy consumption anytime soon.

Snow gives ‘Tona a nice bout of joint manipulation and then kicks him in the gut for good measure before dropping back and slamming his knee into the side of the Ocean King’s head. Diamonds takes a hilarious pratfall, calling “timeout” as he falls to the canvas, rolling out of the ring, conveniently the one manned by the growth hormone made manifest himself, STRONK Godson. Snow, nostrils flared, instinctually goes to follow, but he stops in his tracks.

STRONK.

Dick.

Harley. Even two sheets to the wind, he’s still pretty formidable.

A lightbulb figuratively goes off over his head, and he drops to the canvas, headed to the side of the ring occupied by the Ideas Man himself, Reed Young. Snow turns to the impresario, raises his fist, and causes him to beg off, because sometimes, Reed Young has good ideas. Snow grabs a chair and starts his march around the ring.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think I like the look in Jason Snow’s eyes here, Richard.

Richard Parker: I just got flashbacks to the ReVolution era, Nick. Hold me.

He first encounters Harley, who can barely drunkenly put his dukes up before Snow rams him in the gut with the upper rim of the chair before whacking him on the back as he doubles over. Dick lurches from behind and grabs Snow in his arms covered in greasy compression sleeves. Snow’s eyes grow large, but he quickly regains his senses before stomping the King of Wrong Style right on the top of his Jordans. The OV turns around waffles Dick in the face with a home run chairshot sending safety scolds to their Twitter machines to denounce the violent hit.

Finally, STRONK.

Nick Stuart: STRONK not backing down from an absolutely FERAL-looking Jason Snow here, Rich.

Richard Parker: I wish I could say something pithy here, Nick, but I’m not sure STRONK knows where he is at this point.

Snow bows up to STRONK, over whom he has a surprising four-inch height advantage. STRONK DADDY remains uncowed, snorting through his own flared nostrils. Snow shakes his head, steps back, and cracks STRONK over the head with the chair.

Nick Stuart: Did… did STRONK just shake off that chairshot like it was nothing?

Richard Parker: Nick, there was no shaking involved. STRONK didn’t even move.

Nick Stuart: My God.

Richard Parker: I love STRONK DADDY, Nick, but he’s not beating the “three brain cells at best” charges.

Snow gazes at the Beast of the Deep, aghast that his best shot did not affect him in the least. STRONK finally realizes what happened to him, and he advances on Snow. As he lunges forward with his bear-like arms, Snow deftly ducks and sidesteps him, popping up behind him and jamming the upper rim of the chair into the back of STRONK’s knee. King Stallion drops to his knees, and Snow, well, you know what comes next.

CRAAAAACK

Nick Stuart: Well, the crown of his head is a hard zone, but you can hurt STRONK Daddy if you get him in the back of the head and neck.

Richard Parker: Stop disseminating weaknesses! You’re supposed to be impartial!

However, just as soon as Snow raises the chair to the approval of the crowd, they start booing. Mainly because ‘Tona, the guy he’s actually wrestling, has just snuck up behind him and hits him with a rolling elbow to the back of the head.

Nick Stuart: Once again, the Whoresmen, even taking serious damage, prove to be too much for one of Diamonds’ opponents to overcome.

Richard Parker: Well, it’s not my fault none of ‘Tona’s opponents have friends enough to care about him to even the odds! Remember all the gangs Snow ran with? You’d think he’d know!

Nick Stuart: Fair point, Richard, but that doesn’t mean this is right.

Tona stomps on Snow for good measure, then grabs him by the scruff of his neck and throws him back into the ring. He reaches under the ring apron for a weapon and grabs the first thing he can find, a fire extinguisher.

Nick Stuart: I really hope that’s not the only one of those in the building.

Richard Parker: Why? Do you really think someone could set a fire here tonight?

Nick Stuart: Joe Fontaine is in attendance.

Richard Parker: Dammit Nick, I hate when you get one over on me.

The Rhinestone Cowboy cackles maniacally as he rolls into the ring, pulls the pin, and aims the hose at Snow, who’s slowly getting up to his feet.

Or he was until he gets blasted with grainy, gritty chemicals meant best to put out fires. Snow covers his face and flails on his feet until Diamonds charges at him in one fluid motion, putting him down with a running DDT. The Champ pops up on his knees, wipes the chemical residue from under his nose, mock-sniffs like he just did a bump, and laughs maniacally again as the crowd rains boos on him.

Nick Stuart: The Champion having his way with Jason Snow right now, thanks to the help of some fire protection equipment.

Richard Parker: Look, Snow was just heated. ‘Tona’s trying to help him cool off!

Nick Stuart: Goddammit, Rich.

Diamonds gets up and grabs the fire extinguisher, turning around and driving it into Snow’s gut. The former Universal Champion’s eyes bulge out of his head, and the gulp sound he made could be heard in Santa Rosa. The King of the Rodeo picks Snow up and delivers a form-perfect Northern Lights suplex. Turnbull drops to the mat to count…

ONE!

TWO!

No! Snow kicks out.

Diamonds pounds the mat, yells something ribald at Turnbull, and then rolls out of the ring. He reaches underneath, this time a little longer than when he got the fire extinguisher. He rises slowly, holding a bullrope up in the air.

Richard Parker: A cowboy gets his true weapon. Ooh, I’m so excited for this.

Nick Stuart: And I’m the one who’s not being impartial.

Snow has risen to all fours by this time, but Diamonds ensures he flops back onto his belly. He whips the former Universal Champion once, twice, three times, causing him to wince and scream at the same time. Diamonds deftly tosses the rope so it goes around the back of his neck just so he can grab his crotch for a second before whipping it back forward. He wraps the rope around Snow’s neck and wrenches back. Snow’s eyes again bulge out of his head, spittle bubbling out of his mouth. Turnbull employs a five count, but it’s useless because in a match like this, trying to murder someone with a bullrope is as legal as a wristlock.

Nick Stuart: This is hard to watch.

Richard Parker: I know, Snow looks a lot more like WhatCulture’s Andy Murray when he’s being choked. Disconcerting.

Nick Stuart: Goddammit, Rich.

Snow refuses to yield, and the rope’s friction causing abrasion on the Champion’s hand ends up saving him. Diamonds lets go of the rope, shaking his hands like they just released their grip off a molten hot cast iron panhandle, but he’s not affected enough not to land a couple of boots to the small of the Villain’s back in the process.

Nick Stuart: Diamonds is a lot of things, and reckless certainly is one of them.

Richard Parker: You have to throw caution to the wind if you’re a cowboy. Do you think Yosemite Sam saved the Donner Party by being cautious?

Nick Stuart: Richard, are you making stuff up again to cover for the fact that you failed AP American History twice?

Richard Parker: How dare you! I swear by the flaming sword Abraham Lincoln used to slay Benedict Arnold that I got an A in that class!

Diamonds rubs his hands together for a few seconds more before turning his attention back to Snow, who once again has gotten up to all fours. The Champ sends him back to his belly with a vicious donkey punch before planting his foot on the back of the OV’s head. He does the “touch ‘em all” motion with his hand before grabbing for Snow’s leg.

Nick Stuart: The Do-Si-Do!

Richard Parker: Imagine if he makes Snow tap out!

Snow’s eyes open wide and his face reddens as Diamonds lurches back, cranking in the single-leg crab with all the derelict bravado the PRIMEates have come to expect from their Intense Champion. However, the damage the rope did to his hands weakens his grip on the signature submission hold, and Snow is able to break free. Diamonds yells even more expletives, causing parents to cover the ears of their children in the first five or so rows. ‘Tona pursues the Ace of the ReVolution, but he doesn’t notice that Snow crawled over to where the weapon that kicked off this whole barrage was located.

Only Snow didn’t empty any chemicals into Diamonds’ face.

CLANG

The Champion falls back as the challenger drops the fire extinguisher and inhales deep to get his wind back about him.

Richard Parker: That’s not fair! Snow can’t use the same weapon Diamonds used on him!

Nick Stuart: I’m not even going to point out the hypocrisy here. It’s too rich.

Richard Parker: Hey, that’s a good catchphrase for me. Parker. He’s toooooo Rich!

‘Tona rises to his feet, holding his head with both hands screaming, “MAMA, I GOT THE BRAIN WORMS.” Snow rips his hands from the defense position and starts peppering the Champion with pointed knuckles, once, twice, three, four times. Diamonds exaggeratedly staggers around and lands throat first on the ropes. Snow looks around on the outside, seeing that all three Whoresmen have recovered, and decides to show his intensity with what’s in the ring. He grabs the fire extinguisher again and drives it into the back of the King of the Rodeo. Diamonds falls back, and Snow covers…

ONE!

TWO!

But the Champion kicks out.

Snow looks to grab the bullrope, but he finds there’s a little unnatural tension. Harley and Fred have congregated to one side of the ring and are pulling on it as a counter.

Nick Stuart: It’s a numbers game! That’s all this is! Every single opponent of Diamonds has to fight at least four-on-one.

Richard Parker: Excuse me, Nick, it’s five-on-one. Reed Young is giving them ideas.

Nick Stuart: You do see how that doesn’t make things better, right?

Richard Parker: I mean, but it does. For ‘Tona.

Nick Stuart: I should’ve known better.

If Fred and Harley are on one side of the ring, that means one of the four sides is unmanned. Snow thinks quick, bails out, quickly grabs the first thing he can find under the ring and slides into the ring. He looks down, and a veil of shock washes over his face.

Nick Stuart: Is that one of Steve Harrison’s Snow Globes?!?!?

Richard Parker: NOT FAIR! You don’t see ‘Tona using, uh, Diamonds Brand™ Cocaine?

Nick Stuart: Rich, I don’t think that exists, but you may have manifested it. I hope he gives you a cut.

Richard Parker: You mean it?!

Nick Stuart: No. Drugs are illegal. C’mon Rich, think.

Snow shrugs and turns around to face a recovering Diamonds. He lines up his shot on the King of the Ocean and then…

CRACK!

Water, fake snow, and blood explode in a blast as the Champion falls to the mat. Snow covers…

ONE!

TWO!

But the Champ kicks out.

Diamonds, busted open again, looks weary on the canvas as Snow does the throat-slash gesture upon getting up. He stalks, waiting for ‘Tona to get to his feet, but he feels someone clawing at his ankle.

Nick Stuart: It was only a matter of time before the Ideas Man got the idea to get involved physically.

Richard Parker: Hey, I hear back in the day, he had to beat suitors for his daughter back. You have to be in peak physical shape to protect a specimen like Vickie Hall.

Nick Stuart: throws up in his mouth a little bit

Snow turns around with fire in his eyes aimed directly at Young, but before he can move towards the outside…

CRACK!!

Nick Stuart: What a chairshot from the Champion! A terrible chairshot!

While Reed caused the distraction, Dick threw Diamonds the chair. And now Snow is down on the canvas, again in peril. The Champ drives the point of the chair into Snow’s throat before another nearfall…

ONE!

TWO!

THR… NO!

Snow kicks out at the last second.

Diamonds yells something I cannot repeat here at Turnbull before grabbing the chair and setting it up. He grabs Snow by the neck and forcibly sits him down before yelling for the crowd to fornicate themselves. He drops back off the ropes, pivoting and leaning back on the middle rope for extra momentum, before…

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD, SIX SHOOTER ON SNOW WHILE HE WAS SEATED ON THE CHAIR!

Richard Parker: AHAHAAHA so delightfully twisted! Diamonds may be the greatest Intense Champion we’ve ever seen!

Snow pops up instinctively holding his back before collapsing onto the canvas. Diamonds covers again…

ONE!

TWO!

….

………….

………………

NO! Snow kicks out again!

Diamonds signals to the crowd that it’s over. He grabs Snow to his feet in the three-quarters front bulldog. How the West Was Won?

Not yet.

Nick Stuart: Jason Snow is not dead yet! Big knee to the back!

Snow follows it up with a German suplex. Then another. Then one more, which he bridges for a pin…

ONE!

TWO!

TH… NO!

The Champion kicks out!

Snow pops up and looks around the ring, seeing the chair that was used against him just a few moves earlier. He folds it up and places it next to Diamonds before grabbing him in the Iron Claw, yanking him to his feet. With fury in his eyes, he lifts the Champ up by his head.

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD! OLD MAN STRENGTH ONTO THE CHAIR! THAT’S GOTTA BE IT!

Richard Parker: TEST HIM FOR HORSE STEROIDS!

Snow covers, Turnbull counts…

ONE!

TWO!

……..

………….

…………………..

…………………………..

‘Tona kicks out at the last possible second!

Snow sizes up the Champion as he struggles to his feet, beckoning him to come on. He loads up for his superkick finish…

Nick Stuart: SNAKE EYES… NO! NO! DIAMONDS CAUGHT THE BOOT!

Richard Parker: He survives!

Diamonds stops dead in his tracks but keeps a hold on the ankle. He uses a burst of adrenaline to shove Snow back and then over the top rope…

…into the waiting arms of STRONK Godson.

Nick Stuart: NO! NO! DO IT YOURSELF, GODDAMMIT!

STRONK hits him with the Squat Rack Breaker before tossing Snow’s limp body back into the ring as a bloodied Diamonds cackles. He brings Snow to his feet and hits How the West Was Won before dropping for a cover.

ONE!

TWO!

…..

……….

…………..

……………..

THREE!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner, and STILL PRIME Intense Champion… Daytona… DIAMONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNDS!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Diamonds, bloodied but smiling, grabs the belt from Jimmy Turnbull as the rest of the Whoresmen file into the ring behind him.

Nick Stuart: Jason Snow put up the fight of his life, but the numbers game was too much for him.

Richard Parker: Hey, if these challengers weren’t dumbasses, they’d bring backup too!

Nick Stuart: Maybe they will. That still doesn’t make it right.

The crowd continues to rain boos down at the Whoresmen as the camera cuts to another part of the building.

The royal blue threads, golden blond hair, and rosy red cheeks of junior interviewer Simon Tillier practically glow against a backdrop of a black void. He greets the camera smiling ear to ear.

Simon Tillier: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Simon Tillier here…

From off camera, we can hear the sound of someone blowing air, drawing a look of apprehension from Simon.

Simon Tillier: And with me right now is the reigning “Wingman Champion of PRIME Wrestling… Kerry Kuroyama!

We cut to Kerry seated on the other side of the table, sniffing and huffing uncontrollably while wiping his eyes. Gone is the poise and controlled perfect of the Emerald Apex. His face is flushed. His fingers are coated in an angry orange residue.

Before him is a tray of hot wings and an array of hot sauce bottles. On his shoulder rests the newly replated “Wingman Championship” that was once the Alias Title, and hovering just behind that is Scott Hunter.

Scott Hunter: You’ve got this! You can take the heat! You can’t not take the heat! I am using double negatives, that’s how confident I am that you can’t not be unable to never don’t take no heat!!!!!

Simon clears his throat.

Simon Tillier: Kerry…?

Kuroyama perks up.

Kerry Kuroyama: …Simon.

SCOTTY’S HOT MIC

SCOVILLE RATING: 150,000

Simon Tillier: I suppose I should begin by asking the obvious.

Kerry Kuroyama: [holding up a hand] Wait, wait, let me guess…

He grabs one of the bottles of hot sauce and inspects the label.

Kerry Kuroyama: What is a Scoville rating anyway? Like, who’s job is it to calculate this?

Simon Tillier: Actually, I was meaning to ask about this… [gestures vaguely to the setup]… unorthodox interview format you’ve selected for this.

Kerry picks up a wing and begins mowing down.

Kerry Kuroyama: Ah… that, actually, is a good question, Simon. But–HOOFF… Christ… I don’t think I could answer that as well as Scott here.

Scott Hunter: Simon, you are the very best in the world at asking the dumbest questions imaginable. You can’t not never ask smart questions! Obviously, I am the best wingman in the history of men with wings who can’t fly, so the only interview format that doesn’t not make since is the HOT WING FORMAT, just like they did in days of yore. And by yore and mean YOOOOOOORRRRRREEEE!!! Get?? Probably not, but seriously. Get it?? My best friend Kerry must master the wings to master the wingman title, and you are stupid for doubting him!!

The junior reporter’s face scrunches quizzically.

Simon Tillier: Okay, but… how does this actually relate to in-ring performance?

Scott Hunter: (lunging in Simon’s direction, but held back by Kerry Kuroyama) How dare you ask two stupid questions in a row, Simon?! I’ll say it again…. DARE!! How… DARE… SIMON TILLIER… ASK… THAT… DUMB… QUE… STION?!?!

Kerry Kuroyama: As I’ve come to learn, Simon, it’s better to not think too much on it. Just go with the flow, and reap the rewards.

Scott slams a new tray of red, radiant hot wings in front of Kerry. Kuroyama throws his head back in despair.

Kerry Kuroyama: Oh, for fuck’s sake…

SCORPION DEATHLOCK

SCOVILLE RATING: 1,300,000

Kerry digs in.

Scott Hunter: As everybody knows… except for stupid stupid Simon Tillier… this sauce contains Trinidad scorpions and tabascos and pineapple. I do not know why the people of Trinidad put scorpions into their hot sauces but I do not question hot sauce experts. SO EAT THOSE SPICY SCORPIONS AND BECOME A MAN!!!!!

Kerry Kuroyama: Oh God… it’s like I’m really eating scorpions. Angry, angry scorpions… that are also on fire.

Simon Tillier: In any case, Kerry, here we are right off the heels of your first successful title defense, fending off a very spirited and passionate challenge from Crash Jackson. You were expecting a tough battle, but were you expecting it to come that close?

Kerry gulps down a mouthful of water and takes a deep breath to recompose himself and think of an answer. After a second, he nods his head and speaks.

Kerry Kuroyama: Jackson… right. Was I expecting to come down to the wire? Of course I was. And I expect every defense from here on out to be the same. Because to live the life of a champion is to live every day with a target on one’s back. Heavy lies the burden, so they say. Fortunately, I’ve been preparing for this my entire life. As for Crash? Nothing but respect for the kid. Bright future ahead of him. Twice now, he’s dominated me in the ring. But now he’s learned a lesson about what it takes to carry the gold…

He points to the evidence hanging on his shoulder.

Kerry Kuroyama: Dominance, clearly, isn’t everything.

SHITCOCK SPLASH

SCOVILLE RATING: 1,500,000

Kerry Kuroyama: What sadistic maniac concocted such bottled insanity?!

