ULTRAVIOLENCE 2024 NIGHT ONE

Lumen Field.

Seattle.

Washington.

UltraViolence.

Night. One.

MAKE! SOME! NOISE!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Thaaaaaaaaaaaaank. YOU!

Alright, signs? We got them.

WAAAAAAAAAAARGHchamber
SCOOT STOOVINS TO THE RED ARMY
FRED IS GONNA DI-IIIIIIIIE!
FRED IS NOT GONNA DIE ACTUALLY, ACTUALLY FRED IS VERY MUCH GONNA LIVE!
MAYBE WE SHOULD DO ULTRA-TALK-ABOUT-YOUR-PROBLEMS-AND-WORK-THEM-OUT-LIKE-RATIONAL-ADULTS INSTEAD
LOWELL DOT CANDLE IN THE WIND
I’VE SEEN THE LOWELL VID
ATE OLTO IS THE BIIIIIIIIIITH
IF THEE BIG DICK STALLIONS DON’T WIN, I’LL BLOW UP HOOVER DAM AND THAT’S A REAL THREAT, BUCKO!
FUCK THIS GUY ^
DEFINITELY DEM BOYZ BEHAVIOR

Nick Stuart: We’re ready to go!

Richard Parker: We’re ready to go?

Nick Stuart: We’re ready to go!

Richard Parker: Great, we’re ready to go!

The scene switches to ringside and Vince Howard.

Vince Howard: This is a TAG TEAM match set… for… ONE! FALL!

RAAAHHHH RAAAHHHH RRAAAAHHHH! It’s the opening match of the night, give Vince a little break, okay? IT’S ONE FALL!!

Blackout.

“Yo Attitude!”

“Talk to me!”

“We got some bustin’ ass marks out here claimin’ some muthafuckin’ place they ain’t never seen!”

“Huh… sellout!”

“Boy, this is the S-E-A-T-O-W-N, clown!”

“Forever!”

“Seatown!”

“Yeah, and that’s from the motherfuckin’ heart! So if you ain’t down witcha hometown, STEP OFF PUNK! Mix, tell these fakes what the deal is…”

A soundwave appears on the DEFIATron, undulating to the beats of “Seattle Ain’t Bullshittin’” by Sir Mix-a-Lot. A cascade of green and blue lights fill the stage, accompanied by a blinding row of silver fountain pyros.

When the silver light recedes, KERRY KUROYAMA is revealed to be standing in the entry-way. He steps out onto the stage to a MASSIVE hometown reaction.

RRRAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

The Emerald Apex, sporting customized tights, boots, and pads with the college navy, action green, and wolf gray tricolor of the Seahawks, strides out onto the stage. He beams with pride, visibly overwhelmed by the warm, once-in-a-lifetime reaction from his home city.

Then Scott Hunter comes out.

RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

Hunt pumps his arm to the reaction. Kerry notices him, and nearly gives himself whiplash doing a double-take.

Kerry Kuroyama: …Scott?

Scott Hunter: Sup, dude?

Kerry Kuroyama: Why the hell are you dressed up as the kid on the Cracker Jacks box?

In fact, the progenitor of the infamous Figure Four Leglock is wearing the uniform of a WWII naval sailor, complete with cap and scarf.

Scott Hunter: I’m the SEATTLE MARINER, hermano! It’s a tribute to your hometown!

Kerry Kuroyama: …

Scott Hunter:  Cool, right?

Kerry Kuroyama: …

Kerry cannot respond, because his face is obfuscated by the palm of his hand.

Kerry Kuroyama:

…right. You ready to get serious, Wingman?

Scott Hunter: I’m seriously ready to wing it, my dude!

They high five and hook thumbs, waving their other fingers to simulate the flapping of wings. Behind them, ROCKETS fire off at angles to form trails of smoke in the shape of two “V’s” for VAE VICTIS.

Or maybe it’s a “W” for WINGMEN.

Nick Stuart: It’s their first time teaming together but Kerry has lots of previous tag experience. Kerry teamed with Scott Douglas over in DEFIANCE for years, as Seattle’s Best.

Richard Parker: So you’re telling me Kerry is used to tagging with Scotts.

Nick Stuart: I suppose.

Thank god for Howard to make his announcement and interrupt Richard’s silliness.

Vince Howard: Weighing in at a combined weight of four-hundred-seventy-seven pounds… the team of the Alias Champion, KERRY KUROYAMA… and his designated Wingman, SCOTT HUNTER!!

Kerry and Scott march down the aisle, the former slapping hands with friends and family with ringside seats and the latter recreating the V-J Day in Times Square with an impressionable lass hovering over the barricade.

Nick Stuart: Hometown reaction for the hometown kid, we are starting off Ultra Violence right.

Richard Parker: Starting off… with violence?

Nick Stuart: Yes, Rich, yes we are.

Richard Parker: Excellent.

As the VVingmen music dies down, it’s replaced with “Cobra (Rock Remix)” by Megan Thee Stallion and Spiritbox. Fade and Selene walk out onto the stage, their first BIG show in PRIME.

Nick Stuart: We saw things come to a head, riding the VVWAVE, if you will, two weeks ago in Vancouver.

As the Femme Furies make their way down the ramp, replays show the exchange between Kerry, Scott, Fade and Selene. Some of Kerry’s more impactful comments make their way into the montage, which eventually leads to the surfboard rift between Scott and the Furries. Well, Kerry, too. Scott almost inadvertently hit Seattle’s Best as well.

We go back to the singular feed, the live feed.

Vince Howard: And their opponents… at a combined weight of three-hundred-eighteen pounds… Fade and Selene… the FEMME FURIES!

Richard Parker: These two walk the walk, they hung with Kerry and Scott on the talking, too. Let’s see if they wrestle the wrestle.

Nick Stuart: That… kind of makes sense?

Richard Parker: You bet it does! I’m sensing tentativeness with the Furies at the moment.

Nick Stuart: How so?

Richard Parker: Intuition.

Fade and Selene enter the ring to a nice reaction from the fans, as the referee, Jimmy Turnbull speaks to both teams in their respective corners before the Furries theme dies down.

We get the bell.

DING DING, with a HOT cheer!

The hometown kid (well, he’s not so much a kid compared to his opponents), receives MAD shouts of love and admiration while Scott Hunter peers into the crowd, looks down at the mat and blushes. He holds his hands up.

Scott Hunter: I am adored!

But since the bell SOUNDED, and Kerry Kuroyama is the one inside the ring, a serious complexion takes over his face. Perhaps he acknowledges the cheers. He more than likely realizes they aren’t exactly 100% for Scott Hunter. After all, KERRY is Seattle’s Best. But he’s not going to comment.

It’s time to get to work.

Kerry marches to the center of the ring, waiting on Fade or Selene to emerge from their corner. The two women converse before Selene comes forward and meets Kerry in the center of the mat.