Scott Hunter: There is a Benjamoon guy from St. Louis who has concocted this in his laboratory. Or is it Benjamoon-Frye? I can’t remember. No, I’m sure it’s Benjamoon.

Kerry Kuroyama: Benja-WHO?? He should be dragged into the streets and flogged for crimes against humanity.

Kerry apprehensively picks up the next wing and takes a bite.

Simon Tillier: Anyway, Kerry, some would say the “wingman” stipulation you introduced is the only reason you’re still carrying that title right now. Would you agree?

Sweating profusely, Kerry chugs from a glass of milk to cleanse his palate and clear his throat.

Kerry Kuroyama: FUCK! FUCK! Ugghh… look, Simon… I’m obviously going to disagree with that. All challengers have the same advantage. It all comes down to who you pick to have in your corner. Because, as I told you when I first unveiled the “wingman stip”, it’s my intention to use this title to test a challenger’s trust along with his talent. And now, hopefully, the world knows why the trust I put in Scott here is absolute.

Scott sets down a plate of celery and blue cheese. No, literally… blue cheese. It’s a block of Swiss, painted blue. Kerry passes over the cheese and stuffs down a stalk of celery.

Kerry Kuroyama: [chewing loudly] Thanks, Scott. Anyway, Simon… the bonds between the members of Vae Victis are like no other. We all know each other’s limits. We all know we fight. And Scott knows how I fight. Which is why there’s nobody else I’d rather have in my corner.

MT. RAINIER’S REVENGE

SCOVILLE RATING: 2,500,000

Kerry Kuroyama: Oh God… oh dear Christ on sale… fuck, it burns my eyes just looking at it!

Scott Hunter: This is your biggest challenge yet!! This hot sauce was gathered from the dewey moss on the peak of Mt. Rainer!! It was this sauce that inspired the creation of the famous coffee house Starbucks, a bustling fish market, and grunge music!! Kurt Cobain, Scott Weiland and Layne Staley braved this sauce and look at them now!!! Here, wear these….

Scott offers Kerry a pair of goggles.

Kerry Kuroyama: Well, in that case… as a proud Seattle native, I guess I have no choice but to do my hometown justice.

Kerry puts on the protective eyewear, leans over the table, and immediately winces.

Kerry Kuroyama: The goggles… they do nothing!

His hand is trembling as he picks up the wing. A speck of sauce drips off the tip. It burns a hole through the table. Kerry takes a bite… waits for the heat… then rears back in his chair and gazes off into a thousand-mile stare.

Kerry Kuroyama: I… can… see… forever…

Simon Tillier: So, Kerry, I guess all that’s left to ask is, how are you preparing for the next challenge?

Kerry breaks from his trance, takes a sip of water, clears his throat, and suddenly leans forward in his seat.

Kerry Kuroyama: Like I said, Simon: my trust is absolute. I’ve done all I can to prepare myself to get to this level. But as for where I go from here…?

He thumbs over his shoulder. Scott folds his arms across his chest, throws back his flowing auburn mullet, and poses like a fucking stud. The studio lights reflecting in his Pit Vipers give him an almost divine sparkle.

Kerry Kuroyama: …Scott’s the man at the wheel. Because I have faith in his ability to lead me to the next echelon of my career. As great and respected as Avalon. As Youngblood. As…

Kerry trails off when a shadow suddenly falls over him.

Kerry Kuroyama: Shit… Clay!

Kuroyama abruptly wipes his face with the back of his hand and shoots to his feet. He looks awkwardly at the mess of meat, bone, hot sauce, and shame left on the table. The Behemoth glances to the table, then back to Kerry.

Kerry Kuroyama: Uhh, what’s up?

Clay Byrd: Just droppin’ by, ya know, checkin’ in.

Clay points to Scott Hunter, then claps and lets out an overly boisterous shout.

Clay Byrd: There he is, look at the MVP from last week. Perfect timeout! Ya really got Kerry outta one there!

Scott Hunter is smiling from ear to ear, then catches himself and plays it cool. The Monster from Plainview turns towards the Emerald Apex, wrapping an arm over his shoulder. Byrd reaches down, picking up one of the wings and Kerry watches on in horror as the big man does what he loves. He shoves that spicy chicken wing right down his face hole. Kuroyama, wincing from the spice, turns towards Clay.

Kerry Kuroyama: Oh, uhh, you alright big guy?

Byrd glares a hole through Kuroyama, the long pause, Byrd’s face emotionless. Not a single bead of sweat forming.

Clay Byrd: What the fuck are ya talkin’ ‘bout Kerry?

The big man snarls and leans down to Kuroyama’s ear. Clay hisses to Kuroyama through his snarl.

Clay Byrd: I’m tryin’ ta see if yer alright with that moron callin’ the shots. He mighta got lucky last week, ya sure he meant ta call it? Was he hungry? Did he ask for a hotdog and they counted that for a timeout? Ya can’t be relyin’ on…

Kuroyama flashes a smirk and a nod towards Hunter.

Kerry Kuroyama: Thanks Clay, but he nailed it last week. He’s got me.

Scott Hunter: That moron?? What are you even talking about?? Simon Tillier wasn’t callin’ the shots. And he hates hot dogs!

Clay and Kerry look at each other.

Clay Byrd: ‘kay.

Byrd, reaches down and picks up a second chicken wing to everyone’s absolute horror.

Clay Byrd: Yer call. Just don’t tell me I didn’t offer later.

Byrd claps Kuroyama’s shoulder with a massive paw and turns back towards Hunter.

Clay Byrd: Hell of a job kid, hell of a job.

The big man points to Hunter again and stumbles out of the scene. Once he’s gone, Kerry tears off his goggles.

Kerry Kuroyama: Okay, enough of this shit.  Hand me the Tums, Scott…

Scott immediately begins “tumming” to the theme to Dragnet. Rolling his eyes, Kerry snags a handful of celery before making his own exit.

Kerry Kuroyama: Pleasure as always, Simon. A guilty one, but a pleasure nonetheless.

Alone at the table, Simon’s curiosity gets the better of him and he reaches for one of the bottles. A quick sniff later and his face becomes a mosaic of agony and ecstasy.

ReVival goes elsewhere…

We cut elsewhere where our favorite kind of, maybe soon to be Wrestling Manager Jack Marley is seen walking swiftly down the hallway of the Golden 1 Center. His face is healing but you can still see the remininats from weeks ago of being pistol whipped. He stops and looks down at his phone and nods to himself. He takes a small turn and then sees who he is looking for outside the Lil Cheese Dog House where you can get your hog dogs, pretzels and nachos on. Maybe even a bucket of cheese if you smile and wink enough.

Jack Marley: Eyyyyyyyy…Doctor Irwin.

The man looks up as he sees Jack come flying towards him. Jack stops within feet of him. He takes a step back looking surprised at Jack.

Doctor Irwin: Just call me Chaz, man, I don’t have a license in California. (Softly) Or anywhere.

Jack Marley: (Pretending to be a DJ) That’s a fr fr fr fr fresh name, mon.

Chaz: Sure, so what can I do for you?

Jack gives Chaz a thumbs up.

Jack Marley: So, when I met you a few weeks ago I was blown away with those amazing tylenols you gave me. I haven’t been in as much pain but recently…

Jack stretches his shirt to the right and then the left to show his heavily damaged shoulders from what happened with Steve at the farmhouse. Chaz recoils in horror.

Jack Marley: We got a little rough during a training sesh and now both my shoulders feel like they are going to fall off and fly away from me.

Chaz: Sure, yea, it looks like an angry BigFoot shook your shoulders until you passed out.

Jack Marley: But you know…if I want to be the number one Manager in PRIME I need to do whatever it takes. I don’t want any addictive drugs or anything…I am a sober champ these days, you know?

Chaz nods slowly and begins to smirk.

Chaz: Well of course, but this isn’t Canada, first taste was free now you have to purchase my fine merchandise. You should understand that…being an employee of the Merch God.

Marley freezes at the mention of his boss. He begins to sweat but still tries to keep his smile from fading.

Jack Marley: I mean…(he puts his hand in his pocket) we have been selling the Cards for Christ shirts like crazy here in Sacramento. (He removes his hand from his pocket with a bunch of crumpled up cash in his hand) I guess I can get a little something.

Chaz: You are wise beyond your years, Jack. I am sure Steve would want you in tip top shape to help him.

Jack nods in agreement.

Jack Marley: How much are we talking about, mon?

Chaz: How many do you want?

Jack begins counting on his fingers and then looks up.

Jack Marley: How many days do you think it will take to cure my pain?

Chas turns his back to Jack and takes out a bag from his pocket and starts counting them. Jack just goes about his business without understanding what is going on of course.

Chaz: I just so happen to have the exact amount you need.

Jack Marley: Yooooooo…that’s serendipitous bro. (Yes he used the word serendipitous, it happened to be on his Word of the Day Calendar, he is still a dummy with a good heart, that is about to feel real good with some special pills).

Chaz: How much money do you have?

The Marley Man begins counting the crumpled bills and then stops mid count as he begins to sweat even more profusely. He wipes his brow and then smiles meekly back at Chaz.

Jack Marley: I might be coming down with something, I am sweating but I’m cold and it’s been happening all week.

Chaz: That sucks, buddy. But you know…I have other people to see and things to do, so what’s up?

Jack Marley: (Finishes counting money) I have about two hundo on me right now.

Chaz smiles and turns his back and begins emptying some pills in his hand.

Chaz: Lucky you, that will get you ten pills!

Jack claps and does a little dance that one would describe as the diddy shoulder shake with a duck lip face look and then a little leg shaking like someone does when squashing a cockroach.

Jack Marley: Do you think that’s enough to be healed?

Chaz: Probably not…do you have more money?

Jack shakes his head.

Jack Marley: I really shouldn’t even be spending this, mon. I have to get back to the Merch Table soon before Steve notices I am gone.

Chaz: I am sure he would give you an advance to help heal your injuries quicker. If not, you have my number. We can meet up when you have some cash.

Jack pops a pill real quick and swallows it without water like a damn sicko.

Jack Marley: Yea, I am not sure I should talk to Steve about that but it’s all good, mon. Talk to you soon hopefully!

With that Jack begins walking away with a new pep in his step as Chaz just watches him walk away with a big evil smile reminiscent of Max Kael when he sees a dead body to cook up. Jack continues to walk and walks around a corner where he sees Don Winters getting ready for his promo before his big title defense against The Murdergator Paxton Ray.  Jack gets a big goofy smile on his face when he sees Don and begins frantically walking towards him. Or he thinks he is walking quickly but the special tylenol has started to hit already so he is actually moving quite slow.

Jack Marley: Hi Don!

Jack waves as he tries to get Don’s attention. The Five Star Champion appears to be practicing his lines, but hears the greeting and spins around on his heel with a warm smile on his face.

Don Winters: If it isn’t my old friend Jack Marley! How are you?

Jack Marley: I am feeling…gooooood. How’s Pious Penguin doing? Do you miss Do Unto Others As You Would Have Then Do Unto You Donkey? Phew, wow, I cannot believe I remembered that whole name. He is awesome though and helped me through some pain recently.

Jack’s pupils begin to dilate as his smile gets bigger.

Don Winters: (flashing a thumbs up) In order: Great. Who? Ha ha, yeah that sure is a mouthful. Wait… how do you know of Dee-You-Oh-Eh-You-DoubleYou-Aech-Tee-Dee-You-Why-Dee? He hasn’t even debuted yet!

Jack freezes as the gears in his head begin to move to try to figure out what was just said.

Jack Marley: Yea, exactly, mon. I just want to wish you good luck tonight and I think Steve is mad at me. Do you have any suggestions?

Winters blinks and momentarily looks confused, but follows Jack.

Don Winters: Thank you Jack, that’s very kind. As far Steve, talk to him like a man, ask him what’s wrong. He’s a good man, he’ll be honest with you.

Jack nods like a woodpecker going into a tree.

Jack Marley: Oh yea, of course. Thanks for the advice, next time I will bring the Donkey and maybe he and Pious can have a karaoke showdown! (Moves in closer and cups his hand to his mouth) Donkey is a huge Swiftee!

Don Winters: Alright Jack, that sounds… great. Hey listen, it’s been great chatting. Tell Steve I said hello, but I’m about to go live, so, you know, gotta run. God bless you, buddy.

Jack gives him the hang ten sign instead of the cross across the chest because Jack. He turns and walks away and you can vaguely hear him.

Jack Marley: I mean…I am still scared to tell Steve the truth…I mean tell him when he isn’t blackout angry at me. But, hey we got some special tylenol so it’s time to sell some great merch and heal!

Camera cuts from Jack and we head back towards our favorite religious icon: Don Winters, the best Five Star Champ to be friends with Jack Marley,

PRIME backdrop. Classic fonts.

A wrestler enters. The wrestler.

And he’s pissed.

Brandon Youngblood: So you want MY neck? Telling the whole world you’re taking it? That’s you, Julien…all tell…never show. And that might work with the people who’ve fallen all over themselves trying to make you into the big bad boogeyman in these here woods…it might get damn near everyone shaking, worried, scared that getting in the ring with you is a death sentence. It don’t work with me. Don’t tell me. Show me.

His eyes radiate intensity with the subtle shift of his head.

Brandon Youngblood: September 21.

The crowd inside Golden 1 Center is audible even this deep in the building.

Brandon Youngblood: Seattle Washington.

The fever pitch only continues to grow.

Brandon Youngblood: Lumen Field.

The world is ready.

Brandon Youngblood: Ultra–

A harsh, shrill sound of fingernails on a chalkboard cut through Youngblood’s speech and quells the cheering of the distant crowd. A full five seconds of the unpleasant noise causes skin to crawl and faces to twist in mild discomfort all around the Golden 1 Center.

Max Kael: ..Yooohooo.. Hope I’m not interrupting anything, Mister Youngblood. Blood for the Blood God or however you people greet each other.

The camera spins to find Max Kael and the Herald approaching Brandon Youngblood. The Herald is holding a large chalkboard with five long streaks across it where Max had just run his surprisingly sharp fingernails. Smooth as Elon Musk’s brain, Max glides to a stop in front of the Strong Father.

Max Kael: I told you on Jabber I’d be stopping by at some point and here I am, fulfilling my promise. I couldn’t help but catch you practicing your promo and you mentioned ole FLAMBERGE by his Christian name.

An insincere smile crosses Max’s face as the Herald throws the chalkboard away.

Max Kael: Well, friend, I’m here to ask you to consider dropping this little bloodlust feud for a few weeks, at least until after UltraViolence. See, FLAMBERGE is the new bestie to Cecilworth Farthington. My petty revenge fetish demands that I take everything I can from him before I finally face the “Financier”. You dig?

The look on Youngblood’s face is…majestic. Meme worthy. Akin to Lazarus in Black Snake Moan, staring. That face. For a few moments, there is nothing, just the expression, and the uncomfortableness that comes from such a thing.  But then…

Brandon Youngblood: No.

So simple, yet drenched in foreboding.

Brandon Youngblood: New bestie?

The head tilt. Like the monster from a horror movie. Which, given the current company, might be more on the nose than intended.

Brandon Youngblood: There’s nothing new there. And even if it was…it doesn’t matter.

A step forward. Is The Herald about to be utilized as a barrier? A wall perhaps? Yes. Yes he is. Max slowly draws Bentley between him and Youngblood.

Brandon Youngblood: Me and him…it’s well past time we took care of our business. You want after Farthington? Be my guest…but you need to know something crystal clear…

Oh this poor, defenseless The Herald. Uh oh! Because what comes next is going to be very bad…

Brandon Youngblood: I got business with Julien. And after that? Before that? Sometime? I got business in that ring with Cecilworth. And regardless of when or where that is…you won’t be killing him any time…anywhere…I’ll make sure of that.

Throughout Youngblood’s speech Max seems demure, perhaps even a little bit frightened of the Tower of Babel. However, that changes the moment Brandon declares that Max won’t be killing Farthington. His eyes narrow, his jaw sets and a cold sneer pulls his upper lip back. With a rough shove he pushes the Herald out of the way and closes what little distance there is between the two men.

Max Kael: You think you can stop me? I respect what you’ve accomplished, Youngblood, truly. Your ledger is overflowing with blood and pain, when I look into your eyes I see the passionate bloodlust and savage cruelty many thought lost to a bygone age. A monster some might say.

He spits the words out between clenched golden teeth.

Max Kael: ..but don’t think you can stop me. So I’ll ask you one last time.. Walk away from that sweet Lizard brain child or the next time you have a run in with Cecilworth Farthington, it’ll be because I burying you in the fucking dirt next to him.

The height difference between the two makes the standoff of level field. In truth, the sheer wealth of accomplishments inside the ring shared between the pair is enormous. A match up never thought of being possible, even without the whole…’death’ thing that happened in The Weird Place. But there is no quarter.

Brandon Youngblood: Would love to see you try…kid.

And this…this could get really messy.

Max Kael: Anything for an excuse to beat children, aye? Come-on now, Mr. Fuck Around and Find Out, I’m in a curious fucking mood all the sudden.

Fangs and claws out as the Herald quickly scuttles over.

The Herald: We need to leave to join the rest of the Red Army to escort Nate Colton to his World Title match oh Great and Glorious Max Kael!

There is a desperation in the Herald’s voice, clearly trying to drag Max out of what might turn into a very, very ugly affair. Max doesn’t budge though, his own desire for blood and death overwhelming his logic.

And then.

And THEN.

???: Alors! Dickhead!

The voice? Unmistakable. The swagger? Unassailable. The Lizard King. The Triple Crown Champion. The French Phenom. 2023’s Wrestler of the Year. FLAMBERGE. His drip is on point. All that glitters. And now, he’s in the frame. Stepping to the group. But his eyes are focused in only one direction.

The Tower of Babel.

And as threatening, as chilling as The Black Heart of PRIME can be at his most pointed, suddenly, between the pair of ReVival Wrestler’s of the Year, he seems distant, made more so by Youngblood by stepping toward Le Protagoniste.

Eyes locked.

Last ReVival, FLAMBERGE merely stared. This time? He has enough to say.

FLAMBERGE: I have heard enough out of you. “Show you, don’t tell you”, toi fils de pute? Always your moving goalposts…always you who gets to have some last say, and for what? To what end, you goblin?