Richard Parker: A measured approach for Selene here.

Nick Stuart: Actual commentary from you, Rich?

Richard Parker: Decided to go for it.

Kuroyama and Selene exchange blows before Kerry gets the better of them and the crowd gives a hometown cheer. He Irish whips Selene into the ropes and then comes across with a forearm blow, driven right into Selene’s neck, crumpling her over. Kerry hits the ropes, leaps in the air and latches both his arms around her waist… a release suplex follows.

Nick Stuart: A running start for The Pacific Blitzkrieg on that one. Dare I say, he’s not going to pull any of his punches.

The Wingman Champion sees a rather eager Scott Hunter in their corner bouncing up and down, perhaps hoping for a tag. So Kuroyama walks over and makes it! Meanwhile, Selene tags Fade.

In flies Hunter, as he whips Fade into a German suplex with a bridge and a pin!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT.

Nick Stuart: Fade let herself get sucked into that one! She came in very hot, all Scott had to do was lower his base and she basically performed the suplex for him!

Richard Parker: Actual color commentary from you, Nick?

Nick Stuart: Decided to go for it.

Hunter slides across the canvas. He ducks a forearm attempt by Fade, hits the ropes and lands a missile dropkick. Hunter quickly scurries over to Kuroyama and tags Kerry back in.

The Emerald Apex walks in with an open-palm slap to the neck of Fade!

Nick Stuart: Payback from two weeks ago? It has to be!

Another slap. Another. ANOTHER. ANOTHER! ANOTHER!!! Fade is doubled over, as Kuroyama hits the ropes and looks for a yakuza kick to take Fade’s face straight off.

NO! She lifts Kerry in the air as he comes charging across the canvas and performs a flying headscissor takedown.

Nick Stuart: Fade is much smaller than Kerry. She has her work cut out for her.

Richard Parker: Yes but the speed at which she flew around Kerry’s body, that was a headscissor takedown with emphasis!

Nick Stuart: Proper color commentary? What did I do to deserve this?

Richard Parker: Just you wait. I’m putting my serious hat on ALL SHOW LONG.

Fade balls her hands into fists as she races into the ropes again and delivers a swift kick under Kerry’s jaw, temporarily stunning him. She leaps in the air, connecting with a roundhouse kick. She hooks Kuroyama’s head under her arm and plans for a tornado DDT-

When Kerry shoves her into a corner.

WHAM!

A back elbow smash follows.

Then an inverted suplex!

Nick Stuart: Fade was a little tentative there on the attempted tornado DDT. She took a second too long, it obviously cost her.

Kuroyama with an exploder suplex. He marches over to Fade, like stalking his prey when he sends her flying through the air via another exploder. Fade’s body goes limp, the crowd is cheering (albeit there are cheers for both parties) and Scott Hunter is bouncing up and down in his corner again, hand stuck out, hoping to be tagged back in.

Kerry tags. Scott lumbers over the ropes and makes his way to Fade with both dukes stuck out in front of him.

Wham, a right to the chest. Wham, a right to the temple. Wham, a right to the solar plexus. Scott keeps the shots coming, soon quickening them up as he dances around the floor. Eventually, Hunter Irish whips Fade into the corner across the way and comes charging in after with a clothesline. Spit flies out of Fade’s mouth as Hunter tucks her head under his arms and races out of the buckle with a running bulldog!

Hunter rolls Fade onto her back as he looks at the referee and hooks a leg.

ONE.

TWO.

BROKEN UP BY SELENE.

In fairness, it seems as if Fade was going to kickout but while Selene goes to her corner, Kerry stares her down like he won’t forget this just happened. He will be ready, willing and able to pounce on another breakup attempt later on.

Hunter, meanwhile, isn’t phased. He pushes Fade into a corner of the ring again and proceeds to deliver his shoulder straight into her chest, knocking the wind and spit out of her as he does.

The crowd cheers for Fade, the crowd keeps going for the hometown team, too. After shot number ten, Hunter peels Fade out of the corner and sends her to the mat with a deep hip toss. Hunter slides to his feet, backtracks into the ropes and bounces off of them… he sends a measured knee drop straight into the side of Fade’s gut.

Nick Stuart: Scott has found a target, the mid second of Fade.

Richard Parker: You think he’s “found” a target? You think Scott is smart enough to work on one body part?

Nick Stuart: I knew your objective journalism wouldn’t last.

Richard Parker: I wasn’t being facetious, I was legitimately asking. Do you think Scott is smart enough?

Nick doesn’t answer, regardless. Instead, he continues to call the match as Scott Hunter throws Fade into the VV corner of the ring and tags Kerry Kuroyama. The fans cheer once again as Seattle’s Best hops over the ropes, grabs Fade by the head and Japanese arm drags her down to the canvas. He holds onto the back of her head and locks her skull against his knee, before wrapping his hands around the side of her temples. Kerry begins squeezing.

Richard Parker: That’s one way to get a headache.

The crowd continues to cheer for Kerry but Fade is fighting out of the hold. She rolls onto a knee and escapes the clutches of the Wingman Champion, as she bounces into the ropes and ducks the yakuza kick this time. Fade hits the ropes on the far end, leaps in the air as she comes flying across-

Kuroyama catches her.

POWERSLAM!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT.

Fade not only kicks out, she seemingly powers up to an upright position BEFORE Kerry Kuroyama. The crowd is like “OOOOOHHHH” and even Kerry, for a very brief second, suggests a “damn” from his otherwise stone temple face.

The two exchange blows.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think this is something Fade wants to get caught up with. She got the better of Kerry with one shot two weeks ago. Nothing more or less.

As Nick says this, however, it’s more clear that Fade is trying to move Kerry to the side so she can find her way to the Femme corner and finally tag in Selene.

Richard Parker: Fade has been in this match since the first minute passed!

Fade dodges an open palm strike. She’s finally around Kuroyama when the champion reaches out, snatches her by the shoulder and whips her back towards him.

FLASH GOURDBUSTER!

Fade lands HEAD first on the canvas.

Again, not moving.

The crowd cheers for Kerry as he pulls her towards the center of the ring and hooks the leg.

In comes Selene.

ONE.

BUT IN COMES THE WINGMAN!

TWO.

Hunter blocks Selene.

KICKOUT.

It didn’t matter! The crowd gives a cheer as Kerry looks down with wide eyes. He saw the way Fade folded like an accordion and he was sure that was going to be enough. Nevertheless, Kuroyama decides he’s going to peel Fade off the canvas again and look for another one of those gour-

NO!

Fade wiggles free! She moves towards her corner…

AND MAKES THE TAG!

Selene comes roaring in when the referee steps in-between Selene and Kuroyama.

Nick Stuart: What’s going on here!?

Richard Parker: I think Jimmy is saying Selene wasn’t back in her corner in time and Fade is still the legal wrestler!

Parker is right, that’s what’s being communicated. Kuroyama quickly catches on so he moves past Selene, grabs the much smaller and lighter Fade and looks for a German suplex. Fade is thrown so far across the ring, ring in front of the VV buckle, where she once again looks like she’s shot from a cannon.

Kerry stands, eyes locked on Fade as he moves towards her. Order has been reinstalled in this match. All Selene can do is watch.

Kuroyama reaches down and pulls Fade up.

JAWBREAKER, via Fade to Kerry!

Kuroyama shoots in the air and lands in his corner of the ring. Meanwhile, Fade races over and makes the tag to Selene!

Hunter tags Kuroyama!

LET’S GET IT ON!

The Wingman meets Selene in the center of the squared circle… Selene rolls her wrists around to loosen up. She’s been waiting for this moment.

Scott Hunter: Surfs up.

Well, maybe that’s what Hunter said, maybe it wasn’t. Tough to tell because the crowd is cheering for some ultra violence. See what I did there?

Hunter charges at Selene but she ducks and Hunter goes into the ropes at the far end. He bounces off them… she bursts forward.

WHAM!

Running pump kick almost takes Scott’s head off his shoulders! Or neck. Yeah, head off his neck!

Nick Stuart: What a shot!

Hunter falls to the mat as Selene picks him up and connects with a swinging neck breaker!

Nick Stuart: Hunter, and Kuroyama for that matter, have a significant size advantage and yet nothing will ease the pain of a pump kick or a neck breaker with the way Selene performed both.

It’s clear that confidence is growing in the eyes of Selene, as she looks back at Fade who’s in their corner, resting against the top pad. Selene pushes Hunter into the ropes, completes a drop toe hold and then slides behind him with a running knee to the back of the head. With Hunter on his chest, Selene races to a free corner of the ring and sprints up the padding.

MOONSAULT…

No!

Nothing. But. Mat.

Scott Hunter pops up from behind Selene and delivers an inverse delayed vertical suplex! Once Selene is on the mat, Scott stands and points to himself with a smile on his face. He collects Selene, walks her over to their corner and tags Kerry Kuroyama.

Hunter positions Selene across his knee, as Kerry leaps over the ropes and drops a measured knee into Selene’s temple. Hunter exits the ring, as Kerry applies a chinlock to Selene.

Selene is trying to break out of it. Eventually, with a free leg, she kicks Kerry off and into the ropes. Kuroyama races across with a stiff as shit leaping knee to the side of Selene’s head.

But Selene doesn’t go down. No doubt she’s stunned. She’s been hit so hard she remains on her feet.

So Kerry flips her over with a full blown flapjack toss to the center of the ring! Kuroyama zooms across the mat, gritting his teeth as he does.

Squall Line Lariat!

Selene is flipped inside out!

The crowd is ROARING behind Kuroyama. He relentlessly jams a couple of boots into his opponent’s chest before he pulls her off the mat.

EMERALD OBLIVION.

Nick Stuart: We got a pin and a cover!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Fade was ALMOST into the ring, but the pin was at the VV side of the squared circle. Meanwhile, Kerry looks down at Selene with raised eyebrows.

Back to work.

He throws her into a fireman’s carry, then hits the ropes and shoots across with a missile dropkick directly into her face. The smack echoes throughout the entire stadium, because, of course, this is the building where sound stays in, even if it’s open air.

Derechoplex. Kuroyama with the sit-out backdrop driver.

Fade makes her way into the ring this time.

SO DOES HUNTER.

Kerry hooks the leg as the crowd counts along.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

No one can believe it! The entire stadium has gone raccoonus! Is that a word? There’s cheers for Kerry. There’s cheers for Selene, too, because how can there not be at this stage!?

Kuroyama fumes on the mat.

Nick Stuart: Listen, this is where Kerry can become unraveled at times. I’m not saying it’s a full fledged breakdown, but you see the gamesmanship in him…

Richard Parker: Oh I see stuff in him alright. Heart, lungs, blood.

Nick Stuart: What happened to the educated comments from earlier?

Richard Parker: The night was young.

Kuroyama hurls Selene into the ropes but the Femme gets a second wind because she absolutely FLIES off them and clubs Kuroyama with a clothesline from hell! Even with the weight limitation, Selene destroys Kerry with the move. She drags the Alias Champion off the mat and sends another clothesline into him, via a ripcord/discus… the Buck Shot.

Selene stumbles into her corner. Fade tags in as she hops over the ropes and then both women perform a perfectly placed double dropkick into Kerry’s chest… which stumbles him into the VV corner. Kuroyama crashes into the buckle and falls on his ass.

Leaving Scott Hunter to stare at both women.

He gulps.

He loosens up.

He cranks his neck.

He’s ready now!

He reaches down and tags his partner because like a good VVINGMAN, Scott Hunter is there. Hunter takes no prisoners. He races in and goes after both women. The Furries duck Hunter’s attempt at a surfboard shot without the surfboard, which is maybe why it missed. They perform an elevated cutter, as Selene hoists Hunter up and then Fade connects with the move. Hunter’s nose absolutely EATS the canvas and Fade makes the cover.

Nick Stuart: It’s over!

ONE!

TWO!

SHOULDER UP!

Fade lifts Hunter off the mat and scoop slams him in the proper canvas spot. She tags Selene, who’s already on the top rope in mere milliseconds.

MOONSAULT.

Another pin!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

The crowd is getting behind Hunter’s kickouts! Perhaps they are behind everything going on!

Selene wants to make sure further momentum doesn’t happen. Forearm smash, forearm smash, forearm smash… she’s worked Hunter into a corner. She puts Scott on the second pad and shows her own sheer power, resting Hunter on her shoulders…

She runs.

She jumps.

RUNNING, LEAPING, WHATEVER YOU WANT TO CALL IT, MODIFIED ALABAMA SLAM!

Richard Parker: Damn, girl!

ONE!

TWO!

BROKEN UP BY KERRY KUROYAMA AT THE LAST BLOODY SECOND!

With glazed eyes, Hunter looks over and thanks his VVingman, as Fade races into the ring, and referee Jimmy is losing his mind because all violence has taken over. Ultra violence. See what I did there, again? Scott Hunter isn’t the only one with dad jokes.

Kuroyama and Selene exchange blow for blow… as Fade stands and measures Scott Hunter. She races in once again as Scott is on his knees. He looks to be DOA.

BOOM!

Hunter jumps in the air at the same time Fade does. He catches her. He delivers an absolutely destruction of a spinebuster slam to Fade! Hunter has his second wind… he’s powering up… the crowd is going bonkers.

SMACK!