Max Kael looks ready to interject, until FLAMBERGE, without looking, palms The Herald’s face and shoves it away. Suplex Daddy and The Neck Collector are staring daggers into each other. The daggers have daggers. FLAMBO lowers his voice a tinge, and there’s almost a growling quality to his next words…

FLAMBERGE: Every fucking wrestler you have seen me defeat, dismantle, deform, destroy here in PRIME from the last time I was filled with this poison, the poison of your biiiiiiiiitch who you would call the Next Fucking Goblin Diamond…the necks I have put into jars and placed on my mantle…and you still need me to “show you”…oooooooh la la?

Surprised at being summoned, the crowd in the arena scrambles to begin a responding chant!

ah oui…ah oui oui…Ah Oui Oui!…Ah Oui Oui!…AHH OUI OUI! AHH OUI OUI! AHH OUI OUI!

The two almost go forehead to forehead again. But before they do…

Brandon Youngblood: UltraViolence?

The Ace answers.

FLAMBERGE: UltraViolence.

The words may have been the same, but the accents are wildly different.

And lingering, out of focus, his eyes glowering, shaking with rage is the Commissar of the Red Army.

Pissed!

Powerless?

..P̸̖̱̎lott̷̻̯̼̠̿̈́̈͝ị̷̛̳̮͖̬͛͊̀͘ing..

We cut elsewhere.

The camera fades into Don Winters standing in front of it, ready to speak before his Five Star defense against Paxton Ray. He’s already wearing his suit, the title is strapped around his waist and he’s looking generally sweaty in that way all wrestlers kinda do. This is Winters’ first appearance on PRIME broadcasting since Tropical Turmoil.

Don Winters: It’s really good to be back after a little Five Star Vacation this last month, and let me tell you, the Revelator was out there practicing the very important Three R’s – Rest, Relaxation, and Religion! But now I’m back and I am ready to restore that Five Star Feeling to PRIME.

The Five Star Champion pauses momentarily and strokes his chin.

Don Winters: And it seems as though that rest wasn’t only well earned, but much needed. Ole Prester Don was right to let the bones, muscles and soul recuperate, because I’m defending against one heck of a fighter tonight. A little penguin told me about all the good work Paxton Ray has been putting in against Fred Dick, and I can’t think of a better opponent for my third Five Star defense.

Winters chuckles to himself and looks dead at the camera.

Don Winters: Do you know what little penguins don’t like, Pax? Men who steal things from others, such as something like the ability to walk. Now, I’ve heard the crowd cheering your name. I know you got the blessing of forgiveness from Jared Sykes, an honorable legend, but everyone agrees he was a mostly stupid man. And you know something Pax? Jared Sykes wasn’t the one responsible for granting you forgiveness. The man that is responsible for it is in a chair somewhere and every single time he sees you in the ring he has to think about the time you stole his ability to walk, his ability to wrestle, his ability to earn a livelihood.

The Revelator holds up a copy of the Five Star Bible, it looks a little worn around the edges and as if pages have been torn out.

Don Winters: Exodus 20:14, Paxton. It’s all right here in the Good Book! (he jabs an index finger into the cover, a loose page falls to the floor.) From the mouth of God Himself. Thou shalt not steal. It’s not for me to judge, however, oh no. That judgment will come, as it will for each and every one of us at the end of line. Will you be lucky enough that Saint Peter opens his pearly gates for you, Pax?

Winters laughs.

Don Winters: Or will a trap door open in the clouds and send you plummeting through the atmosphere, down and through the earth into the sulphury void? You’re a heck of a fighter though Pax, and I’m sure you’ll give them all the fight of their lives as you’re being cast down into the great chasm.

Winters pauses, his demeanor changes slightly. He pats the Five Star title that hugs his waist.

Don Winters: A heck of a fighter indeed. That’s the thing though, isn’t it Pax? As tremendous a fighter you are, we’re not about to get ourselves into a little back alley scrap. This is a wrestling match for my Five Star Championship. You might be a great fighter, Pax, but are you a great wrestler? Can you be a great wrestler? I’m really looking forward to finding that out tonight, but I can’t let you have this title. It belongs to me, it belongs to His Word and Light. We are the beacons of pure professional wrestling and we will not let such a prestigious title fall to a mere fighter.

Winters pats the title one more time and begins walking down a hallway, presumably toward the Gorilla position.

Don Winters: And as you’re laying on The Threshing Floor looking up at those bright lights wondering where it all went wrong tonight, just remember that you can always beg for Absolution.

With that the camera cuts back ringside as the Five Star Championship match is next!

“They say it’s good to start a story with a tragedy.”

The chunky guitar riff of “Fistfight” by The Ballroom Thieves kicks in as Paxton Ray walks out under the PRIMEView. Paxton sneers as the fans boo, then slowly holds his hand up in the air.

The day I finally met you like I knew I would
You raised me from the wreck of my doubts
You were smiling to yourself as if we both understood
The silent language of the anguish of a heart that sings but doesn’t make a sound

Paxton slowly walks towards the ring, looking around as the crowd rains hate down upon him. He steps up to the apron and steps over the ring ropes, then leans back against them and closes his eyes.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, weighing in at 245 pounds…he is The Bayou Butcher…PAAAAAXTOOOOONNNN RAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!

Nick Stuart: Tonight is Paxton Ray’s first match since his victory in the wild Glass Knuckles Boxing Match against Fred Dick at Tropical Turmoil.

Richard Parker: What a wild moment this could be for the Bayou Butcher – one of the most vicious and violent brawlers on the roster, holding Five Star gold? Give me Dabney Doubleday in the Intense division while you’re at it!

The lights across the Golden 1 Center dim as a light gospel tune leads into the familiar strumming of a guitar. Revelator fans throughout the arena began swaying with the music as the guitars kicked.

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

A spotlight flashes center stage where The Revelator stands in a magnificent white and crimson trimmed silk suit, adorned with the word “REVELATOR” in script across the back of his jacket. He throws his arms out in the crucifixion position, drawing a huge cheer from the Sacramento faithful. The Five Star Championship sparkles and glints in the light as he hangs snugly around his waist.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!

Richard Parker: Looks like the champ means business tonight!

Nick Stuart: Don Winters is looking for an unprecedented third defense of his Five Star Championship tonight.

Richard Parker: The Revelator is gonna have to be revelating tonight, Nicky boy!

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

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

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!

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

The Revelator raises an arm into the air before starting a purposeful march to the ring. He glances around the arena as he walks, but keeps the majority of focus on the ring and Paxton Ray standing within. He reaches the ring and ascends the stairs and vaults over the top rope. He moves to the center of the ring, unstrapping his Five Star Championship and handing it off to Ashley Barlow. As Winters begins to strip the layers of suit from his body, he spies Universal Champion Coral Avalon in the skybox and delivers a hearty thumbs up. The camera zooms in on Avalon, who delivers one right back to the Revelator.

Don turns his attention back to Paxton Ray, who cracks his knuckles, and Don slowly begins to button his shirt back up, which leads to a bit of laughter from the crowd.

Richard Parker: He knows we only have so much broadcast time, right?

Winters smiles deeply at Ray and undoes the buttons, rips the velcroed suit pants off in a flourish, drawing another cheer and stretches himself on the rope, ready to go.

Referee Ashley Barlow signals for the bell!

DING DING!

Nick Stuart: Will Father Don keep his winning streak alive? Or will we have one of the most hardcore Five Star Champions we’ve ever seen in Paxton Ray?

Paxton has his fists up in a brawler’s stance in the center of the ring while Don circles slowly around the ropes, looking for an opportunity to grapple. Both men are cagey to start, Winters feinting forward and Ray trying to press his position and get The Revelator up against the ropes or the corner.

Tired of dancing, Paxton lunges forward with a clubbing strike – Winters ducks it and goes for a double leg! After some struggling, Ray ends up on his butt but is in great position to throw haymakers into Winters’s scalp. Soon, the Murdergator is able to wriggle free and he pounces on the champion, pressing him into the mat and throwing stiff elbows into Winters’s face. Father Don, for his part, is doing a good job defending against the worst of the strikes, uses his hips to shift the momentum, and soon finds himself in position to crank Ray’s knee sideways.

It’s an unconventional hold at first, until the two men struggle and struggle for position and Winters finally finds himself in a comfortable angle – it’s now a knee bar!

Referee Ashley Barlow checks on Paxton just in case, even though the Bayou Butcher is mere seconds away from the ring ropes – as he reaches them, Winters releases his hold with sportsmanlike efficiency and bounces to his feet, ready to engage once again. Ray looks up to his opponent from the ground with a stoic expression. He rises to his feet, gently lifts his mask, presses a finger to one nostril, and blows out something gnarly from the other nostril onto the mat.

Nick Stuart: A little gross, but…

As Winters dives low once again, trying to target his challenger’s legs, Ray plants his left foot impactfully and throws his right knee forward, which connects squarely with Winters’s cheek!

OHHHHHHH!

Richard Parker: No my friend, THAT was a little gross!

Nick Stuart: The champion could have been knocked out cold there! What a hellacious knee from the challenger!

Winters is flat on the mat – Paxton winces for a second, gives the knee that just struck skull a little rub for good luck, and then goes in for the attack.

It’s inside leg stomp after inside leg stomp after inside leg stomp – maybe out of anger at how his own legs seem to be coming into play in this match, the Bayou Butcher viciously grinds his boots into the champion’s legs. He then drops an elbow squarely into Winters’s chest! And then he goes for a cover!

ONE!

KICKOUT!

Paxton hurries back up to his feet and drives a second, and then a third diving elbow strike right into the heart of God himself! He hooks the far leg, which was previously victimized by stomps!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Fans roar their approval at the kick out as Ray smacks the mat. He knows he hasn’t hit the champion with his MOST dangerous weapons, but damn if he hasn’t been trying to lay in a little extra mustard with each strike.

He goes for a full mount once again, and almost out of instinct, Winters thrusts up his right palm – squarely into Ray’s mask.

Paxton Ray: MMMFFFFF!

This immediately sends Ray tumbling back as he clutches at his face.

Nick Stuart: Stray strike there from Don Winters, maybe out of desperation, but highly effective!

Richard Parker: You can wear that Rip Hamilton mask to the ring and tell yourself you’re ready to go all you want, but it’s like Tyson said – everyone has a plan until they get palm struck in the protective mask!

Nick Stuart: …which Tyson was that?

Richard Parker: I can’t remember.

As Winters scrambles to his feet, the physiology of getting struck in the nose while your whole face is feeling dicey causes the tear ducts of Paxton Ray to begin to flow. Ray blindly starts throwing hellacious right and left hooks – one hits Winters in the ribs hard, but he’s able to block the second one, duck a third swing aimed at his head, and twist and turn around the challenger!

Russian Leg Sweep!

As Paxton smashes face first to the mat, he instinctively clutches at his mask once again. Winters seizes the opportunity to target Ray’s unprotected legs and begins driving sharp knees into that soft spot on the back of your knee you forget about until someone presses hard on it with a fingertip and you realize just how many fucking nerves and ligaments hang out back there.

Winters grabs a hold of the ankle and grapevines the targeted leg of Paxton Ray. He twists into a hard Ankle Lock and drops to the mat! Paxton Ray howls in pain!

Nick Stuart: Effective strategy so far from the champion – get the champion focused on defending high, then target low!

Richard Parker: What you call ‘strategy’, I call ‘getting really lucky with the whole mask thing’…gotta say though, chopping down a brute striker Paxton Ray may be the best idea.

Nick Stuart: Interesting that they’re both about the same size, yet Winters is wrestling like he’s the smaller man here.

Richard Parker: Yeah, well – talk to the Pious Penguin about the size of Winters’s manhood, alright?

Nick Stuart: …not what I meant, partner.

Referee Ashley Barlow checks once again on the challenger, but the Murdergator makes it clear that he’s not quitting jack shit.

Sensing that he doesn’t have the hold cinched in quite as tightly as he’d prefer, Don Winters starts to get to his feet in order to elevate the twisted ankle of his opponent. As he does this, Ray wrenches his hips hard to the side (not unlike a Gator Roll) and sends the champion crashing to the mat!

Both men are a bit uneven getting to their feet – Winters looks jostled from the landing he just took, and Ray is looking a little unsteady on his feet after the lower body assault he’s been receiving all night. In the end, as the two men grapple each other for the first collar-and-elbow of the contest (10 minutes in? In a Five Star championship match? The fehk?), Ray chooses not to go with the conventional Highly Aesthetically Pleasing Professional Grappling Style that generally thrives in the Five Star division; rather, he fucking wrenches his grip underneath Winters’s shoulders and heaves~~~…

THUNKKKKK

Ray may not normally have cared wherever the hell Winters landed, because anywhere would probably hurt, but he will soon be tickled pink to learn that he’s sent his opponent head-first into the middle turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: I have to bring this up – if Paxton Ray wins the Five Star Championship here, not only does he join a very exclusive club of PRIME wrestlers who have held both the Five Star and Intense Championships which, by design, are intended to shine spotlights on two very different styles of professional wrestling…he might be the most smashmouth unorthodox champion in the Five Star title’s history!

Richard Parker: I mean, don’t tell that to Garbage Bag Johnny, but it’s a fair point – you can’t call Paxton Ray’s wrestling style “pretty” unless you’ve got other problems.

Ashley Barlow quickly intervenes and sends Ray back until she can get eyes on Winters and see if he’s alright – it takes all of four seconds of What Must Be Lollygaging In Paxton Ray’s View for the Bayou Butcher to march over, sidestep Barlow, and throw more sharp elbows squarely into Winters’s face!

The venerable Ashley Barlow isn’t someone who allows herself to get pushed around, and before long she gets in Paxton’s face, admonishing him for Acts Of Bullshit. Barlow checks on Winters again, and begins a ten count.

ONE!

…

TWO!

Nope, no ten count please, Paxton Ray’s here to show how much he cares for those he loves by bruising this man until he says “No More, Please”.

Nick Stuart: Paxton Ray is letting loose with everything he’s got!

Richard Parker: If there’s one thing I know about Paxton Ray – DO NOT PISS THAT MAN OFF. Whatever happened to him when he got hit squarely in the mask, he’s taking it reeeeeal personally!

Nick Stuart: Didn’t you just say before that the palm strike wasn’t necessarily a plan by Don Winters? Something about it being really lucky?

Richard Parker: Sure, but try telling Pax that right now! Go ahead, I’ll even boost you up the steps!

Nick Stuart: …no thank you!

Ashley Barlow may be a junior referee on staff, but this is already a bridge too far, and she pulls Ray off of Winters and begins admonishing the Butcher for ignoring her. Paxton, for his part, doesn’t really respond or get angry at the ref for doing her job – his eyes instead are locked in on the blood trickling down the champion’s forehead.

OHHHHHHHH……

The crowd is concerned, and Paxton’s stare into the red abyss converts itself to a downturned brow and a violent snarl. Winters is beginning to look more like himself – that is, until he touches his hand to his forehead and takes a look, learning “no, all that liquid isn’t just sweat”.

It’s a bad feeling, is what I’m getting at. A feeling that turns up the Fight Or Flight.

It’s Fight, for the record. Shouldn’t have even proposed the Or Flight. It’s for the fucking 5 Star, after all, and Don Winters has worked his fucking ass off to get here and demonstrate the authority of His Word And Light.

Don Winters: RAYYYYYYYYYY!

Ashley Barlow turns and sees that “oh shit, champ’s back up”, and deftly steps back from the combatants. Don Winters charges across the ring while throwing a clobbering elbow squarely at Paxton’s head – Paxton obliges, and soon we have a full on hockey fight!

The crowd is on their feet!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: It’s an all out brawl for the Five Star Championship!

Richard Parker: Classical wrestling technique on full display!

Nick Stuart: …YOU tell these guys to start chain wrestling, then, and see how it goes!

Richard Parker: …

Even as strikes come into Paxton’s masked face, he finds a way to gain the advantage – maybe out of pure instinct – and out of nowhere, he plants a foot, pivots, and THROWS his right elbow…

…

SMMMMASHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH~~~~

OHHHHHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: ONE DAY BLINDING STEW FROM PAXTON RAY! WHAT A VIOLENT DISCUS ELBOW!!

Winters is absolutely cooked from that strike and it’s unclear how he’s still on his feet. Paxton sees the finish line ahead of him and knows he’s one Lafayette Lullaby away from glory…but his opponent’s imbalance isn’t helpful to him right now.

So Paxton grabs Don by the arm and the back of the head, and he hurls him into the ropes.

He positions himself, awaiting the rebound from his Irish Whip, ready to use Winters’s own momentum against him for the lift.

…

The momentum, Don. He’s going to reverse your momentum.

Where…

…

Don? What?

Oh dear.

Paxton didn’t get a clear look at it in real time, but he actually hurled the champion with such force on such unsteady legs that the Irish Whip sent Don Winters tumbling through the ropes, onto the apron, and crashing onto the floor.

Richard Parker: Paxton, over here! Get him back in the ring! You can’t win the championship when he’s out here!

Ray realizes what’s happened and he leans forward, hands on knees, annoyed and tired and beat up. He actually goes down to a knee and clutches at the thigh that had been targeted earlier on in the match. He slaps it a couple of times – maybe for luck, maybe for adrenaline – and adjusts his mask one last time, wincing as it tightens around his head.

He sees exactly where Don Winters is getting up. He can measure it out perfectly.

It’s not his normal style, but what the heck – it’s the Five Star division, after all. And he’s going to wipe this priest out in one fell swoop when he pulls it off.

He takes a few measured steps backwards to the opposing ropes, begins to build momentum, sprints, LEAPS THROUGH THE ROPES-

…

AND IS MET WITH A HUGE UPPERCUT FROM DON WINTERS!!

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Paxton’s body is half in the ring, half draped over the middle rope as he clutches at his head and face in agony. Winters, still bleeding and groggy, somehow finds a way to reach the apron and roll himself back into the ring under the bottom rope.

He picks up the injured leg of Paxton Ray and spikes his knee squarely into the mat.

He spikes it again. And again.

Then he stomps a mudhole into it.

Ashley Barlow gets ready to intervene as Paxton Ray scrambles to find his way to the ropes and force the onslaught to stop, but Winters withdraws willingly.

Paxton is FURIOUS in the corner of the ring as he slowly uses the turnbuckles to try to reach vertical. It’s clear one of his legs isn’t helping him very much in this pursuit.