Selene with the hardest open-palm smack she possibly can deliver, straight into the side of Scott Hunter’s face (she had previously worked Kuroyama over and out of the ring). Hunter falls down, as Fade glances over to her partner. That’s Fade with a previous slap on Kerry via ReVival 55, and now Selene with one on Scott at UV, if anyone is keeping score.

Jimmy ORDERS Selene back to her corner as Fade marches in and looks to finish Scott Hunter. The crowd awaits for what would be considered “the upset” as Fade knees Hunter in the side of the head a number of times and then points to the top rope.

She’s up there.

She measures.

She jumps.

FROG SPLASH-

MISSES!

Hunter rolls out of the way! By now, Kerry Kuroyama is at the VV corner and Hunter makes the hot tag! The Seattle crowd goes WILD as Seattle’s Best sprints in and dropkicks Selene from the apron. He snatches Fade off the mat and delivers a snap piledriver!

Fade’s body goes limp.

Scott Hunter has recovered in the corner. Well, kinda. Maybe he was sent A LITTLE loopy and he’s still a little loopy. This is also Scott Hunter, he might be fine now.

The Wingman jumps up and down for the Wingman Champion. Kuroyama throws Fade to a vertical base and returns the favor from two weeks ago.

SMACK!

In the form of a stiff as living shit palm strike to the side of her head.

Kerry quickly tags Scott… then The Pacific Blitzkrieg holds up Fade for a powerbomb, as Scott Hunter comes off with an elbow drop.

Powerbomb, elbow combination.

Nick Stuart: Fade is out.

Richard Parker: FADE. TO. BLACK.

Hunter hooks the leg, while Kuroyama remains on watch in case Selene ends up getting back into the ring.

ONE.

Kerry’s eyes search everywhere.

TWO.

Selene doesn’t show.

THREE.

…Until it’s too late.

DING DING DING

Just missing the breakup attempt, Selene falls short and lands right in front of Kerry’s feet. He merely looks down at her.

Vince Howard: The winners of this match…

Vince can barely say the words because the Seattle crowd is showering KK with love. Yes, Scott Hunter, too.

Vince Howard: Scott Hunter and Kerry Kuroyama!!!

Their theme song plays but Kerry Kuroyama hasn’t done anything yet. He still looks down at Selene, who’s dusting herself off and collects Fade to the side of their ring. Scott Hunter stands, albeit “tall” as they say beside his VVingman, and Scott and Kerry continue to look over at the Furries.

Fade recovers. She and Selene give a brief nod to VV, who, actually, give a brief nod back.

The Furries roll out of the ring, as Kuroyama and Hunter now embrace and then soak in the hometown crowd.

Nick Stuart: A hell of a showing by the Femme Furies. They took A LOT in this one and kept coming back, to the point I almost thought they had it.

Richard Parker: I’ve seen better.

Nick Stuart: Can’t wait to work with you for the rest of the night, Rich.

Richard Parker: Don’t worry, you’ve got me tomorrow as well.

VV celebrates as Furries walk up the rampway. This show moves elsewhere.

Earlier today.

A black truck makes its way to the rear of Lumen Field.

But something is amiss.

There are hints. For example, as the truck drives by, a garbage dumpster rolls past and careens off to who-knows-where to damage who-knows-what.

Or perhaps the pedestrian crossing sign that is bent six ways to Sunday and lays mangled on the approach to the back end of the building.

Or maybe the Toyota Prius that is lying on its side, having clearly been rolled from a parking spot out away from the curb. Said Prius is also missing a door, which is curious. But it’s not curious for long.

We’ve seen The Russian Bear on PRIME television for almost two years now. He’s done some extremely violent, chaotic things in the past. After all, he waged a war throughout an entire show with Hayes Hanlon and Rezin that nearly destroyed the entire building.

He’s jumped countless individuals and sent several to the hospital.

He’s destroyed dozens of pieces of equipment, set pieces, doors, walls, ceilings, you name it.

Yet, Ivan Stanislav would say he is an agent of law. Of order. Of stability. He’s the man in the uniform with the glittering medals. A man who champions systematic conduct on every level. The regimented military life flows through his veins. It’s a way of thinking. He commands The Red Army. There is a structure. There is a framework.

But here, outside of the Lumen Arena, we see an Ivan Stanislav who has forsaken all of the guardrails that, believe it or not, protects virtually everyone in PRIME. The Russian Bear is fully and completely melting down.

Speedy Riggs, in his hammer and sickle tropical shirt, can only watch helplessly as Stanislav brandishes the door of the Prius in one huge hand.

He’s dressed for a match tonight. Black pants, gray shirt, red suspenders. No uniform this time. No medals. He’s not here for show. He’s here for battle.

And Ivan Stanislav has just learned some truly upsetting news.

GRRAAAAHHHHH!!!

The largest member of the PRIME roster roars as he plays frisbee with the car door and sends it lazily careening from his grasp to slam into the nearby brick wall. The truck is there, but Ivan is so blinded by rage he doesn’t see it. He turns his back to the truck and stomps over to a concrete parking block. He bends forward, grips it with both hands, lifts it up over his head and lobs it into a parked golf cart, caving it in at the center and sending it teetering to the side.

Destruction seems to be the only thing that prevents this unfettered Russian from truly going full-blow Chernobyl on not just PRIME, but himself.

Speedy waves the truck down as it approaches, but when he realizes who inside he looks less happy. Lindsay Troy isn’t going to be one to sink control rods into this melting reactor. She might just yank them out and let Stanislav burn. One could question if the old veteran’s ticker can maintain this level of aggression and anxiety, but there appears to be no ebb to this explosive flow.

The Queen hops out of her rental and walks briskly over to the two Red Army members, bracing herself for the oncoming storm. Stanislav pulls his suspenders off his shoulders (a sure-fire way to know he’s BIG MAD) and kicks a huge, decorative potted plant over, cracking it and sending soil spilling out along the concrete. Riggs, well, voices the obvious to Troy in the foreground.

Speedy Riggs: Starshy Praporschik Stanislav is really upset, Ms. Troy.

Lindsay Troy: You don’t say.

Riggs furrows his brow and grinds his teeth. He looks over his shoulder, as Stanislav menaces a sizeable bush. He digs his huge hands into the prickly, poofy vegetation and tears it out from the roots and yeets it high into the air.

We never see it land. Some say that bush is still flying to this day.

But as Ivan turns, he catches the SUV, he catches Speedy, and he catches Lindsay Troy. One could see the steam pouring out of his nostrils as he marches purposefully towards Speedy and Lindsay. Ivan’s roars are lightning and the stomping of his combat boots are thunder.

Ivan Stanislav: Почему этот сукин сын, свиноеб, не здесь?! (Why isn’t this son of a bitch, pig-fucker, here?!)

He gesticulates.

Ivan Stanislav: Я не позволю, чтобы меня лишили ДВУХ платных мероприятий в этом году из-за какого-то ебучего труса, Линдси Троя! Я хочу, чтобы этот ублюдок был здесь СЕЙЧАС!! (I will not be robbed of TWO paid events this year because of some fucking coward, Lindsay Troy! I want this motherfucker here NOW!!)

He erupts.

Ivan Stanislav: Этот ублюдок-крыса вызвал меня на матч «Я сдаюсь», а потом эта пизда не явилась на матч?! Да хрен с ним! Кем, черт возьми, этот ублюдок себя возомнил?! (This rat motherfucker challenges me to an “I Quit” match and then the cunt doesn’t show up for the match?! Fuck him! Who the hell does this motherfucker think he is?!)

Stanislav seamlessly switches to English while Speedy, towered over by not just Stanislav, stands helplessly in the middle. Ivan points over Speedy, directly at Lindsay Troy.

Ivan Stanislav: What the FUCK is this about, Lindsay Troy? This little shit doesn’t show up for this pay-per-view?! The son of a prolific wrestling family and he disrespects PRIME like this? Me? You? And every fucking fan who paid their hard workers wages to show up here?! First you bump me over Sykes! Then you don’t book me at Tropical Turmoil! Then this bullshit match with Cancer Jiles while the referee is in his pocket AND NOW THIS?!?!

Ivan just doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Spit flies from his oversized maw of a mouth as he bellows and roars.

Ivan Stanislav: This motherfucker Colton gets to make a stipulation for a match?! You allow it?! Then he doesn’t fucking show up!? I want him to eat tonight as a loss, the yellow-bellied pussy! I want him fired. I want his ass put before a firing squad of my choosing and riddled with enough holes to see through him and I will fire the first goddamned shot!!

Speedy’s eyes widen. He has never heard Ivan Stanislav speak in such a vulgar manner. Not in the twenty-plus years that he’s known the man. Riggs lacks the courage to turn his head to look at Lindsay Troy, but he shifts his eyes to look up at her all the same. He decides to simply try to turn invisible.

Lindsay Troy: Are you done? Or do you want to roll around on the ground and cry and kick your feet a bit first.

An invisible force prevents Stanislav from lurching forward. He lifts up on his toes, his arms flex and his legs tense while he grits his teeth, saliva oozing out of the corners of his mouth… but he holds his ground.

Ivan Stanislav: There had better be a good reason for this, Lindsay Troy!

Lindsay Troy: Blake Colton aggravated the injuries you gave him and was rehospitalized. Nate left to be with him. You were given the same information I was.

Stanislav looks positively perplexed by this news. He shakes his head and blinks his eyes.

Ivan Stanislav: What, this little coward uses his brother as excuse to get out of this match? And you bought it?! This is wrestling Troy. This… is complete disrespect for everything we hold dear. And you… are fine with it?!

Stanislav spreads his arms, his voice growing angrier after a brief moment of calm. We can see Speedy Riggs still between them, but he imagines we can’t.

Lindsay Troy: Save your pearl-clutching, Ivan. Need I remind you that Blake wouldn’t be as hurt as he is if it wasn’t for you? Because you chose to take unnecessary steps to injure him just to send a message to Nate? This is another consequence of your actions, so shut the fuck up. I’m not happy about this situation either, but I understand it. And if it were me, I know I’d make the same choice.

Ivan spreads his arms wide, sarcasm pouring from his mouth.

Ivan Stanislav: Oh! Congratulations on the show of one-sided empathy, Lindsay! Well done! If -I- were in control of PRIME, none of this bullshit would happen! I would make it so that I had a match tonight, but since I do not…

Lightbulb.

Stanislav notices Riggs.

Ivan Stanislav: I have no reason to be here! Comrade Riggs, call airport and get my plane ready. I will fly to that hospital and throw Nate Colton out of window instead!!!

Riggs is all too happy to slide out from between Troy and Stanislav. He produces a cell phone and stares down at it while off to the side. Ivan hefts both of his suspenders back up over his wide shoulders and pulls his pants up high on his stomach.

Ivan Stanislav: If you have naught but your bleeding heart to rectify this situation, I will fix it myself!

Troy rubs the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes, muttering to herself while Stanislav approaches Riggs to check on the status of the plane.

“BRO! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT, BRO?!”

It appears that the owner of the tipped car, or at least the renter of the tipped car (which is also missing a driver-side door), has returned. But it’s not just anyone.

It’s “Wrigleyville’s Finest,” sVo superstar Johnny Dorn. Who also happens to be a graduate of Troy Combat Systems.

Yes, that Troy Combat Systems.

Dorn holds his hand to the back of his head while he stares at his tipped, and torn apart, car. The Waveland Avenue Warrior turns to see not only his mentor, but also Stanislav and Riggs.

Johnny Dorn: YO COACH, who had the brass balls to do this to my whip?

Lindsay sighs, knowing she’s not only caught between a rock and a hard place, but also knowing that Dorn is probably in for a murder. Which is a common occurrence for him, since he’s a big dipshit whose mouth writes checks his dumb ass can’t cash.

Against her better judgment, she nods towards Stanislav, and Dorn immediately makes his way towards the two members of The Red Army.

Johnny Dorn: Bro, two questions: the fuck you think you are and you know who you just fucked with?

Ivan grits his teeth and looks over at the approaching Dorn. Lindsay facepalms and shakes her head.

Johnny Dorn: Bro, I’ll fuckin’ fight you right now. You have any idea how much this is gonna come out of my ass?

Stanislav exhales loudly and winces with irritation. He bellows at Troy while Dorn jawjacks the entire time.

Ivan Stanislav: This one will do! Do I have a match tonight?

Johnny Dorn: Oh, you’re gettin’ a match tonight, you big Putin fucker you. Coach, sign me up. Call Jon Page. I don’t give a fuck. I’m whoopin some Russian ass right the fuck now.

Troy sighs and nods.

Lindsay Troy: Sure. You both want to fight? Go for it.

That’s all it takes to get UltraViolence Night One started off early.

IVAN STANISLAV VS. JOHNNY DORN?

Johnny Dorn: Your bitch ass is payin’ for that car!

Dorn rushes at Stanislav and spears him, knocking Stanislav back on one foot. The Russian Bear actually looks at Lindsay with confusion, while Dorn hooks one of Ivan’s legs to try to take him down. Ivan grabs him by the waist and literally chucks him into the background. Dorn rolls and lands next to the twisted portion of the street sign. Ivan turns his attention back to Troy.

Ivan Stanislav: I still want Nate Colton to pay for this…

…Johnny Dorn pulls himself up…

Ivan Stanislav: …lazy son of bitch not showing…

…he sees the street sign, stands, and picks it up…

Ivan Stanislav: …I want him fined, sanctioned, and fired…

…and is running with it towards Ivan…

Ivan Stanislav: …I swear on Lenin’s Mauso—

CLANG~!