Paxton lifts the mask off his face slowly, gingerly, before slamming it into the ground. His eyes are fire and his scream is lightning as he charges towards the champion!

…

Don Winters throws his body forward and chop blocks Paxton Ray! Paxton screams in agony!

Don Winters throws two more stomps into the bad leg for good measure before dragging him into the center of the ring. It’s unclear if Winters is completely here right now – he looks half dazed and his eyes are a little glossy – but his body seems to be pretty good at running on autopilot.

Winters reaches down and grabs Ray’s lower leg, and wrenches it back into his signature Boston Crab.

Nick Stuart: THE THRESHING FLOOR! He’s got it locked in! Is Don Winters about to successfully defend the Five Star once again!?

Paxton is in as much pain as he’s experienced in a wrestling ring in the last year or so…and it’s fucking infuriating. Ashley Barlow is right there, calling on Paxton to submit if he can’t go on.

Paxton Ray knows he can go on. He has to go on. His job isn’t done.

…

Shit. Eyes are welling up again – blood rushing into his head causing pressure right in the injured face…Paxton can’t see where he is.

He has no idea if he’s making progress towards a ring rope and salvation, or if he’s pushing a boulder up a hill forever.

But damn it, he’s fighting.

…

Don Winters, for his part, has blood in his eyes.

An all-too-familiar feeling, and one that stirs mixed emotions.

He knows that the only way forward is through – for this poor sinner, and for his flock.

And let the blood from his wounds expunge his own sins in its own way – like a leech, removing the venom, making the man that small bit purer.

…

Paxton’s arms are running out of gas. The lactic acid buildup from being forced in this Boston Crab angle is real. His vision is just blurs of color at this point.

Every ounce of him wants to keep fighting. He knows he can beat this man, this obstacle – he’s facing worse all the time.

But his body is making choices without his spirit’s approval.

Paxton reluctantly taps.

DING DING DING!

Vince Howard: Here is your winner, aaaaaand STILLLLLLLLLLLL! PRIME FIVE STAR CHAMPION…..”THE REVELATORRRRRRRRRR” DOOOOOOOOOOON WIIIIINTERRRRRRRRRRRRRS!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

Nick Stuart: What a brutal back-and-forth we just witnessed, partner!

Richard Parker: You listen to me right now – Paxton Ray at 100% beats this man, ok? The Murdergator deserves a future shot at this championship!

Nick Stuart: We have one more match lined up for tonight – it’s our main event! PRIME Universal Champion Coral Avalon defends his title against “The Next Diamond”, Nate Colton! Stick with us for more action, but first – THIS!

There’s few places more conspicuous than the luxury box in the Golden 1 Center in Sacramento, especially when it’s draped in banners promoting such things as KNIGHT Energy Drink™ and Camelot Insurance™. Look, there’s a price to be paid in renting out the skybox on every PRIME show, and this is the price. God help us, Avalon Industries Inc. has its fingerprints all over tonight’s show.

So our cameras pick up inside the Throne Room. And if it’s a throne room, it must have a throne. Of course, there’s five thrones tonight. A huge throne on the far right near the door, a wide throne closest to the catering on the far left, a small throne that needs to be put up on phone books on the left, and two thrones side by side at the center, as though fighting for which one is actually at the center.

The King of Conquerors isn’t sitting upon his throne, though. His match is up next, and that’s why he’s in his ring gear and limbering up. His big wolven cape is placed on a display on the back wall, ready for tonight. The Universal Championship itself isn’t around his waist, but is instead placed on a display next to him.

Few Universal champions would dare make his position so obvious to everyone in the building. Everyone knew where the King was. The King is currently in the middle of a conversation as he’s getting ready for his big match.

Coral Avalon: I can’t believe I’m telling a guy calling himself the COOLympian this, but… chill out. I got this. It will be okay.

Cancer Jiles: Oh, I’m chill. I AM VERY CHILL.

Safe to assume no one present believes Jiles.

Cancer Jiles: It’s just that this whole going at it alone nonsense has me a touch confused. You have the whole carton at your disposal, Captain, and we’re ready to do whatever it takes to make sure that belt on display over there stays inside of it.

Coral nods, more so because he knows Jiles will never be able to see it his way and he wants to get the conversation over with as quickly as possible. He’s also a little taken back by Jiles throwing around the word “we”.

Cancer Jiles: Together, have we not conquered? Have we not accomplished things that weren’t possible to do on our own?

Coral Avalon: I get it. I do. But I have to do this myself. That’s that.

Cancer Jiles: Listen, if this is about trusting me, know that you can. You can, Coral. You can. Believe me. No crossies. No bullshit. Tomorrow, no. Tonight, yes.

Coral Avalon: Oh really? Then why don’t you tell me what this is really about?

The Maestro pulls back, confused.

Coral Avalon: You don’t think I can do it on my own, right? And you’re worried about me losing weight before night two. Worry not. I beat Nate before. I’ll do so again.

Oh look, a cricket made it up here somehow.

Amongst the awkward cricketing, a rapping is suddenly heard at the door. It’s… stern. That is to say it is loud, and unfortunately not stopping. The rapping turns to knocking, which turns to outright pounding. Tony gets up from his seat, and heads for the door. He reaches out…

CRASH!

…and the door collapses into the room and directly onto Tony. He is swallowed up by it, and falls to the floor with the door on top of him. Oddly enough, there’s a wall on the other side of where the door used to be.

A Russian one.

Ivan Stanislav: Huh? No Double Books?

Ivan looks around, not realizing that Tony is buried beneath the door. There is a weakened sigh that emits from beneath the door itself. Stanislav isn’t wearing his red uniform from earlier. No, he’s wearing his ring gear.

The door rocks a few times on the floor and Hessian hefts the door up unearthing Tony Gamble beneath. The Grin drags himself up and dusts himself off, yet while Tony has a permanent grin whether he wants it or not, Stanislav himself willingly wears an unsettlingly broad grin himself. He claps his huge hands together.

Ivan Stanislav: AHA! Why, if the gang is not all here! We have errand boy Gamble, doorman Hessian, diabetic Dean, Champion Avalon, and the man sitting in the shadow of his own Bandit: Cancer Jiles!

Stanislav grips his suspenders, rocks on his heels, and snaps them. He nods to Hessian.

Ivan Stanislav: Is Cancer Jiles’ dog allowed to talk? Or can someone else grow the яички necessary to invite me to watch riveting MAIN EVENT with them?

Coral looks over at the Russian Bear, and holds his arms up as if to say, “why not before my first Universal Championship defense?” Bobby quickly retreats to a far corner of the skybox, and clenches his cheeks in anxious anticipation. Jiles remains seated, yawning, and completely unimpressed. Stanislav smiles, but his eyes narrow slightly and he purses his lips while his words positively ooze condescension.

Ivan Stanislav: Awww… so many little Bandits about and they are usually so loud and talkative. No one? How about you, Cancer Jiles? You had very much to say earlier, after all. Or have you lost your nerve while lounging in the shadow of not just the man who knocked you out of PRIME for months, but also the “King” who holds what you can only dream of possessing?

Russian hob-nobbery ensues.

Coral Avalon: Tell you what, Ivan. Why don’t you find somewhere else to watch me successfully defend my championship against Nate? As much as the boys would love to see you cry, we really don’t have the room in here. Plus, Annie and the baby should be here any minute.

Ivan’s eyes go wide, yet that goddamned condescension never leaves.

Ivan Stanislav: Oh, this is good to know, Coral. You have your family en route, and then you leave them and go after what you truly love, Mr. Crownless King.

Stanislav points at the thrones, then the various banners, then at Avalon.

Ivan Stanislav: Thrones. Endorsements. Money. Look at you, playing dress up and let-us-pretend. I am surprised you have time to fake being a father.

The fun leaves.

Tension quickly rises.

Hessian cracks his knuckles. Bobby releases a short burst of air. Gamble gets on top of his phonebooks. Coral grabs the Championship belt, just in case he needs to use it. Jiles finally stands from his seat and acknowledges the former Universal Champion.

Cancer Jiles: Don’t be dumb. You heard him, and you heard me earlier. Beat it, crumb.

Jiles steps forward. Fear and apprehension nowhere to be seen. T-shades shining.

Cancer Jiles: Get your pathetic, Russian, slobbish ass out of our suite before coming up here alone proves to be the biggest mistake of your life.

After seconds pass where everyone’s fingers are ready to press the buttons on the nukes, Ivan relents by taking a step back. He smiles, raises his hands, and speaks apologetically, but there is poison in his words.

Ivan Stanislav: Oh yes, I must have simply misunderstood you. I apologize. Oh, and Coral, before I go, good luck and “сломать ногу.”  To the uneducated, this means “Break. A. Leg.”

The Crowned King of PRIME doesn’t accept Ivan’s not so well meaning well wishes. In fact, he now steps forward, pointing for the bear to go shit in someone else’s woods.

Ivan Stanislav: Who knows, little eggs, perhaps I see you soon?

Cancer Jiles: Count on it.

The Russian Bear winks and walks away to find the closest forest, but while out of view and due to the lack of a door, his DYAAHAAHAA!! echoes down the hall and into the skybox. Jiles turns to Coral, “told you so” written all over his face.

The Universal Champion sighs.

In the eleventh hour he’s been left with no choice.

Valor, or victory.

There will not be both.

Coral Avalon: If you kick me again, so help me God, I promise it will wind up being you who makes the biggest mistake of his life.

Jiles nods. As do the rest.

Aye-aye, Captain.

Message received.

Banditry is back in play.

Coral Avalon: To be clear, I still think you’re a pile of crap, and am walking down to the ring alone. We’re not cool. Not even close.

Cancer Jiles: That’s fair.

Coral Avalon: We are still Bandits though. For now, and for the carton!

Bobby is crying; inspiration flowing freely through his clogged arteries. Gamble is grinning from ear to phonebook. Hessian has a goosebump or two. Jiles’ ulterior motives are gone.

The Captain is ready.

It’s now time for The Golden Bandit to shine.

But first, in walks Coral’s wife with their baby. One foot on the door on the ground, and the other just on the ground. Both her eyes however are staring at the same thing.

The root of all evil.

Cancer Jiles: I think we’ll just let you guys be, and go and get Bobby fed so he has enough energy for when the shit hits the fan.

Annabelle Avalon: Good idea.

Cut to…

We return from the ramblings of King Crumb to wide shot inside the Golden 1 Center, the fans buzzing in anticipation, knowing what is next. Suddenly, the arena lights dim, a loud cheer erupting from the crowd. Out of the blackness, the PRIMEview comes alive, the PRIME logo displayed prominently. It fades, the opening tones of “Rivalry” by Colin O’Malley beginning to play. With a lashing strike of blue, words fill the screen.

THE PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP

THE PINNACLE OF ALL SPORTS

Descending, a lone spotlight shines upon a table of velvet. Stood up for prominence is the PRIME Universal Championship belt, polished and shined. As the music continues, its contours and plates are scanned with care. Every detail is magnificent. The tension of sound rises, and with it, the camera pulls away from the majestic championship. The scene abruptly cuts to black.

And with the rising dramatic percussion, the still shots. Subtle movements slowly focusing upon the figures as they appear for a few moments, their achievement marked in text in convenient spaces.

The inaugural Universal Champion and final Global Champion. The bridge between the eras, cemented at King of Kings 2. He stands an enigma, a seeming average man in build, but what he lacks in impressive physique he makes up for in mystery. One championship belt for each trench coated shoulder. His eyes are focused and evident through the white mask absconding his identity.

1st Champion
BLACK ANGEL

A titan of muscle, massive in stature not just physically, but for his time in the sport. A once hero, now, he is a betrayer, joining the Dark Age. There is no sense of shame with his smirking expression.

2nd Champion
BODA

A whirlwind of color, a form of taut muscle and artistic expression. She stands stoic, the championship belt over her shoulder. Does she care? Only she knows. Her moment has arrived, seemingly unstoppable, one of the greatest beginnings to a PRIME career of anyone. The Vanguard of the Golden Age. A trendsetter.

3rd Champion
KARINA WOLFENDEN

Behind crimson glasses protecting his eyes, a seminal figure. Chiseled from granite, his tattoos prominent, if ever a man stood as The Supreme Machine, it is he. The ender of the K-Wolf’s era before it even started. Later, the hand chosen by Tyler Nelson to put an end to a Universal charade. When one speaks of PRIME, his name is one of the first to come.

4th, 8th Champion
KILLEAN SIRRAJIN

The winds behind him sweep about, blowing his majestic hair with perfect photogenic bravado. The only true Son of God. His appearance has not changed, even today, proving his parentage. The Last Judgment features prominently on his tights. Chicago’s favored son, the roar his mere visage elicits is one of the loudest of the night. Under his hand, you shall be crucified and saved.

5th Champion
HOYT WILLIAMS

Before him were titans in stature, but in their place comes one in sheer brutality. His fists and forearms are taped for battle, his muscle built for performance and savagery. Inhuman. A wrecking ball in human form. From nowhere, he arrives at this pinnacle, only to be knocked from it in the greatest upset in the history of PRIME. He will regain it from one of his greatest rivals, The Supreme Machine on the biggest stage. Years later, he returns from the sidelines, managing to defy expectations to put a temporary halt to The Murder Show. Rushmore features him prominently. He stands as one of the truest of greats.

6th, 9th, 21st Champion
TCHU/MATT WARD

A goofy wire of man. The most unassuming of all. So long of a shot, his chance comes in the middle of Revolution, a clear expectation of how easy he shall be steamrolled. A Christmas Miracle. Perpetually silly, the joke is not only the Inhuman Being, but also, all those who thought so little of him.

7th Champion
CLYDE WALKINS

Born from the stars, beloved by all, charismatic, amongst the most skilled the sport has ever seen. He has returned from injury to claim his rightful place, but failure is all that meets him. In this moment, the drums of war sound, the very foundation of PRIME under threat from Machavallian forces. The star rises and turns his back on the fans and people who believed in him, joining the ranks of the devils who claim him to be their friend. Clean shaven, burned by the light. He fights off a record number of challengers. He is where the balance of PRIME rests.

10th Champion
NOVA

The balance of power shifts. Her face, her essence, are intrinsically linked with PRIME, but in this moment, she is an assumed outsider. This moment changes not only her place in the company, but in her life. Home. The ultimate trendsetter. The Queen of the Ring becomes The Final Boss twice over. Her spot amongst the very greats is without question. In this building, she was the one to close out the prior era. Without her, where we stand today isn’t possible.

11th, 13th Champion
LINDSAY TROY

The rival to the Queen. Scum looks down upon him. A betrayer of friendship, of allegiance, all for self service. So many times, he fell, unable to answer the challenge, and in doing so, all rejoiced. Driven mad, Ahab manages to rise in his final stand, capturing his illustrious white whale.

12th Champion
SONNY SILVER

Mismatched eyes, lacerating fingernails, and diminutive stature. In one night, she nearly conquers the Halo. In her next match, she manages to usurp the Queen. Scary and unknowable, a chameleon who can assume the identity of any she chooses. She lacks her own agency and identity, yet here, for a time, she can claim the Universal Championship as her own.

14th Champion
COZEN

The Man in Black hides his pieces and scars under a dress shirt and slacks. A mess of black hair falls along the sides of his face. Many claim him to be emo, but they will come to know him as the ruiner, death incarnate. His war against PRIME will eventually lead to its closure. Even here, with a painted black middle finger, his detestment of PRIME is evident.

15th Champion
DEVIN SHAKUR

Charisma personified. In truth, his arrival to this pinnacle has been foreseen for ages. His potential is limitless, yet in critical moments, he falters. Until here. Until now. Until he realizes the promise after years of toil made to look like a designer accessory. His presence is legendary. A hero to so many. Brash and arrogant to others. Regardless, he is can’t miss, must see, and unforgettable. His reign, to this point, lasts longer than all others before.

16th Champion
CHANDLER TSONDA

The Unbeatable. The Unconquerable. Awoken from dream, The Original Villain stops fighting with mere bits of his true skill and strength. The path he cuts lasts over a year, and in its wake, promising careers, legendary challenges, and destinies all fall under his heel. Gone, but never forgotten. Though some draw close, he walks away into the annals of history never having lost the most prestigious prize in the sport.

17th Champion
JASON SNOW

From the distance, from the ether, his face painted with black, the oddest of sorts, his skin pale, he returns. The Intense Championship is marked as his in all of lore, but after conquering the Halo, he soon after fulfills an impossible destiny, capping off a Hall of Fame career with the final piece it lacked.

18th Champion
VANGELUS OLSIG

Hollywood beckons. A silver screen savant, he brings with him pomp, circumstance, and a director’s vision. An outsider who rises.

19th Champion
CASTOR V. STRIFE

The monster incarnate. The Murder Show. Burly, powerful, a viking from a long forgotten age who has spent an age in PRIME without realizing the fullness of his potential. It is remembering what it is to be dominant that he ascends to his throne, leaving behind a wake of broken bodies and dreams. For a time, the lineage ends with brutality under his knuckles. The oppressive, uncompromising final champion of the Revolution.

20th, 22nd Champion
HESSIAN

The spear of the ReVival comes from the Revolution. Before this moment, he is considered the greatest to never win ‘the big one’. After over a decade away, the Tower of Babel rises, removing all doubt, finally taking his place amongst the true greats, perhaps marking himself as greater than all. For others in this era, this prize is transient. For him? They are one.

23rd, 29th Champion
BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD

A life’s work. Destroy the past and present and burn it all away so the future can rise. The Humble Proprietor has spent his life as an afterthought, cast aside, treated less than human despite his love of the sport he has dedicated his life to. Their cackles and machinations forge an intensity fitting for a monster. The threat. The killer. Robbed of the result of it all. Even in the distance, his name brings chills to the air.

24th Champion
PHIL ATKEN

Lights, camera, pucker and kiss. The Anti-Christ. Under t-shades and salt shoes, he brings with him an apocalypse in tracksuit and baby blue. Despised and thought little of, the ultimate cockroach doesn’t just survive but thrive. His threats carry weight because he makes good on his promise. Nobody on this list has a hope of ever being this COOL.

25th Champion
CANCER JILES

The Event Horizon, the future, all of the ReVival’s promise and dreams comes in his chiseled form. His reverence to PRIME’s past is known, but he makes his own history, taking the Universal Championship for his own and under the most dire of circumstances. He stumbles, but in Hell, he overcomes not only the yang to his ying, but the oppressive boot of the Soviet state.