The street sign slams across the upper back/back of the head of Stanislav and sends him toppling forward with a groan.

Johnny Dorn: Shove your Beatles up your ass, grandpa!

Dorn throws a stiff kick to the side of the doubled-over Stanislav’s head, knocking him down to a knee. Ivan tries to shake the cobwebs off, but he takes a knee to the forehead for his trouble. He staggers back to his feet, rumbling backwards as he shakes his head again.

Lindsay sighs to herself and gets in her truck. She drives off behind the melee to park.

Ivan throws a wild hook at Dorn but misses. Dorn punches him in the breadbasket, dodges another paw, chops him in the chest, ducks a hip check from Stanislav and skirts around him. He jumps on Ivan’s back, clinging to his suspenders to drag himself up higher and wraps his arms around Ivan’s neck.

Johnny Dorn: Gonna show you some Grand Theft Auto shit now, bitch!!

Ivan roars and swings his body this way and that, with Dorn clinging for dear life. His legs swing to the left and the right, but he doesn’t let go and Ivan is too bulky to reach back and catch him. Ivan finally stands up straight and falls backwards towards the unforgiving asphalt. Dorn scrambles off of him and barely gets out without being flattened. Ivan lands hard on his back, straight on the asphalt, and a huge glob of Russian phlegm flies out of his mouth and splatters next to him.

Lindsay pulls her things out of her truck in the background. She locks it, and leans against it to watch with mild interest. Before long, she’s scrolling through her phone.

Ivan rolls over onto his knees and straightens himself. Dorn cockily approaches him.

Johnny Dorn: Gonna need some life alert for your ass-urkrkkk!!

Even kneeling, Stanislav is tall enough and his arm is long enough to grip Dorn’s throat. He throttles him and stands up slowly, hissing in his direction.

Ivan Stanislav: Глупый американец, я тебе руки оторву!! (Stupid American, I’ll rip your arms off!!)

Dorn thinks back to some action movie from back in the day and crosses his arms at the forearms and wedges them against Ivan’s own arm. In the movie, it broke the hold.

Not in this case.

Ivan rises to his full height and yeets Dorn across the parking lot. He careens into a PRIME equipment truck with a boom and falls to his side. He slowly pulls himself up, to see the enormous Russian Bear charging like a bat out of hell towards him.

He ducks as Stanislav barrels towards the van with a punch that could kill someone. His fist blasts through the side of the van, and in his rage, Ivan tears a gaping hole in the side of the van and chucks the torn metal away. Dorn low blows Ivan in the meantime, forcing a huge “OOF” out of Stanislav as his knees buckle. Ivan grabs the side of the van to remain upright, but his Sputniks are hurting.

Johnny stands and drives a forearm into Ivan’s head, and then another, and then slams Ivan’s head into the side of the van. Stanislav tries to regain feeling in his legs, while Johnny dropkicks The Russian Bear into the back and rocks him once more into the van.

Ivan whirls with a wild backhand, narrowly missing Dorn as he ducks. Dorn kicks Ivan in the stomach, then goes for a suplex?!

He tries once, and then again, and then again, but Ivan is just too big, with too much weight and so much leverage. He instead switches into a DDT, and sends Ivan’s forehead into the asphalt with a sickening thud.

Dorn gets up and boots Ivan, who rolls over and blinks, a trickle of blood oozing out of his forehead. After about six expletive laden kicks, Ivan sweeps his arm around like a paddle and trips Dorn. Johnny falls hard on his hip and rolls over, while Ivan sits up and rubs his eyes. Then, the Russian Bear stands to his full height.

Dorn is up too, and for the first time in this… match(?) the two competitors lock up. Ivan shift his bulk forward though and slams Dorn into the van, and then chucks him off to the side and sends him falling hard on the pavement.  Ivan kicks his leg once and rubs his groin, and then walks to the back of the van and grips one of the doors. He wrenches and tears it off with a roar, brandishing it in his right hand.

Dorn shakes his head and drags himself up to his feet.

Johnny Dorn: Naw bro, you think you can scare me with that shit? Do you THINK you can scare ME with that SHIT?! I AIN’T SCARED OF NO WRINKLY ASS RUSSIANS!!

Showing tremendous courage, or most likely stupidity, Johnny charges directly at Ivan.

CRACK-BOOM!!

The van door positively plasters Johnny Dorn, and as Stanislav chucks the mangled door to the side, there appears to be the outline of Dorn’s upper body and head in the door itself. Dorn has flown at least six feet through the air and lands on his back, flat, on the pavement. Ivan snarls and spits.

Ivan Stanislav: At least American-made vehicle is good for something…

Ivan trudges over to the unconscious Johnny Dorn. He straightens his back, and places a huge boot over his chest.

Of course, there’s no referee, this all came together rather quickly.

So Ivan snaps his fingers, and Speedy Riggs drops down and starts to count in true Speedy Riggs fashion.

1-2-3!!!

Speedy leaps to his feet.

Speedy Riggs: I still got it!!

With a bellow, Stanislav raises his arms triumphantly.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAAHAA!! Still undefeated at UltraViolence!! Is that not right, Lindsay Troy!?

He looks around. The truck is there.

Ivan Stanislav: Lindsay?

But Lindsay Troy has long since left.

Ivan growls to himself and looks at Speedy. He rubs his bloody forehead.

Ivan Stanislav: Eh, forget Nate Colton. Let us just go inside.

And together, two of the founding members of The Red Army trudge into Lumen Field.

And we go elsewhere.

The building is plunged into darkness as the lights go out in the arena to a flurry of excited whoops and cheers from the audience. A few seconds pass before the air fills with the rumbling of drums and a visceral guitar tone. White light fills the mouth of the entranceway suddenly, pulsing rhythmically in time to the drumbeat and illuminating thick plumes of fog pouring down to the floor and spilling across the stage.

YYEEAAHHH!!

As Lemmy belts out a mechanical roar two silhouettes appear in the ether, one massive and one much smaller, and the cheers become frenzied throughout the arena. “Kingdom of the Worm” by Motörhead kicks everyone’s lungs right in the balls for several seconds before the looming figures start to shift, growing both larger and smaller in the entranceway as the house lights begin flashing electric blue.

You remember, You remember me, yes,
I remember what we are, I remember only scars,
I remember only stars, I remember hell and mother,
I have seen the eye of god, Youth trust gone forever.

The cameraman on stage gets down low, aiming the shot high towards the great shade as it bleeds through the smoke out onto the stage proper, gazing hypnotically at the ring whilst softly mouthing the lyrics as wisps of smoke dissipate around him. The crowd erupts at the sight of the giant, drawing his gaze as he stops at the top of the ramp and looks the audience over while Vince Howard’s voice cuts clear through the noise, prompting him to close his eyes, bow his head and splay his hands out before him. By his side, the dwarven figure draws the hood of his cloak to reveal a mischievous purple grin.