26th, 28th Champion
HAYES HANLON

Punk rock in all forms, a fighter through and through. He doesn’t care about the championship, just what it brings to him in the ring. The greater fights. The ability to test his penchant for destruction. He snuffed out the promise of the horizon in his void. A goat kick to the head. A free spirit for rebellion against the norms.

27th Champion
REZIN 

Some would call him a relic of a begotten age, a frozen monstrosity thawed and set upon the world to maul and reign under a banner, an ethos that demands both domination and subjugation. An ageless goliath, The Russian Bear returns to the field of professional wrestling battle after over a decade in seclusion. And in his wake? Utter carnage. A warrior from the old age set upon the present and future, not only striding, but surmounting all.

30th Champion
IVAN STANISLAV

Few can claim to be worthy of being phenoms in the new era of PRIME, yet the pillars of such are rarefied. But for the French Super Athlete, The Neck Collector, the Lizard King, he stands not only above, but perhaps beyond all. His arrival to this place is the culmination of an undefeated year. A winning streak unmatched by ALL before him. He is the weapon promised, the embodiment of The Humble Proprietor’s vision. A puzzle perhaps unsolvable.

31st Champion
FLAMBERGE

From oblivion he rises, as if from a waking coma. Drenched with guilt, self made, self perpetuated. Look upon the clown who makes those laugh, yet do not notice his weight, his tears. Ascend from the murk and stand ready, violently so, in the face of so many oppressors. Black Sheep never again.

32nd Champion
JARED SYKES

The ultimate simp. Seemingly helpless. But powered by his love and his dedication to his Amazing Life Partner, he perseveres, and does what most think is nigh impossible for someone of his ability level. He finishes the story, and now, we live in an epilogue dictated from his success.

33rd Champion
JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HALL

The Crownless King. A wrestling nomad. Across near every continent, he has fought with his all, governed by an unyielding love of the sport of professional wrestling. His role was ordained to be The Never Was, the fountain of knowledge, the bridge to the future. Not marketable. Taken for granted. Yet bitterness never seeps in, never taints his drive and passion. In this, the final year of his quest, he does what some think he could not do…something many others believed he always had capacity to achieve. The crown achieved. Now, The King of Conquerors.

34th Champion
CORAL AVALON

With the final image fading away and the song having reached its crescendo, a final shot of the Universal Championship upon its velvet table is shown. And then, we cut to black.

A rich history of greatness.

Does The Wolf continue his led of the pack?

Or is the diamond promise of one of wrestling’s greatest lineages surmount the greatest challenge of his family’s life?

Vince Howard: The following match is our main event and is for the Universal Title!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: We’ve got an amazing main event for you tonight — the third of our triple main event!

Richard Parker: Meh.

Nick Stuart: Meh?

Richard Parker: Meh.

Nick Stuart: Alright then, let’s get this show on the road.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the challenger…

The lights dim as the PRIMEView crackles to life. First a white screen, and then…a photograph, set to the tune of some non-descript, semi-insipring music.

Richard Parker: I’m sorry, is this a title match or a high school graduation?

Nick Stuart: Shh!

There’s no need for us to tell you this picture comes from the past; the man’s hockey hair and trucker mustache do that for us. He is covered in sweat and bleeding from the forehead, but it’s the smile as big as all outdoors that draws our attention.

This man is a professional wrestler, and his smile is caused by what he’s holding in his arms. It’s not a title, or a trophy, or a big fat paycheck. It’s a golden-haired toddler who looks up at his father with a sense of awe and wonder. While the young boy did not watch the preceding fight, and wouldn’t have understood if he had, this is still an introduction to his father’s world.

Another photograph. The toddler is now a boy, wearing his father’s ring jacket and putting on his meanest face. If this were a video, you’d hear his mother giggling at how he looks in the oversized garment. Don’t worry; he’ll grow into it.

Another, and the boy is a little older now, and surrounded by a growing family. They’re showing off their group Halloween costume; Mom and the four kids are all dressed the same–blue jackets, blue shorts, blue boots, and fake trucker mustaches. They’ve all gone as Dad for Halloween…except Dad, who is dressed as a clown and is not happy about it.

Next picture, and the boy has become a teenager, all lanky frame, awkward limbs, and peach fuzz. He’s just helped his school (Go Bears!) beat their crosstown rivals, and he looks absolutely jubilant. Just as excited is the wheelchair-bound man next to him, who isn’t about to let a little thing like major reconstructive knee surgery stop him from celebrating his son’s success. One dream has died, but a new one is born.

The high school athlete is now a college standout, with a lot more muscle filling out his Hoosier red singlet as he faces off against another promising young athlete. This was the pinnacle of his amateur wrestling career; he would lose this bout and narrowly miss All-American status. He never dwells on the loss; he was always meant for a different path.

In the next shot, the amateur has become a professional. He and his opponent stare each other down, near the end of a tortorous weekend in St. Louis. Both men are drenched in sweat, arms heavy with fatigue, desperate to find the energy for one more fight. His jaw is set in determination; his opponent looks back with a cocky sneer. Confidence and arrogance can be difficult to tell apart, but the difference is never more clear than in this moment.

Great American Nightmare, 2022. After three months in the tag team division, the young man is finally stepping out on his own. The PRIME audience would get their first real taste of what this man is capable of, and they immediately hunger for more.

From boy to man.

From dreamer to achiever.

From rookie to veteran.

From prospect to superstar.

And now?

Now.

SKEE! SKEE! SKEE!

KA-BOOOOOOOM!

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

The pictures fade away from the PRIMEView, replaced by three words.

THE
NEW
DIAMOND

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

NATE
COLTON

Eagles. “Tryin’.”

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!

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

Or more accurately, jackets…as he is joined on the platform by three other figures, each wearing ring jackets of their own. The colors are different–red, green, and purple–but the important part is the same.

RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

Nick Stuart: Look at that! It’s a full family reunion tonight!

Richard Parker: Don’t be ridiculous, Nick! If we had the whole Colton family, we wouldn’t have any room for the fans!

As the lyrics begin. Nate Colton walks toward the ring. Jennifer and the Lads practically run circles around him, hyping up the crowd as he goes. Benny and Denny are yelling and waving their arms, urging the fans to do the same, while Jenny yells at the top of her lungs, making sure everyone’s aware that Shit Is About To Go Down.

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

Nate circles around the right side of the ring, grabbing the outstretched hands of the fans in the front row. His family falls in line behind him, turning it into a buy-one-get-three-free deal. Can’t pass that up, especially in this economy.

Lookin’ for my destination and my home is far behind

After getting about halfway around the ring, he circles back to the ring steps, wipes his feet on the apron, and steps into the ring. The rest of the Coltons continue the circuit, getting more fans in on the action.

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

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

RRRAAAAAAAHHH!!

And I’m tryin’

As the music fades and the lights return to normal, Nate Colton goes to his corner. Benjamin, Dennis, and Jennifer meet him there, stepping up on the apron and forming a huddle, arms around each others’ shoulders. Once they finish their last-second strategizing, encouragement, and prayers, the others drop back down to the floor while the New Diamond removes his ring jacket. He hands it to an attendant, then waits for Vince Howard to say the pretty words.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Evasnville, Indiana! Standing at six feet and four inches tall, weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds. He is the New Diamond! He is… NAAAAAAAAAAAAATE! COLTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Colton waves one more time to the crowd, then turns toward the entrance in anticipation of the champion’s arrival.

Richard Parker: What’s the point of bringing those troublemakers out here? I thought Colton was all about a “good clean fight!” Fat chance of that when he brings a whole gang out here!

Nick Stuart: Richard.

Richard Parker: What?

Nick Stuart: Seriously?!

Richard Parker: …no.

With the challenger in the ring, it’s time for the champion.

The camera cuts outside of the luxury box, the throne room that PRIME’s Universal Champion had been sitting in for the entire show. For more than a month, this had been where you could find the erstwhile Crownless King, the King of Conquerors. Kneel before the throne, as they say.

Set up in front of this door – which has seen better days, thanks Ivan – is a team of event security. You know, the folks that work at the venue itself and aren’t necessarily working for PRIME. They’re on standby, and the reason they’re on standby becomes clear when the PA system is pounding with the sounds of war drums. One of the staff knocks on the remnants of the door. After a few moments, the champion steps through the broken threshold to a huge response from the crowd.

His fur cloak, with the heads of wolves worked into the shoulders, is new. It represents the Lord of the Wolves that he has become. The rest of his ring gear remains the same, but the gleam of the Universal Championship shines through his cloak. He nods to event staff and makes his way down the hallway. There’s already fans coming to catch a glimpse of the King.

The camera follows him as he is guided through these hallways. Fans still in the hall are yelling and screaming for him as he makes the long march from skybox to ringside.

The drums continue, and everything cuts to black as we go out to the ring, and…

…Oh, it’s dark.

Well, that is normal for an Avalon entrance, I suppose. As the war drums continue doing their war drum thing, a fog billows out from the entryway, blanketing the entryway. Then the drums stop, and there’s a long pause. Fans murmur in anticipation. Maybe it’s because someone isn’t thinking about TV time allowed. It’s hard to say.

Two things happen. The first is the opening notes of Monster Siren’s “Real Me”. The second is that a strong light emanates from the entryway. The camera cuts to the entryway itself, where the light burning from the entryway reveals that there’s a flag set up in the center of the stage. As the flag isn’t blowing, it’s hard to know what it’s of.

What isn’t hard to know, of course, is who appears in front of the light. After all, he’s the one with the wolf-themed fur cape standing in silhouette. He’s the King of Conquerors, a name that is helpfully displayed for all to see.

KING OF CONQUERORS
CORAL AVALON

Stepping through the light only when the guitars hit, Coral Avalon walks towards the flag in total darkness, save for the light overflowing behind him. When he reaches the flag, he picks it up and holds it high above his head by the very bottom of the shaft. When the lights come back up, and Avalon starts waving the flag, it’s pretty clear whose flag he’s flying.

And it’s not the eGG Bandits.

The black flag is like a pirate’s flag, complete with a skull. A skull with a broken crown, that is. The words “CROWNLESS KINGDOM” emblazoned just underneath the crown. Represent. Letting the flagpole slide through his hands until it rested upon one of his wolf shoulders, Avalon starts to make his way down to the ring.

Vince Howard: His opponent… wrestling out of Seattle, Washington! He weighs in tonight at two hundred and fourteen pounds! HE IS! THE KING! OF! CONQUERORS! HE IS! THE PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! HE! IS! COOOOOOOOOOOORAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL AVALOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNN!!!!!

Avalon takes his time walking to the ring, but he never takes his eyes off of Nate Colton as he makes his way to the ring.

Nick Stuart: Forty-one days ago, Coral Avalon put a stop to the Love Convoy and won the PRIME Universal Championship. And in almost that exact amount of time, next month, he has a date with his fellow Bandit Cancer Jiles in the main event of night two of UltraViolence!

Richard Parker: (a long series of disgusted noises)

Nick Stuart: And last year, Avalon defeated his opponent tonight for the 5-Star Championship. He’s riding a huge wave of momentum since reaching the semi-finals of the Almasy, winning the Alias championship, and cashing it in for the Universal championship. Can he keep it going?

Richard Parker: Look. I hope not. If it means the Universal Championship isn’t Bandit-adjacent, then please. God. Let it be Nate Colton. God.

Avalon walks up the steps and enters the ring, setting his flag in the corner on the way in. After briefly staring down Colton standing by in his corner, Avalon climbs up onto the second ropes and raises his arms in the air before bringing his closed fists together, pinkie and ring fingers out. He hops off of the ropes and into the ring before removing his cloak.

Only the Universal championship remained on his person, and Avalon seems reluctant to remove it from his waist at first. But upon the orders of head referee Elvis Nixon, he slowly pulls the belt from around his waist. He kisses the belt, and then hands it off to Nixon.

Nick Stuart: Elvis giving his final set of instructions to both men.

Richard Parker: Boooooooooring.

Nick Stuart: The match hasn’t even started yet.

Richard Parker: So?

DING DING

As the bell rings, the atmosphere in the arena becomes electric. The crowd erupts in cheers and applause, their anticipation reaching a fever pitch. Both wrestlers step forward from their corners, meeting in the center of the ring with determined expressions.

They initiate with a classic collar and elbow tie-up. The tie-up is intense, with both wrestlers vying for control, muscles straining and bodies locked in a fierce struggle. It’s a test of strength, balance, and technique, with neither competitor willing to give an inch.

Nate, leveraging his weight advantage, begins to overpower Coral. His larger frame gives him the upper hand in this initial exchange. With a powerful push, he forces Coral backward, inch by inch, towards the corner of the ring. The Colton Trio — outside of the ring — cheer on Colton, slamming their hands on the mat.

Nick Stuart: What an intense start to this match! Nate’s using his size advantage, trying to assert dominance early on.

Richard Parker: Oh, please, Nick. Both of these guys are despicable. Coral better find a way out or he’ll be squished like a bug.

Nick Stuart: Respect their technique, Richard. Nate’s using his strength wisely, and Coral needs to counter with speed and agility.

Coral, feeling the pressure, tries to resist, planting his feet firmly on the mat and pushing back with all his might. But Nate’s advantage in size and strength is too much to overcome in this moment. With one final push, Nate drives Coral into the corner, securing his dominance in the early stages of the match.

Elvis steps in to ensure a clean break, but the psychological edge has already been established. Coral now finds himself in a vulnerable position, needing to think quickly and adapt his strategy to counter Nate’s physical superiority.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s off to a strong start, Richard. He’s using his size advantage to gain early control.

Richard Parker: Oh, wonderful. A bully throwing his weight around. Classic.

Nick Stuart: Coral needs to rely on his agility now. He can’t match Nate’s strength head-on.

As Elvis calls for a clean break, Nate begins to step back, momentarily easing the pressure on Coral. However, Coral seizes the opportunity with lightning speed, delivering a swift and unexpected shot to Nate’s midsection. The impact momentarily stuns Nate, causing him to double over slightly in surprise and pain.

Nate looks surprised at Coral’s aggression, his eyes widening as he momentarily stumbles backward. The unexpected strike has caught him off guard, disrupting his early advantage.

The Colton Trio look on, confused by Coral’s tactics.

Nick Stuart: Coral taking advantage of the opening! That’s the kind of quick thinking he needs to stay in this match.

Richard Parker: Oh, come on! A cheap shot when Nate’s stepping back? Typical Coral, always looking for shortcuts.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s got to regroup now. Coral’s showing he’s not going down without a fight.

Richard Parker: Great. More time watching these two clowns. Wake me when it’s over.

Another lock-up ensues, with both wrestlers grappling for control. Coral, using his agility, slips behind Nate and secures a waistlock. Coral tightens his grip, aiming to counter Nate’s strength with his own speed and technique. Nate counters with a standing switch, swiftly reversing Coral’s waistlock. Nate maneuvers behind Coral and secures his own grip around Coral’s waist. This unexpected shift in control forces Coral to react quickly, struggling to break free from Nate’s powerful hold.

Coral switches back, but this time he maneuvers Nate into a backslide pin attempt. With a swift motion, Coral hooks Nate’s arms and uses his momentum to roll Nate onto his shoulders. Coral presses down, trying to keep Nate’s shoulders pinned as Elvis Nixon begins his count.

ONE

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Both men are looking for any edge they can find. It’s a chess match in there.

Richard Parker: More like a slap fight between two clowns. Neither of them can hold a candle to real competitors.

Nick Stuart: Coral’s quick thinking almost paid off. He’s not giving Nate a moment’s rest.

Richard Parker: Maybe they’ll wear each other out and we can get out of Sacramento.

Colton gets to his feet and bounces off the ropes, building momentum. Coral quickly executes a leapfrog, skillfully avoiding Colton’s advance. As Colton rebounds off the ropes again, Coral meets him mid-ring with a precise dropkick, sending Colton to the mat. Nate rolls to his feet with a determined look, but Coral doesn’t allow him any respite. Charging forward with speed, Coral delivers a sharp European uppercut, the impact echoing through the arena. Colton staggers back, visibly affected by the blow, but remains on his feet.

Coral initiates the next sequence by grabbing Nate’s wrist and applying a wristlock, wrenching Nate’s arm hard. The pressure is evident as Nate’s face contorts in pain, but he quickly reverses the situation, transitioning into an armbar. Nate’s powerful grip forces Coral’s arm into an awkward position, but Coral doesn’t stay trapped for long. Using his agility and quick thinking, Coral counters with a standing switch, slipping behind Nate and securing a waistlock.

Nate, showing his own technical prowess, responds by applying a waistlock of his own, reversing the hold and tightening his grip around Coral’s waist. Coral struggles momentarily but manages to break free with a sharp elbow to Nate’s midsection. The blow causes Nate to loosen his grip, giving Coral enough space to make his next move.

Seizing the moment, Coral follows up with a quick kick to Nate’s thigh. The impact forces Nate to momentarily lose his balance, his leg buckling slightly under the force of the kick.

Nick Stuart: Coral’s showing great resilience here, using his agility to counter Nate’s strength.

Richard Parker: I see desperation, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Look at Coral’s technique, reversing the wristlock and keeping Nate off balance.

Richard Parker: Meh.

Coral follows up with a snapmare, swiftly pulling Nate over his shoulder and sending him crashing to the mat. Without a moment’s hesitation, Coral drives a vicious knee into Nate’s back as he sits up, causing Nate to grimace in pain. Nate quickly gets to his feet, frustration etched on his face as he shakes off the discomfort.

The two engage in another collar and elbow tie-up and Nate transitions smoothly into a side headlock, applying pressure to Coral’s head and neck. Coral struggles momentarily, feeling the strain of Nate’s grip, but he quickly regains his composure. Coral pushes Nate off into the ropes, forcing him to release the hold.

Nick Stuart: Coral’s quick escape from the headlock shows his adaptability. He’s keeping Nate on his toes.

Richard Parker: Great, more stalling. Just flatten each other already.

Nate charges forward and delivers a powerful shoulder block to Coral, but Coral remains on his feet, absorbing the impact. Nate quickly runs to the ropes, gaining momentum for another attack. As he rebounds, Coral deftly leapfrogs over him, avoiding the collision. Nate stops short, anticipating Coral’s next move, and catches him off guard with a quick schoolboy rollup.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Coral transitions smoothly into a headlock, and he’s really grinding his forearm into Nate’s face.