Vince Howard: The following contest, scheduled for one fall, is for the Five Star Championship! Making his way to the ring! Standing seven feet two inches tall and weighing in at three hundred and seventy pounds, he is the former two-time Universal Champion and the twentieth inductee into the PRIME Hall of Fame…the Murder Show…HHHEEEEEEEEEEEESSSIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAANNNN!!

The giant raises his hands up and clenches them into fists, thrusting both arms down with a breaking gesture as he snaps his head back and unleashes a guttural roar met with equal passion from the fans. He tenses his thick, flaccid neck and arms and they bulge taut with solid muscle and ropey veins until he relaxes and starts pacing down the ramp towards the ring while the electric storm continues to broil around the darkened arena.

See only the master, risen, risen,
After all the silence, all of him laughing
After all the strangers, beaten, driven,
Try to place all things, in a certain rhythm
Do as the book told you see the pages torn,
Make the spell upon them, in human form,
So we come to call it, the great & awesome dance,
Do you see before you, the Kingdom of Romance.

The giant stops at the foot of the ring, grabs the top rope and pulls himself up onto the apron as Minion hovers around ringside jaw-jacking. Hessian takes a stoic glance around before wiping his feet and flinging one leg after the other over into the ring. A large spotlight finds the giant as he enters with a stomp that continues across the ring as he raises both arms and leans into the ropes on the opposite side, bellowing back out at the crowd with wide wild eyes.

You remember, You remember his face,
You remember what I am, I remember only weeping,
I remember only sleeping, I remember tearing flesh,
I can only taste the devil, Your tears when you cry,

Hessian paces around the ring presenting himself to the fans on each side with a roar and a double arm raise before turning to hardcam and approaching the centre of the ring. A wide shot smoothly closes in on the cold mean gaze of the Murder Show as he locks eyes on everyone watching at home and throws his arms up, roaring right down the camera and into homes around the world as we zoom out with an added rippling shockwave effect. “Kingdom of the Worm” cuts off early with the closing line:

ALL MEN MUST SUFFER!

Multiple spotlights cut through the darkness in that moment, all across the stage, ramp and ring. Countless beams projecting the outlines of human bodies in light form dazzlingly strewn all around the Murder Show. The crowd echo the line back with thunderous applause as Hessian heads to his corner while the corpse-lights fade out and the house lights return to normal.

Lumen Field falls into a hushed darkness, and several thousand cell phones immediately shoot into the air, giving the massive stadium some semblance of light in little rectangular packages. The video screen becomes backlit and a series of words come up one by one:

THE FALLEN ANGEL

PRESTER DON

THE REVELATOR

FATHER

FIVE

STAR

FOREVER.

The music begins with a scratch guitar riff and much more bite than Don’s usual fare. The singer is the same, but the material is quite different. The fans are on their feet in full throat regardless, they may not be singing along, but there’s plenty of noise to be had.

I walk sick streets full of dead meat
Through empty heads and canceled eyes
I’ve got a pain, I’ve got a hunger
Lord, my soul ain’t satisfied

Images of the Five Star champion flash across the screen. Delivering the Absolution to Crash Jackson, the Canonized to Anna Daniels and Hallelujah to Rob Williams on top of the cross at War Games. Paxton Ray submitting to the Threshing Floor, and finally an extended shot of STRONK in that same move, as the recently (dearly, to his spiders) departed Lowell Dot Com throws in the towel.

Come on! Come on!
Hit the accelerator, the accelerator
Come on, come on
Hit the accelerator, the accelerator

Nick Stuart: Don Winters has now held the Five Star Title for a remarkable 175 days, which is the fourth longest reign in PRIME history!

Richard Parker: The Revelator is Revelating like few before him have, Nick!

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

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

It ain’t hard to be a sinner
Lord, it’s hard to be a saint
Had a taste, you had a glimmer
Start to shiver, can’t be what you ain’t

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!

Come on! Come on!
Hit the accelerator, the accelerator!
Come on!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

The Revelator drops his arms and begins confidently walking toward the ring. His posture is perfect, his head is held high, his Five Star Championship glimmers in the light and strobe. The Revelator looks and feels immaculate.

Here we come, we’re comin’ fast
All the others are in the past
Voices screaming in my head
Into the future! Into the future!

He climbs the ring steps, wipes his boots off on the apron and vaults over the top rope. Another cheer buzzes through the crowd like an electrical current. He stomps, claps and throws his arms out into the t-pose once more, generating another huge cheer. As the music dies down, he unstraps his Five Star Championship and hands it to Ashley Barlow and begins disrobing as he waits for Hessian.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Can Don Winters make history here tonight, or will the Hall of Famer add to his legacy?

Don Winters is by no means a small man at a sturdy 254 pounds, but it’s Hessian…at 7’2 and he towers over just about everyone he’s ever met. And so, while normally a strategy chosen by Father Don, it’s Hessian who raises his arm high in the air, rocking it slowly at Winters, offering a test of strength with a menacing smile.

Winters, for his part, shows a flash of apprehension before putting his hands on his hips – Hessian’s holding his hand intentionally way too high for Winters to engage – and Hessian just laughs and taunts. With one arm up, and no clear intentions to defend himself, Winters says ‘gosh darn it’ and throws a chop squarely into Hessian’s chest!

SMACK!

Hessian keeps his hand elevated, his expression starting to turn from “playful mockery” to “the fuck does he think he’s doing?”.

SMACK!

A second chop. Hessian isn’t showing any signs of pain from this, but each strike angers him a little more.

SMACK! SMACK!

At the fourth chop, Hessian’s become fully pissed, and he reaches forward, grabbing Winters by the offending arm and driving a 12-to-6 elbow straight into Winters’s clavicle, backing the preacher up. Hessian advances on him and uses one hand to grab the now-a-little-limp arm and force it into that test of strength he was teasing earlier – and now Winters is in a bad spot.

Hessian faces some plucky resistance from the champion, but pretty quickly, he’s in complete control. He backs Winters into the corner and cups his hand to his ear, listening for something, before reaching up –

CRACKKKKKKKKKKK!

And CAVING Winters’s chest in with a spiking open-handed chop!

‘How many was it again,’ one imagines to be Hessian’s thoughts, ‘was it four?’

He uses his brute power to force Winters’s head back across the top turnbuckle and his arms behind the top rope. He reaches up with that sledgehammer of a right hand and acts like he’s working steel hot out of the forge –

CRACK! CRACK CRRRRRRACKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Winters crumples and his whole torso is heaving up and down, trying to get air in there somehow. Referee Ashley Barlow steps in and begins a five count.

Richard Parker: Holy hell, is Winters already bleeding??