Richard Parker: Look at this, Nick. Coral’s squeezing like his life depends on it. Classic Coral, always trying to wear down his opponent.

Nate fights to his feet, elbowing Coral’s midsection repeatedly to break free from the hold. Coral stumbles back, giving Nate the opportunity to attempt an Irish whip. Nate grabs Coral’s wrist and tries to send him into the ropes, but Coral reverses the move, using Nate’s momentum against him. As Nate rebounds off the ropes, Coral is ready and waiting. He skillfully catches Nate mid-run, lifting him off the ground and spinning him around in a tilt-a-whirl motion. With precision, Coral drives Nate’s back onto his knee in a backbreaker.

Coral immediately applies a seated abdominal stretch, digging his knuckles into Nate’s ribs with precision. The pressure is intense, and Nate’s face contorts in pain as he struggles to break free. Summoning his strength, Nate powers out of the hold and counters with a back suplex. The impact is hard, but Coral manages to land on his feet, showcasing his agility. Without missing a beat, Coral swiftly delivers an enzuigiri, his foot connecting solidly with Nate’s head. Nate staggers from the blow, clearly affected, but remains standing.

Nick Stuart: Coral’s enzuigiri lands perfectly! He’s really showing his speed and precision out there.

Richard Parker: Speed and precision? More like desperation, Nick. Coral is flailing around, hoping something sticks.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s power is impressive, but Coral’s agility is keeping him on his toes.

Richard Parker: Impressive? Spare me. They’re both scrambling like amateurs. Coral’s lucky that enzuigiri didn’t knock Nate out cold.

Nate is dazed but still standing. Coral runs the ropes to gain momentum. As Coral rebounds, Nate catches him with a powerful powerslam. The impact is hard, and Coral is driven into the mat with force. Nate quickly goes for the pin, hooking Coral’s leg to secure the count. Nixon slides into position and starts the count.

ONE

TWO

Coral kicks out just before the three-count, showing his resilience. Nate, slightly frustrated, gets to his feet and pulls Coral up with him. He delivers a series of quick strikes to Coral’s midsection, trying to wear him down further. Coral, despite the onslaught, manages to push Nate away and create some distance.

Nate pulls Coral up, but Coral rakes his eyes when Elvis isn’t looking, temporarily blinding him. Taking advantage of Nate’s disorientation, Coral quickly transitions into a Marie Antoinette, locking in a guillotine choke. Coral wraps his legs tightly around Nate’s waist, applying pressure to his neck with a firm grip. Nate struggles to break free, but Coral’s hold is secure, cutting off his air supply. Nate’s face begins to redden as he tries to pry Coral’s arms apart, but his efforts are in vain. Coral tightens his grip even further, sensing Nate’s weakening state. Nate’s movements become slower and more labored as the choke takes its toll.

The Colton Trio slam their hands on the mat, urging Nate to fight through it.

Richard Parker: Look at this, Nick! Coral Avalon using that Marie Antoinette choke. What a low move, using FLAMBERGE’s signature on Nate Colton!

Nick Stuart: Coral’s pulling out all the stops, Richard. Nate must be feeling some serious PTSD right now, remembering his battles with FLAMBERGE.

Richard Parker: Oh please, Nick. Coral’s a coward, stealing moves from Nate’s biggest rival. It’s just pathetic!

Nick Stuart: It’s a smart strategy, Richard. Coral’s trying to get into Nate’s head and break his spirit. This match is all about mental and physical endurance.

Nate struggles against the chokehold, his muscles straining as he attempts to power out. His face reddens from the effort, but his determination remains unwavering. Slowly but surely, he manages to pry Coral’s arms apart, breaking free from the hold. Gasping for breath, Nate stumbles back, his eyes narrowing in recognition as he realizes that Coral used a move from another wrestler, FLAMBERGE. The realization fuels his annoyance, and he clenches his fists, preparing for the next exchange. Coral, noticing Nate’s reaction, smirks confidently, knowing he got under Nate’s skin. Without hesitation, Coral charges at Nate, aiming to capitalize on the momentary distraction. Nate braces himself, ready to counter the incoming attack, his focus sharpened by the perceived slight.

Nate counters with a backdrop, sending Coral over the top rope. Coral manages to land on the apron, maintaining his balance as he grabs the ropes. Nate quickly turns to face him, ready for the next move. Coral seizes the opportunity and reaches through the ropes, grabbing Nate’s leg. With a swift pull, Coral traps Nate’s leg between the top and middle ropes, leaving him momentarily immobilized. Nate struggles to free himself, but the ropes hold firm, forcing him to use his upper body strength to try and escape. Coral, still on the apron, capitalizes on Nate’s predicament by delivering several quick strikes to Nate’s exposed midsection. Each strike lands with precision, causing Nate to grimace in pain.

Nick Stuart: Coral’s really taking advantage of Nate’s frustration here. He’s using every trick in the book to gain the upper hand.

Richard Parker: Oh, great. Looks like Cancer Jiles has clearly rubbed off on Coral Avalon. Can’t these guys fight fair for once?

Nick Stuart: Nate’s got to stay focused and not let Coral’s antics get to him. He’s got the strength; he just needs to stay calm.

Coral, slipping back into the ring, positions himself strategically, waiting for the perfect moment. With precision, he delivers a powerful Rhongomyniad, also known as a Yakuza kick, directly to Nate’s head. The impact is brutal, sending Nate stumbling backward and falling dangerously to the floor outside the ring.

Coral, sensing an opportunity, quickly rolls out of the ring and approaches Nate, who is struggling to regain his footing. Coral doesn’t give him any respite, taunting him as he struggles to get up. Elvis begins the count, methodically counting each second that Nate remains outside the ring. Coral, confident in his position, continues his taunting, adding psychological pressure to Nate’s physical struggles.

Nick Stuart: Coral’s relentless with those stomps. He’s trying to wear Nate down completely.

Richard Parker: Impressive, sure. But he’s still stuck with Coral. Wake me when it’s over.

At the count of eight, Coral decides to roll Nate back into the ring, ensuring the match continues. He knows he has the upper hand and wants to capitalize on it within the confines of the ring. Once Nate is back inside, Coral immediately goes for a cover, pressing Nate’s shoulders to the mat and hooking his leg to secure the pin as Nixon drops to the mat and begins his count.

ONE

TWO

Nate barely kicks out, showing his resilience despite the brutal attack he’s endured. Coral, undeterred by the near fall, quickly gets to his feet and assesses his next move. He knows that he needs to maintain his momentum to keep Nate from recovering.

Nate, still reeling from the Yakuza kick, tries to push himself up but is visibly weakened. Coral takes advantage of this, delivering a series of methodical stomps to Nate’s back and midsection, each one designed to wear him down further. Nate grits his teeth, enduring the onslaught as he tries to find a way to counter.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s showing incredible resilience here, but Coral is relentless in his assault. Both men are pushing themselves to the limit.

Richard Parker: Oh, give me a break, Nick. Nate’s supposed to be better than this? He’s nothing but a shadow of his old man. Pathetic!

Nick Stuart: That’s uncalled for, Richard. Nate’s fighting with everything he’s got. You have to respect his determination.

Coral, sensing that Nate is vulnerable, pulls him to his feet and whips him into the corner with force. Nate’s back crashes against the turnbuckles, and he slumps slightly from the impact. Coral follows up with a running knee strike, driving his knee into Nate’s midsection and forcing the air out of his lungs.

Nate grasps the ropes, trying to stay upright. Coral, relentless in his attack, grabs Nate by the wrist and whips him across the ring again. This time, as Nate rebounds off the ropes, Coral meets him with a well-timed clothesline, sending Nate crashing to the mat. Coral immediately goes for another cover, pressing Nate’s shoulders down firmly as Nixon counts again.

ONE

TWO

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton kicks out at two! He’s still got some fight left in him, Richard. Despite Coral’s relentless assault, Nate’s determination is shining through.

Richard Parker: Oh, come on, Nick. Just end it already! Both of these guys are dragging this out. Nate’s just delaying the inevitable.

Coral applies a dragon sleeper, adding extra pressure to Nate’s neck and back. Nate struggles, his face contorted in pain as Coral tightens the hold. Despite the intense pressure, Nate refuses to submit. He grits his teeth and begins to rise, his legs trembling with effort. With Coral still clinging to his back, Nate slowly but surely fights to his feet.

Using sheer determination, Nate manages to stand fully upright with Coral on his back. He staggers backward, each step deliberate and steady, aiming for the corner. With a final burst of strength, Nate backs Coral into the turnbuckles, slamming him against the padded corner. The impact forces Coral to release the dragon sleeper, and Nate stumbles forward, gasping for air.

Coral, momentarily winded from the collision, quickly regains his composure. He sees Nate trying to recover and seizes the opportunity. With a burst of speed, Coral charges out of the corner. His eyes are fixed on Nate, and he goes for a running European uppercut with precision.

Nick Stuart: Nate ducks under Coral’s charge and hits a German suplex! The crowd is on their feet!

Richard Parker: Finally, some real action! Nate’s showing some life. About time he did something worth watching.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s not letting go, Richard. He holds on, and here comes a second German suplex! Coral is looking dazed.

Richard Parker: Alright, alright. He’s got some moves, I’ll give him that. But he better keep it up. Coral’s not going down easily.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s going for a third suplex now. He’s got Coral in his grasp, but wait—Coral blocks it!

Richard Parker: Ugh, more of this? Fine, fine. I don’t want Troy to fine me. Maybe this match isn’t so bad after all.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s trying to regain control, but Coral’s resisting with all his might. You can feel the tension in the air, Richard. The crowd is loving every second of this.

Richard Parker: Yeah, yeah. Let’s see if Nate can keep this momentum. One wrong move and Coral will have him flat on the mat again.

Nick Stuart: Both men are pushing themselves to the limit. It’s a true test of strength and endurance. Nate’s determination is impressive, but Coral’s resilience is equally remarkable.

Richard Parker: Anyone got some popcorn?

Coral counters with a komi-goshi judo throw, using his leverage to flip Nate over his hip and send him crashing to the mat. As soon as Nate hits the ground, Coral transitions smoothly into a jujigatame, trapping Nate’s arm between his legs and applying intense pressure on the elbow joint. Nate grimaces, recognizing another borrowed move, and feels the strain on his arm as Coral tightens the hold.

Nate’s face contorts in pain as he struggles to find a way out. His free hand claws at the mat, desperately searching for an escape. The crowd watches intently, sensing the tension in the air. Nate’s body writhes as he tries to alleviate the pressure, his strength slowly waning under Coral’s relentless grip.

Nick Stuart: Coral continues to pull FLAMBERGE’s moves out of the bag, trying to get into Nate’s head. It’s a smart strategy, but also risky. Nate’s resilience is being tested like never before.

Richard Parker: Ha! That might be the most interesting part of Coral Avalon. At least he’s got something going for him, even if it’s just stealing someone else’s moves.

With sheer determination, Nate begins to inch his way towards the ropes. Every movement is agonizing, but he knows he needs to reach the ropes to break the hold. Coral, sensing Nate’s progress, tightens his grip even further, trying to force a submission before Nate can find salvation.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s determination is truly remarkable, Richard. He’s inching his way to the ropes despite the pain. Can he make it?

Richard Parker: Oh, please. Coral should just rip Nate’s arm off and beat him with it. That would be more entertaining.

Finally, with a last burst of effort, Nate manages to stretch his arm out and grab hold of the bottom rope. Nixon steps in and orders Coral to break the hold. Coral, ever the tactician, maintains the submission until the count of four before releasing Nate’s arm. Coral then immediately stomps on Nate’s arm, adding insult to injury and further weakening his opponent.

Nate rolls to the apron, using the brief respite to catch his breath and assess the damage to his arm. The pain is evident on his face, but he knows he can’t afford to show weakness. Coral stands in the ring, calculating his next move while keeping a close eye on Nate.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s arm is clearly in pain after that brutal jujigatame. He needs to be cautious moving forward, or this could get worse.

Richard Parker: Coral Avalon is an idiot for giving Colton any space. He should be all over him like a rash!

Nick Stuart: Coral’s strategy has been relentless, but Nate’s resilience is shining through. Look, Coral’s making his way towards Colton now.

Coral attempts to suplex Nate back into the ring. Nate blocks the move, planting his feet firmly on the mat. Coral tries again, but Nate resists, using his strength to prevent the suplex. Gathering his energy, Nate counters with a suplex of his own, lifting Coral off his feet and sending him crashing to the outside. Coral hits the ground hard, the impact echoing through the arena.

Nixon begins his count. Nate and Coral lie on the floor, trying to catch their breath. At the count of four, Nate starts to stir, using the apron for support as he pulls himself up. The Colton Trio come over and urge Nate on, who is exhausted. Coral, clutching his back in pain, begins to push himself off the ground. By the count of seven, both wrestlers are on their feet, albeit unsteadily.

Nick Stuart: Both men are down outside the ring. Will they be able to answer Nixon’s count, or are we headed for a double countout?

Richard Parker: Oh, please let it be a double countout. I’m ready to go home.

Nate, showing signs of fatigue, slides back into the ring at the count of nine. Coral, seeing Nate make it in, finds a last burst of energy. He stumbles toward the ring, grabbing the bottom rope for leverage. With a final effort, Coral pulls himself under the ropes, barely beating the count at nine and a half.

Nick Stuart: Coral barely makes it back in! What resilience from both competitors. This match has been a true test of their determination and endurance.

Richard Parker: Oh great, more of this. I was hoping for a double countout so we could all go home.

Nate catches Coral with a dropkick as he enters the ring, the impact sending Coral crashing to the mat. Nate doesn’t waste any time, immediately going for a quick pin. He hooks Coral’s leg and presses his shoulders to the mat, applying firm pressure as Nixon begins his count.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT

Nate quickly transitions, grabbing Coral’s legs and flipping him onto his stomach. He steps through and applies a Texas Cloverleaf, locking in the submission hold with precision. Coral’s face contorts in pain as he feels the pressure on his lower back and legs. He desperately claws at the mat, trying to inch his way towards the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s determination and power have shifted the momentum back in his favor!

Richard Parker: Oh, come on, Nick. It’s just a matter of time before Coral finds another opening. All that forehead has to be good for something, right?

Coral’s fingers finally graze the bottom rope, and with one final effort, he grabs hold, forcing the break. The referee immediately calls for Nate to release the hold. Nate, however, maintains the submission for an extra moment, adding just a bit more pressure before finally letting go. Nixon admonishes Nate for his actions, reminding him of the rules. Nate raises his hands in a gesture of apology, but the brief hesitation has given Coral a moment to recover.

Nate steps back, allowing Coral some space to get to his feet. Coral uses the ropes for support, pulling himself up slowly. His movements are deliberate, each one a testament to the pain and fatigue he’s enduring. Nate watches intently, waiting for the right moment to strike again.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s submission game is on point tonight, he’s really targeting Coral’s weak spots with precision.

Richard Parker: How much more can these two possibly have left? And can Coral even keep his Universal Title after this beating?

As soon as Coral is upright, Nate charges forward, aiming to capitalize on his opponent’s weakened state. Coral anticipates the attack and sidesteps at the last second, causing Nate to crash into the ropes. The impact staggers Nate, and Coral takes advantage by delivering a sharp kick to Nate’s midsection. Nate doubles over in pain, and Coral follows up with a series of quick strikes, targeting Nate’s ribs and abdomen. Each blow lands with precision, forcing Nate to backpedal towards the center of the ring.

Despite the onslaught, Nate manages to block one of Coral’s punches and counters with a swift elbow to Coral’s jaw. The force of the blow sends Coral reeling, and Nate quickly grabs him, lifting him into the air for a suplex. Nate immediately goes for another pin, but Coral kicks out once more, showing his tenacity.

ONE

TWO

Nick Stuart: Coral manages to kick out once again, showing incredible resilience in this grueling match!

Richard Parker: I have to give it to Colton, he’s really showing up in this big match, but can he keep it up?

Nick Stuart: You know he c— what the hell?!

Richard Parker: Oh you have GOT to be kidding me. This match went from bad to worse!

The reason for their outrage?

Cancer Jiles, strutting down to ringside in those shades and that swagger that can make 80K want to vomit all over him. It’d be nice if they do it now.

Come on, anytime now.

Maybe now?

Okay, Sacramento, you’ve let us all down.

Slapping his hands on the mat, he yells at Coral. “Come on, do it for the eGG Bandits! Do it for us!”

Avalon glances over, disdain on his face, as he glares at Cancer Jiles. Colton watches on, unsure of what is about to happen next.

Meanwhile, the Colton Trio rush over towards Cancer — knowing he’ll do anything to get what he wants.

Richard Parker: Can’t we like, ban him from the arena? All arenas?! I don’t understand why Lindsay Troy insists on us dealing with his nonsense.

Nick Stuart: Ban him for what reason?

Richard Parker: breathing.

Nick Stuart: Well, I don’t think that would go over well.

Both men — doing their best to ignore Cancer Jiles — slowly get to their feet, their bodies showing signs of the intense struggle. They meet in the center of the ring, trading forearm strikes with equal ferocity.

THWACK!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

THWACK!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

THWACK!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Each blow echoes through the arena, the crowd’s anticipation building with every hit. Nate’s strikes are powerful and deliberate, while Coral’s are quick and precise. The exchange is intense, neither wrestler willing to back down.

Nate manages to gain the upper hand with a surprise Russian legsweep, catching Coral off guard. The move is executed flawlessly, and Coral crashes to the mat with a thud. Nate quickly capitalizes on the moment, rolling over and positioning himself for a follow-up attack. He grabs Coral’s arm and applies a firm armbar, aiming to wear down his opponent further. Coral struggles against the hold, his face contorting in pain as he tries to find a way to escape.

Using his agility, Coral manages to twist his body and break free from Nate’s grip. He scrambles to his feet, but Nate is already on the offensive. Nate delivers a swift kick to Coral’s midsection, doubling him over. Seizing the opportunity, Nate hooks Coral’s head and lifts him for a vertical suplex. The impact is hard, and Coral’s body slams into the mat, leaving him momentarily stunned.

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton with a perfectly executed vertical suplex! Coral Avalon is down, and Nate is showing great ring awareness by staying on the attack.

Richard Parker: Oh great, another suplex. Can someone wake me up when this snooze fest is over? And why is Cancer Jiles even here? He’s just a distraction.

“Hey Coral — you’re getting your ass handed to you. You might want to do something about that.”

Nate looks over at Cancer, rolling his eyes in the process. Jennifer Colton inches towards Cancer — ready to knock him out — when Benjamin and Dennis pull her back.

Nate transitions into the Colton Clutch ’24, an STF with a cobra clutch grip. He locks his arms around Coral’s neck and applies immense pressure to his lower back and legs. Coral grimaces in pain, his face contorted with effort as he struggles against Nate’s powerful grip. Every muscle in Coral’s body strains as he tries to inch closer to the ropes, but Nate’s hold is unyielding.

Coral’s hands claw at Nate’s arms, desperately trying to break free. His breathing becomes labored, and his movements grow frantic as the pain intensifies. Nate tightens his grip, sensing that Coral is on the verge of submitting.

Nick Stuart: Nate could have this match won if he keeps up the pressure!

Richard Parker: Ugh, why is Cancer Jiles still here? He’s ruining everything!

Nick Stuart: Focus, Richard.

Coral manages to extend his hand, reaching for the bottom rope but falling just short. His fingers brush against it, but he can’t quite grasp it. Just as it seems he might tap out, Cancer Jiles grabs Coral’s hands and drags him toward the bottom rope. Nixon, noticing Avalon’s hand on the bottom rope but not Jiles’ help, calls for a rope break.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nate releases the hold reluctantly, frustration evident on his face. Coral collapses to the mat, gasping for breath and clutching his injured back.

Richard Parker: That no good, slimy assh—

Nick Stuart: Okay, you may need a timeout. Here’s your sippy cup and Goldfish.

Richard Parker: [mouth full of food] Fanks!

Nick Stuart: A heinous move from Jiles and you can see the anger in Colton’s face as he looks at Jiles.

Nate drags Coral away from the ropes, his eyes locked on Cancer Jiles with a fierce glare. As Coral struggles weakly, Nate repositions him in the center of the ring and locks in the Colton Clutch ’24 once more. Coral’s groans of pain fill the arena as Nate applies immense pressure.

Coral manages to roll through and immediately applies Vortigern’s Pillory. Nate, feeling the intense pressure on his shoulder, grits his teeth and begins to fight the submission. He uses his leg strength to inch towards the ropes, dragging Coral along with him.

Nick Stuart: Nate’s determination is incredible, but Coral is showing no mercy with that armbar!

Richard Parker: Can we just end this already? Coral’s like a dog with a bone, and Nate’s arm is the bone!

Coral wrenches the hold tighter, showing no mercy. The pain surges through Nate’s arm and shoulder, but he refuses to give up. With sheer determination, he continues to crawl towards the ropes, the distance seemingly insurmountable. Coral adjusts his position, applying even more pressure to the joint, but Nate’s resolve remains unbroken.

The ropes are just within reach, and Nate stretches out his free arm, fingers brushing the bottom rope. Coral senses the impending escape and redoubles his efforts, pulling back viciously on Nate’s trapped arm. The agony is evident on Nate’s face, but he digs deep, summoning every ounce of strength. With a final, desperate lunge, Nate reaches for the bottom rope, but Jiles pulls it away slightly.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: That was a blatant interference by Cancer Jiles! How can Nixon allow this to continue?

Richard Parker: See, this is why I can’t stand Jiles. He’s a walking disaster and a cheat!

Avalon, unaware of what’s happening continues to apply the armbar while Jiles waves at Colton who is seething mad. Before anything else can happen though, there’s a murmur of boos and cheers from the crowd as The Red Army explode from backstage and make their way down the ramp. Jiles quickly moves around the ring, eager to not get into the battle with the likes of Kenny Freeman, Randall Schwartz, Max Kael — or most importantly — Ivan Stanislav.

Richard Parker: And the calvary has arrived!

Nick Stuart: You knew this moment was going to come. Both competitors coming out without their entourage was never going to last.

Richard Parker: Well, calling The Red Army Colton’s entourage is rich.

Nick Stuart: Touche.

Ivan looks like he’s ready to rip Cancer’s body from his body, but gets distracted as Colton finally grabs the bottom rope, forcing the break.

The Colton Trio look on at the gathered masses and start to back away, keeping an eye on the match with one eye and the Red Army and Jiles with another eye.

Nixon steps in, instructing Coral to release the hold. Coral, frustrated, holds on for an extra second before finally letting go. Nate cradles his injured arm, using the ropes to pull himself to his feet.

Nick Stuart: Nate finally reaches the bottom rope, forcing Coral to break the hold, but he held on longer than you would think Avalon capable of doing. Now with the Red Army here, more chaos is being added to this intense match!

Richard Parker: Typical Coral, thinking the rules don’t matter to him. And great, the rest of the eGG Bandits are here too! This is turning into a full-blown war!

Sure enough, Bobby Dean, Tony Gamble, and Hessian make their way down the ramp (Bobby a bit slower than the rest… obviously).

Coral charges in, but Nate backdrops him over the top rope to the apron. Coral lands on the apron with agility, grabbing the ropes to maintain his balance. Nate turns, but Coral is quick to react, delivering a rope-assisted enzuigiri. The impact of Coral’s foot connects with Nate’s head, causing him to stagger backward, dazed from the sudden strike.

Coral seizes the moment and slingshots himself back into the ring, transitioning smoothly into a sunset flip. He hooks his legs around Nate’s waist, using his momentum to pull Nate down to the mat. Coral’s grip tightens as he attempts to secure the pin, pressing Nate’s shoulders to the mat with determination.

Nate struggles to break free, his muscles straining against Coral’s hold. Elvis begins the count.

ONE

TWO

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Nate kicks out at the last second! This match is far from over!

Richard Parker: Ugh, just end it already! How many times can these two drag this out? Now I have to look at Cancer Jiles and the eGG Bandits and you know it’s only a matter of time before Ivan slams someone in our general vicinity.

Nick Stuart: …that’s fair.

Both men pop up and collide with simultaneous clotheslines, sending each other crashing to the mat. The impact is brutal, and they both lie motionless, their chests heaving as they try to catch their breath. Elvis begins a double count, the crowd counting along in unison.

ONE

TWO

THREE

The wrestlers show no signs of movement. Even as Hessian yells for Coral to get up — willing his War Games captain to his feet — and Kenny Freeman urges Colton on — yelling at him to do it for The Red Army.

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

Richard Parker: Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ring the stupid bell and let’s go home before a war breaks out before us.

Nick Stuart: You can see The Red Army and eGG Bandits eyeing each other carefully, not certain how this is all going to go.

Richard Parker: I can tell you how all of this is going to go. Fights. Brawls. Probably popcorn wasted and dumped onto my head.

Nick Stuart: Well, that last one is usually fun.

Richard Parker: For you maybe!

SEVEN

EIGHT

At the count of nine, both men start to stir, using every ounce of energy to get to their feet.

Struggling to stand, they each grab the ropes for support. They manage to get upright just before the count of ten, narrowly avoiding a double count-out. Nate, showing remarkable resilience, is the first to make a move. He lunges at Coral, who is still trying to steady himself. Nate goes for the Colton Clutch Suplex, ensnaring the Universal Champion’s arms before lifting him off the ground.

However, Coral counters mid-move, using his agility to twist his body and break free from Nate’s grasp. As he lands on his feet, Coral quickly transitions into a European Clutch pin attempt. He hooks Nate’s leg and rolls him up, pressing his shoulders to the mat. Elvis drops to the mat for the count.

ONE

TWO

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: And another close call there!

Richard Parker: How can you watch a match at a time like this?! A war is about to break out!

Nick Stuart: You seriously need a Xanax.

Richard Parker: Are you trying to send me back to rehab?

Both are visibly exhausted, but know the match is not close to finish. Nate and Coral both get to their feet, their movements slower but no less determined. Nate, fueled by the narrow escape, charges at Coral, looking to regain control. Coral sidesteps at the last moment, causing Nate to crash into the turnbuckles. Coral seizes the opportunity, grabbing Nate’s arm and whipping him across the ring. Nate rebounds off the ropes, and Coral meets him mid-ring with a dropkick to the chest. Nate staggers backward, but remains on his feet.

Coral doesn’t let up, following up with a series of quick strikes to Nate’s midsection. Each blow lands with precision, aiming to wear Nate down further. Nate absorbs the punishment, his face contorted in pain, but he refuses to go down. With a burst of energy, Nate grabs Coral and lifts him up for a spinebuster. He slams Coral to the mat with authority, the ring shaking from the impact. Nate quickly goes for the cover, hooking Coral’s leg.

ONE

TWO

Nick Stuart: Coral Avalon with the kickout!

Richard Parker: You know what? Good showing by them both, I was wrong. Just give them each a title. Isn’t that a thing that happens these days?

Nick Stuart: No.

Both men are back on their feet, their bodies aching from the brutal exchanges. Nate tries to catch Coral off guard with a clothesline, but Coral ducks under it and counters with a spinning heel kick. The kick connects with Nate’s jaw, sending him to the mat. Coral quickly climbs to the top rope before leaping off, aiming for a diving elbow drop. Nate rolls out of the way at the last second, and Coral crashes to the mat, missing his target.

Nate capitalizes on Coral’s missed move, pulling him to his feet and setting him up for another Colton Clutch Suplex. This time, he executes it perfectly, slamming Coral to the mat with force. Nate goes for the pin, hooking both of Coral’s legs, as the eGG Bandits look on in horror.

ONE

TWO

TH—

“Hey Elvis, do you want to know how I got those scars?”

Nick Stuart: Tony Gamble is on the ring apron and yelling at Elvis, distracting him long enough to stop the count!

Richard Parker: Are you kidding me?! This match has to continue?! My dinner reservations are going to be no good now.

Nick Stuart: Elvis admonishing Gamble — and Max Kael just knocked Gamble off of the ring apron!

Richard Parker: Oh Hoyt, here we go. World War 3!

The eGG Bandits and Red Army square off with one another, ready to go to war. Colton looks over at the two groups — “Go away! All of you!” — he yells at both factions, but no one moves an inch.

Despite their exhaustion, both men fight to their feet, digging deep into their reserves of strength and determination. Blows are exchanged in the center of the ring, each strike more desperate than the last. Nate gains the upper hand, landing a series of punches that drive Coral back into the ropes. Coral responds with a sudden burst of energy, delivering a knee to Nate’s midsection. He then attempts another European Clutch pin, but Nate reverses it into a small package roll-up.

ONE

TWO

TH— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Are you kidding me with this?! Another kickout?! Do they think we want to be here all night?!

Nick Stuart: Well, the fans are eating it up. They’re on the verge of chanting PRIME THAT S—

Richard Parker: Are you trying to get us canceled? Come on, man!

The wrestlers get to their feet once more, their movements sluggish but full of resolve. Nate attempts a final Colton Clutch Suplex, but Coral counters again, this time transitioning into a crucifix pin.

ONE

TWO

NO!

Nick Stuart: Randall Schwartz hopped onto the ring apron and while he was yanked down by Hessian — Elvis was still distracted enough.

Richard Parker: Do something, Elvis! Anything!

Nick Stuart: You can see he’s thinking about it — but the action continues on and he can’t be in two places at once!

Both men stumble to their feet, bodies drained and exhausted.

Coral hits a Saito suplex, maintaining wrist control as he transitions smoothly into Camelot’s Turntable, executing a wrist-clutch snap Angle slam with precision. Nate crashes hard onto the mat, the impact resonating throughout the arena. Coral quickly goes for the pin, hooking Nate’s leg tightly.

ONE

TWO

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Elvis’ hand hovers inches from the mat as Nate’s shoulder rises.

Richard Parker: Just slam it down, Elvis! No one would know!

Nick Stuart: We would know!

Richard Parker: And who are we? Nobodies!

Nick Stuart: Speak for yourself.

Undeterred, Coral pulls Nate to his feet, determined to finish the match. Nate, however, is not done. Despite the pain and exhaustion, he musters the strength to fight back. Coral attempts another suplex, but Nate blocks it, planting his feet firmly on the mat. Using his remaining energy, Nate delivers a series of stiff fists to Coral’s midsection, forcing him to release his grip.

Nate takes advantage of the opening, whipping Coral into the ropes. As Coral rebounds, Nate catches him with a powerful spinebuster, driving him into the canvas. Colton drives his feet into the canvas and holds onto Avalon’s legs in the process before flipping him over and putting him into a Boston Crab!

Richard Parker: Avalon’s body has to feel like a pretzel with the way that Colton has stretched him out and bended him into positions that even Yoga Teachers don’t teach.

NIck Stuart: How would you know that?

Richard Parker: Look, I’m not proud of it, but I do Yoga on the weekends.

Nick Stuart: Stop.

Richard Parker: I’m serious.

Nixon checks on Avalon, who is refusing to tap out, knowing the goal in mind is to retain the Universal Title — one of the most difficult goals in all of PRIME. Coral digs his forearms into the mat and begins to drag his — and Colton’s — body across the ring, in hopes of getting to the bottom rope. As he does, Bobby Dean hops onto the canvas, forcing Nixon to stop checking on Avalon and admonishing the Rotund Man from Texas.

Dean though offers Nixon some popcorn, who looks at Dean like he’s crazy. Meanwhile, Gamble slides into the ring and slams his shoulder into the side of Colton’s jaw, forcing him to break his hold on Avalon!

Richard Parker: GAMBLE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!

Nick Stuart: Richard is nervous that this is going to explode the keg of tension here.

Richard Parker: AND I WANT TO GO HOME! ALL OF THIS TENSION IS NOT GOOD FOR MY IBS.

Nick Stuart: Okay, TMI.

As Gamble slips out of the ring, he runs smack into Ivan, who wraps his hand around Gamble’s neck and begins to throttle him. Quickly, Hessian rushes around the corner and grabs Ivan by the shoulder and spins him around, forcing Ivan and Hessian to stare off with one another — four weeks after their main event match, two weeks after battling with each other in the triple threat tag match — and the crowd feeds it.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

In the ring — off of the distraction — Coral connects with a Yakuza kick, sending Nate reeling. Sensing an opportunity to end the match, Coral signals to the crowd and begins ascending the turnbuckle. He positions himself on the top rope, his eyes fixed on Nate, who is slowly getting back to his feet. As Coral, Nate pops up with surprising speed and starts climbing the turnbuckle to meet him. The two wrestlers engage in a fierce battle atop the ropes, each trying to gain the upper hand.

Nick Stuart: The two are trading punches on the top turnbuckle! They could come crashing down at anytime and it could be on top of the eGG Bandits or The Red Army as well!

Richard Parker: Oh, please land on Cancer and flatten him like a pancake.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think our luck is that good.

Richard Parker: Always ruining my dreams.

On the outside, cooler heads have seemingly prevailed between TRA and eGG Bandits, but Jiles isn’t helping — simply by existing.

Nate manages to secure a firm grip on Coral and, with a monumental effort, hits a superplex. The impact is tremendous, but Coral’s agility allows him to land on his feet — reminiscent of Avalon and Colton’s first match against one another — absorbing the shock. Without wasting a moment, Coral immediately goes for another Rhongomyniad, aiming to finish Nate off. Nate, however, is ready this time. He catches Coral’s leg mid-kick and transitions smoothly into a capture suplex, hurling Coral into the corner with immense force.

Both men are down, the impact of the moves and the exhaustion of the match taking their toll. Nate and Coral lie on the mat, breathing heavily, their bodies showing the wear and tear of the intense contest. The referee begins the count, and the crowd watches in anticipation, urging their favorite to rise.

Richard Parker: Just stay down.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think that’s going to happen either.

Richard Parker: Why do you keep talking?

Nick Stuart: Because I get paid a lot of money.

Nate is the first to stir, using the ropes to pull himself up. Despite the pain, he knows he can’t afford to give Coral any respite. Coral, on the other hand, struggles to his knees, shaking off the effects of the capture suplex. Nate moves in, delivering a series of methodical stomps to Coral’s midsection, each one designed to keep him grounded.

Coral fights back, grabbing Nate’s leg and pulling him down to the mat. He quickly transitions into a leg lock, applying pressure to Nate’s knee. Nate grimaces in pain but refuses to submit, using his free leg to kick Coral away. The two wrestlers scramble to their feet, their movements slower but determined.

Nate charges at Coral, who counters with a drop toe hold, sending Nate face-first into the mat. Coral capitalizes on the moment, applying a front facelock to maintain control. Nate struggles, using his strength to power out of the hold. He lifts Coral off the mat and drives him into the corner, breaking the facelock.

Nick Stuart: How much pain can these two endure?

Richard Parker: Not as much pain as we endured during the 2000s with some of the people we have here.

Nick Stuart: Well, that was a random shot across the bow.

Richard Parker: Look, I spend a lot of time looking at the record books.

With Coral trapped in the corner, Nate delivers a series of shoulder thrusts to Coral’s midsection. Each thrust drives the air out of Coral’s lungs, weakening him further. Nate steps back and then charges forward, attempting a corner splash. Coral manages to dodge at the last second, causing Nate to collide with the turnbuckles.

Coral seizes the opportunity, grabbing Nate and executing a quick snap suplex. He doesn’t let go, rolling through and lifting Nate for a second snap suplex. The repeated impacts take their toll on Nate, who struggles to catch his breath. Coral rises, dragging Nate to his feet.

Nate fights back with a series of forearm strikes, breaking Coral’s grip. He whips Coral into the ropes, but Coral counters with a flying forearm, knocking Nate to the mat. Coral quickly follows up with a standing moonsault, landing hard on Nate’s chest. He hooks Nate’s leg for the pin as Nixon begins his count.

ONE

TWO!

TH—

Nick Stuart: Left shoulder is off the mat from Colton!

Richard Parker: Great. Just great.

Both men, exhausted, but continue to push forward. Nate gets to his feet, and Coral meets him in the center of the ring. They exchange a flurry of strikes, each blow more desperate than the last. Nate gains the upper hand, lifting Coral for a spinebuster only for Coral to lock in a guillotine choke! Colton — flashbacks of FLAMBERGE playing in his mind — drives his feet into the canvas and slams Avalon into the turnbuckles.

As Avalon collapses to his knees, Nate pulls Coral up and sets him up for a powerbomb. Coral, sensing the danger, counters with a hurricanrana, sending Nate crashing into the ropes. Nate uses the ropes to pull himself up, and Coral charges at him, only to be caught in a belly-to-belly suplex.

PRIME THAT —HOOT—

PRIME THAT —HOOT—

PRIME THAT —HOOT—

Richard Parker: What the hell is that sound?

Nick Stuart: Death if the fans finish that phrase.

Slowly, they both start to stir. Coral is up first, stomping on Nate’s limbs with methodical precision. Each stomp targets a different part of Nate’s body, ensuring that he stays grounded. Nate tries to get up, but Coral keeps knocking him down with swift kicks and well-placed stomps. Coral’s strategy is clear: keep Nate on the mat and wear him down.

Coral then taunts Nate, daring him to stay down. He circles around Nate, shouting at him and gesturing for him to give up. Despite the pain, Nate’s determination begins to show. He pushes himself up slightly, only to be met with another stomp from Coral.

Richard Parker: Listen to him, Nate! Just stay down!

Nick Stuart: Do you see that happening?

Richard Parker: Is the right answer… no?

Nick Stuart: Correct.

Nate, fired up, begins to hulk up. He clenches his fists and starts to rise, shaking off Coral’s attacks. Coral continues to stomp and kick, but Nate seems unfazed. With each attempt to knock him down, Nate grows stronger, feeding off the crowd’s energy. He gets to his knees, then to his feet, and Coral’s expression changes from confidence to concern.

Coral tries one last desperate kick, but Nate catches his foot and shoves him backward. Nate stands tall, his eyes locked on Coral, who stumbles and tries to regain his balance. Nate charges forward with a burst of energy, tackling Coral to the mat. The momentum has shifted, and Nate’s resilience is on full display as he continues his assault, delivering a series of powerful blows to Coral.

Nick Stuart: Coral is getting rocked!

Richard Parker: Would be great if Nate was doing that to Jiles right now.

Nick Stuart: I mean, that could still happen.

Nate catches Coral with a series of clotheslines, each impact driving Coral to the mat with increasing force. Coral struggles to get back on his feet, but Nate’s relentless assault keeps him grounded. Nate’s intensity is palpable as he picks Coral up for an overhead belly-to-belly suplex, launching him across the ring with sheer strength. Coral hits the mat hard, and the momentum shifts visibly in Nate’s favor.

Nate doesn’t waste any time, quickly getting back to his feet and signaling for his finisher. Coral, still reeling from the suplex, tries to regain his bearings, but Nate’s focus is unyielding.

Nick Stuart: This could be it.

Richard Parker: I hope it is. Please, for all of our sake.

With precision, Nate grabs Coral’s arm and maneuvers behind him, locking in the Colton Clutch. Nate tightens his grip, applying pressure to Coral’s neck and shoulders, cutting off his air supply. Coral’s face contorts in pain as he struggles against the hold, but Nate’s grip is firm and unbreakable.

Coral’s attempts to escape grow weaker as the hold takes its toll. Nate’s determination is evident as he holds the submission, knowing that victory is within reach. Despite Coral’s valiant efforts, his movements become sluggish, and his strength wanes under the relentless pressure of the Colton Clutch. Elvis watches closely, ready to call the match if Coral can’t continue. Coral’s struggles grow fainter, and it becomes clear that Nate’s finisher is set to secure his victory.

Richard Parker: He’s fading! New Universal Champion!

Nick Stuart: No, not yet!

Coral fades, his energy draining fast, but manages to get his foot under the bottom rope. Nixon notices and calls for the rope break, prompting Nate — exhausted — to release the hold.

Avalon rolls out of the ring and lands in front of the Red Army. Ivan Stanislav stands above Avalon, eyes red with fury as Avalon claws his way to his feet, using the Russian Bear to help with that. Ivan looks ready to strike when Colton rolls to the outside and connects with a chop block on Stanislav, forcing the Russian Bear to howl out in pain.

Coral, staggering, watches as Colton gets to his feet as the eGG Bandits rush over in a hurry. Stanislav stumbles away and Avalon watches as Jiles — always eager to get into the action — readies a Terminal Cancer right for the skull of Colton. Avalon though pushes him away at the last possible second, before pushing Jiles away from the action.

Nick Stuart: Richard’s greatest fear is happening before his very eyes.

Richard Parker: I don’t know what you’re talking about, I can’t see anything.

Nick Stuart: Why are you hiding under the announcer’s table?!

Richard Parker: It’s my safe place!

With the powder keg set to explode, Avalon and Colton glare at the respective groups that surround them, willing them to attack or get out of the way. No one moves though — not wanting to risk the match going the wrong way and suffering the wrath of Jiles or Stanislav.

Avalon and Colton lock eyes with one another — Colton none too pleased with Avalon’s aggression and usage of FLAMBERGE’s moves — while Avalon remains committed mentally to doing any and everything to put Colton on the mat.

Both men slide into the ring, cautiously.

Colton connects with a right hand as they get back in the ring. He goes for a suplex on Avalon, but Avalon blocks it and hotshots him across the top rope. Colton’s throat hits the rope, causing him to gasp for air and stumble backward. Avalon takes advantage of the momentary distraction, springboarding off the middle rope. He twists his body mid-air and connects with a European uppercut across Colton’s jaw, sending him reeling.

Nick Stuart: Where is Avalon pulling it from?!

Richard Parker: That massive forehead of his.

Without missing a beat, Coral immediately follows up with his signature move, Excalibur, a sitout double underhook piledriver. He hooks both of Colton’s arms and lifts him up, driving him headfirst into the mat with devastating force. Coral quickly transitions into a cover, hooking both of Nate’s legs tightly to ensure a secure pin attempt.

Nixon begins his count.

ONE

The crowd watches with bated breathe as Nixon’s hand raises and falls again.

TWO

On the outside, Ivan is growling as he starts to make his way to the ring. Jiles gets in his way and before Ivan can do anything, Hessian is there, ready to let loose.

THRE—

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: RIGHT SHOULDER UP! RIGHT SHOULDER UP!

Richard Parker: Why?

Coral sits up, frustration evident on his face, while Nate rolls to his side, still fighting to stay in the match despite the punishment he’s endured.

COLT-ON! COLT-ON! COLT-ON!

COR-AL! COR-AL! COR-AL!

Coral pulls Nate up, setting up for another Excalibur. He positions Nate and readies himself for the move, but Nate suddenly counters with a small package, catching Coral off guard. Nixon drops to count.

ONE

TWO

THREE

NOOOOOOOOOOOO

Coral kicks out at 2.9, narrowly escaping defeat. Both men struggle to their feet. They face each other in the center of the ring and begin trading forearm shots. Each blow lands with a thud, and both wrestlers visibly wince with each impact.

Nate ducks a forearm and, with a burst of energy, hits a release German suplex. Coral is thrown across the ring but miraculously pops right back up, adrenaline fueling his quick recovery. He retaliates immediately with a Rhongomyniad, a powerful kick that connects with Nate’s head. The force of the kick sends Nate stumbling back into the turnbuckle. He grabs the top rope to stay upright, his legs barely supporting him.

Richard Parker: Avalon is going to finish this up!

Nick Stuart: I’m not even sure how Colton is even still standing!

Seeing Nate vulnerable and his back to him, Coral charges forward, aiming for Secace. He sprints across the ring with determination, but at the last second, Nate moves out of the way. Coral crashes into the turnbuckle, his momentum working against him. The impact jars Coral, and he slumps in the corner, momentarily stunned.

Nate doesn’t waste any time. He pulls Coral up, this time setting him up for a suplex. Mustering his remaining strength, Nate executes a flawless vertical suplex, sending Coral crashing to the mat once more. Coral’s body bounces from the impact, and he lies on the canvas, trying to catch his breath.

Nate, breathing heavily, drags Coral to his feet again, but Coral counters with a sudden strike to Nate’s midsection. Nate doubles over, and Coral takes the opportunity to hit a snap DDT. Nate’s head is driven into the mat, and he rolls onto his back, dazed.

Nick Stuart: Bomb after bomb from both men!

Richard Parker: And on the outside, The Red Army and the eGG Bandits look ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Avalon starts to get to his feet when Ivan’s paw swats his foot, forcing Coral to slam face first into the canvas.

And just like that… all hell breaks loose.

As Coral’s face hits the canvas, Ivan Stanislav charges into the ring, fists flying. Cancer Jiles is right behind him, tackling Ivan to the ground. The eGG Bandits and The Red Army clash in a chaotic brawl, fists and bodies colliding with brutal force. Gamble and Schwartz end up trading blows near the barricade, while Bobby Dean and Kenny Freeman spill out of the ring and into the crowd.

Max Kael and Hessian are locked in a fierce exchange of punches on the ramp. Hessian attempts to grapple Max, but Max counters with a hard elbow to Hessian’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. Meanwhile, Ivan and Jiles roll out of the ring, continuing their fight among the fans. Ivan grabs a steel chair and swings it at Jiles, who barely ducks in time. The chair smashes into a nearby seat, scattering the crowd.

Nick Stuart: AND THE POWDER KEG HAS BLOWN!

Richard Parker: I need my Mommy!

Nick Stuart: Get it together.

Bobby Dean, using his size to his advantage, bulldozes through Freeman, sending both men crashing into a row of chairs. Schwartz throws Gamble over the barricade, and they continue their brawl up the ramp, exchanging vicious blows.

The Colton Trio even get into the mix, with Benjamin connecting with a stiff kick to the stomach of Freeman while Dennis slams his fist into the side of Gamble’s skull. Jennifer slams her boot into the back of Hessian’s leg, but to little effect.

Max and Hessian’s battle intensifies, with Max driving Hessian into the side of the ramp. Hessian retaliates with a headbutt, stunning Max momentarily. They grapple, tumbling up the ramp, each trying to gain the upper hand.

Back in the crowd, Ivan and Jiles continue their brutal exchange. Jiles picks up a trash can and slams it over Ivan’s head, but Ivan barely flinches, retaliating with a massive punch that sends Jiles sprawling.

The chaos continues as Gamble and Schwartz reach the top of the ramp, their fight now a brutal slugfest. Dean and Freeman are still tangled in the crowd, trading blows among the fans.

As the brawl rages on, the attention shifts back to the ring, where Avalon and Colton, now alone, struggle to their feet, ready to finish what they started.

Nick Stuart: And this is it!

Richard Parker: Is it? Are you sure?

Nick Stuart: …no.

Richard Parker: Damnit, Nick, give me something!

With Avalon distracted, Colton rolls up Coral as Nixon starts to count.

ONE

…

TWO

…

…

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Both men scramble to their feet with Coral slipping past the outstretched arm of Colton, looking for a clothesline, and rolls Colton up, as Nixon begins to count again.

ONE

…

…

TWO

…

…

…

THRE— NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Back and forth they go!

Richard Parker: It’s like a rollercoaster and I’ve been sick for a long time.

Both men struggle to their feet one last time.

Coral and Nate, on wobbly legs, meet in the center of the ring. They exchange weak forearm shots, neither wanting to give in. Nate catches Coral with a surprise knee lift, causing Coral to stagger backward. Nate follows up with a vertical suplex attempt, lifting Coral off his feet. Coral fights back, delivering sharp elbows to Nate’s head, forcing him to release the hold.

Coral lands on his feet and quickly transitions into a side headlock, applying pressure to Nate’s neck. Nate powers out, pushing Coral into the ropes. Coral rebounds and attempts a shoulder tackle, but Nate stands firm, absorbing the impact. Nate counters with a swift belly-to-belly suplex, sending Coral crashing to the mat.

Richard Parker: Colton with the advantage! Can he hold onto it?

Nick Stuart: Don’t count anyone out at this moment.

Coral rolls to the corner, trying to regain his composure. Nate, sensing an opportunity, charges at Coral with a running knee strike. Coral dodges at the last second, causing Nate to crash into the turnbuckles. Coral capitalizes with a quick roll-up, as Nixon begins his count again.

ONE

…

…

…

TWO

…

…

…

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

With another kickout, both men rise again, visibly exhausted. Coral attempts a jumping DDT, but Nate blocks it, lifting Coral into a fireman’s carry. Coral struggles, slipping out of Nate’s grasp and landing behind him. Coral hooks Nate’s arms, attempting a backslide pin, but Nate shifts his weight, reversing the move into a small package.

ONE

…

…

…

TWO

…

…

…

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Nixon is going to get a shoulder injury!

Nick Stuart: They’re keeping Elvis quite busy.

Richard Parker: And keeping us here!

Nate follows up with a vertical suplex attempt, lifting Coral off the ground with a show of strength. Coral, using his agility, floats over and lands behind Nate, skillfully escaping the suplex. Wasting no time, Coral hits a German suplex with a bridge, holding Nate’s shoulders down for the pin attempt.

Nixon begins his count.

ONE

…

…

…

TWO

…

…

…

THRE— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Coral, undeterred by the near fall, immediately transitions into a Marie Antoinette, locking in the guillotine choke once more. He wraps his legs tightly around Nate’s waist, applying pressure to his neck and cutting off his air supply. Nate, struggling to breathe, tries to pry Coral’s arms apart but finds no relief. His movements become more labored, each breath a struggle as he fights against the chokehold. Coral’s grip remains firm, sensing victory within reach. Nate’s face reddens, his strength waning as he desperately searches for a way to escape the hold.

Nick Stuart: Is Nate Colton going to have to tap out?!

Richard Parker: This would be embarassing.

Nick Stuart: For Nate or for FLAMBERGE?

Richard Parker: For both.

Nate struggles, fighting with everything he has left. His legs shake with effort as he tries to stand up with Coral draped across his neck and torso.. Nate’s muscles strain, and his face contorts with determination. Slowly, he rises, using his leg strength to lift both himself and Coral. As he reaches a standing position, Nate falls forwards, crushing Coral under him with a heavy thud.

Both men are down, completely spent from the intense match. The referee begins a ten count, his voice echoing through the arena. At the count of nine, both men start stirring, their bodies aching and exhausted. They know they must continue if they want to win. With great effort, they use each other to pull themselves up, leaning on one another for support.

Nate and Coral’s eyes lock, their faces showing the toll the match has taken. They stand shakily, each breath labored.

Richard Parker: This is it. Do or die time!

Nick Stuart: How do either of them have anything left in the tank?!

Richard Parker: I don’t know, but my bladder is about to burst.

Coral attempts one last Excalibur, throwing everything he has into the move. Nate counters swiftly with a Northern Lights Suplex, taking Coral by surprise. Without letting go, Nate transitions smoothly into a second Northern Lights Suplex, the force causing Coral to grimace in pain. Summoning the last of his strength, Nate executes a third Northern Lights Suplex, this time with a bridge as Nixon begins another pinfall count.

ONE

…

…

TWO

…

…

…

THREE— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Oh Sweet Baby Hoyt.

Nick Stuart: Colton can’t keep Avalon down! No matter what he does.

Colton, furious, gets to his feet and yanks Avalon up with him. He goes for the Colton Clutch Suplex, but Avalon slips out of it, showing his agility. Colton’s frustration grows as Avalon takes advantage of the opening, connecting with the Rhongomyniad. The impact is brutal, sending Colton stumbling backward. He’s dazed, nearly out of it, but somehow still on his feet, refusing to go down.

Avalon, sensing the moment is ripe, doesn’t let up. He swiftly follows with the Camelot’s Turntable. Colton collides hard with the canvas, his body writhing in pain. Despite the brutal landing, Colton manages to sit up, his face a mask of determination mixed with agony.

Richard Parker: How is Colton still moving?!

Nick Stuart: And Avalon is sizing him up once again.

Avalon, not wasting any time, bounces off the ropes with precision and speed. He targets the seated Colton and connects with the Secace, a running, driving European Uppercut. The force of the blow is devastating, causing Colton to slump face-first onto the mat. His body is battered, his resilience tested to its limits.

Avalon, seeing the opportunity for victory, quickly rolls Colton over. He hooks the leg firmly, ensuring Colton’s shoulders are pinned to the mat. Elvis Nixon slides into position and begins the count.

ONE

…

…

…

TWO

…

…

…

…

THREE!

DING DING DING

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Avalon rolls off of Colton, absoloutely spent as his chest heaves from the hellacious match he just finished.

Vince Howard: Your winner… and STILL! UNIVERSAL! CHAMPION! Cooooooooooooral! AVALON!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: He’s done it! He’s retained the title.

Richard Parker: At what cost though? It feels like he sold a bit of his soul to make it happen.

Nick Stuart: He definitely bended the rules a little bit tonight, but he knew what he needed to do in order to retain his title.

Elvis hands Coral the title, signaling the end of the grueling match. Coral, drenched in sweat and visibly exhausted, raises the Universal Championship high above his head.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

With a deep breath, Coral turns his attention to Nate, who is slowly getting to his feet. Despite the fierce competition, Coral extends a hand to The New Diamond. Nate, though clearly frustrated and disappointed, takes a moment to consider the gesture. After a brief pause, he accepts Coral’s handshake.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: That was the right decision to make there for both men.

Richard Parker: Kick him in the nuts, Colton!

Nick Stuart: Oh pipe down.

Nate then exits the ring, leaving Coral to soak in the moment of victory. Coral walks towards the nearest turnbuckle, climbing it with deliberate steps. Once at the top, he once again hoists the Universal Championship high above his head, presenting it to the audience. The arena lights glint off the title belt, adding to the spectacle of the moment.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

As Coral continues to celebrate, Cancer Jiles makes his way back to the top of the ramp.

Richard Parker: Ivan Stanislav didn’t kill him?!

Nick Stuart: I assume not.

Richard Parker: What good is he then?!

Coral’s eyes lock onto Jiles, and the two exchange intense glares from across the distance. The atmosphere is thick with tension, both men knowing they’re due to do battle in Seattle. Over the title.

Nick Stuart: ULTRAVIOLENCE! UNIVERSAL TITLE MATCH! CORAL AVALON! CANCER JILES!

Richard Parker: I hope Coral’s massive forehead takes both of them out.

Nick Stuart: I doubt it will happen.

Coral remains on the turnbuckle, his eyes never leaving Jiles, the Universal Championship held firmly in his grasp. The image of Coral standing victorious, title in hand, with Cancer Jiles glaring him down is our final image.

Nick Stuart: For Richard Parker, I’m Nick Stuart! See you in two weeks time for ReVival 54!

FADE.

TO.

BLACK.