Nick Stuart: It’s hard to tell, he’s certainly got some purple and red welts forming – oh yeah, you’re right, partner! There’s a trickle of blood on Father Don’s chest from those ferocious chops!

Richard Parker: Pious Penguin, if you can hear me, avert your eyes – we may be witnessing the Passion of the Don here tonight!

Lightly shaking his choppin’ hand out, Hessian heeds Barlow’s warning and takes a few steps out of the corner. Winters is able to use the ropes to get to his feet again, and his breathing is starting to normalize. Hessian cups his hand to his ear again, and it’s a mixed response – both of these men have plenty of fans.

After a couple beats, Hessian raises his arm up and gives the classic Toot Toot Gesture –

Nick Stuart: Hess Express? Already??

and he charges into the corner!

…

Winters dives low! He chop blocks Hessian right at the knees! Hessian stumbles forward and crashes face first into the middle turnbuckle!

Nick Stuart: Quick thinking by the champion!

Hessian is a bit stunned at this, and Winters hustles over and grabs a leg – dragon screw leg whip! He reaches back down to go for another dragon screw as Barlow now begins another five count since Hessian is a bit tangled in the corner. He hits the second dragon screw!

‘What is the count at, 3? If I hurry, I bet I can hit another’ one imagines to be Father Don’s thoughts as he grabs the leg for a third time.

Sick of getting his leg twisted around, Hessian uses his free leg to start to get a bit vertical, then LAUNCHES his captured leg forward, sending Winters backwards and opening up some space.

Richard Parker: Everyone thinks it’s this magic strategy to go low when they’re fighting a giant – from what I can tell, this is just pissing Hessian off. Life’s about to get way worse for the Revelator!

Nick Stuart: The Five Star Champion has used the Threshing Floor to great effect in recent matches – it’s hard to imagine him hitting a crucifix powerbomb on the nearly 400 pounder, don’t you think?

Richard Parker: Yeah, well – maybe he just doesn’t believe hard enough.

Nick Stuart: …Don Winters. Father Don. Not believing hard enough?

Richard Parker: I’m just sayin’!

Winters tries to pepper Hessian with some strong style kicks to the legs, but Hessian isn’t having it; knowing that his raw power is his biggest advantage, he closes the distance and locks up with Winters. Winters keeps throwing short kicks and knees into Hessian’s thighs, and even attempts a side headlock – he almost has the advantage for the briefest of moments, before Hessian reverses, wraps his own arm around Winters’s head, and lifts…

Hessplex! Hessian connects with ALL of that brainbuster and he goes for a cover!

ONE!

TWO! Winters gets the shoulder up!

Annoyed, Hessian presses the shoulder back down to the mat!

ONE!

Hessian isn’t going for the pin though – he raises his choppin’ arm back up…

CRACK!

Hessian spikes Winters in the chest with another brutal open palm strike! He actually goes for the cover this time and hooks a leg!

ONE!

TWO!

…

NO! Winters kicks and gets a shoulder up again!

Hessian pins that shoulder right back down to the fucking mat again, because this red haired bastard’s got a cut on his chest that needs to be opened up more. He raises his arm back up…

…

Winters rolls out of the way at the last second!

THONK!!

Hessian’s hand slams HARD into the mat, and with the timing of the slam and the angle of his strike not being what he expected (ring mat vs. torso), Hessian’s hurt. He howls out and grabs at his choppin’ hand.

Winters scrambles to his feet – that standing side headlock didn’t work, but now that the big man is on the ground, maybe it’s worth another shot – and he darts over.

Nick Stuart: Winters is in control now with that side headlock!

Richard Parker: Maybe he can say a prayer and catch his breath!

Both competitors start to roll around on the mat, gulping down air as Winters tries everything he can to squeeze the giant’s skull, which is starting to turn a shade of crimson. Hessian almost seems to fade, but soon, he’s rallying, puffing himself up with heaving breaths. With a sudden burst of energy, Hessian gets to one knee and wraps his arms around Don’s waist. Soon, he’s up to a knee and a foot.

Nick Stuart: Hessian seems to be too powerful for this, no matter what Winters is throwing at him, he keeps coming back!

Don squeezes in desperation as Hessian takes his biggest breath of the night. And then, a HEAVE – Winters is high in the air, eyes wide! Hessian directs the preacher’s tailbone right into a gigantic knee.

Nick Stuart: Atomic drop!

Richard Parker: Don’s not letting go, though!

There’s a zing of electricity in Hessian’s knee, maybe related to some of the attacks he took early on in the match – and then a zing of electricity in Hessian’s mind. Why is this familiar?

Winters’s back can’t feel great, but damn it, he’s still holding onto Hessian’s head.

One thing to understand about Hessian’s power is that it allows him to succeed in his offensive maneuvers even when there’s nothing pretty or technical or, frankly, teachable about how he does things. Which is why he can bend forward, stand back up, flail his arms out, and just push, and it sends Don ass over teakettle in a sort of “modified” backdrop. Winters crashes and burns, and he tries crawling to the ropes.

Nick Stuart: The Five Star Champion is known for his resilience, but how much more can he take?

Winters is a fingertip away from the ropes when the Murder Show catches him. He wraps his enormous arms around Winters’s bruised and bleeding ribs and squeezes as hard as he can with a Bear Hug. Don’s trying to keep a stiff upper lip, but is badly struggling. Hessian, maybe out of frustration or anger, begins ragdolling Winters from side to side in a death roll.

Richard Parker: Look at Rodeo Revelator go! Even Don Winters has a li’l cowboy in him!

Hessian maintains control of Winters as he gets to his feet. He shifts his grip, lifts, and SLAMS the champion to the mat with a uranage. Don’s not entirely here anymore.

Nick Stuart: Down goes Winters! What power from The Murder Show!

Richard Parker: The champ has been forsaken!

Hessian has a flicker of – something – across his face. He has a sinking feeling that if he doesn’t try to end this right now, something bad might happen.

Richard Parker: …is someone grilling?

Nick Stuart: …what?

Hessian stands over the prone Winters and prepares to lift him up for the patented Hellevator – Winters grabs onto Hessian’s leg to try to counter the raw power! It’s become an entanglement, Hessian trying to overpower, Winters trying to dead weight the big man, and eventually Hessian loses his balance a bit. Winters darts through Hessian’s legs before lowering his shoulder and charging straight into the back of Hessian’s left knee. The big man yells out as he’s sent to the mat.

Winters then grabs the left boot and drives Hessian’s knee into the mat, almost like it was Gandalf’s staff when telling the Balrog just how much he shall or shall not pass.

After a couple spikes, Winters connects with another dragon screw, and now Hessian’s in trouble.

Winters staggers back for a second – he has to catch his breath, and the way he sees it, Hessian’s not going anywhere – at least for a little while.

The crowd gets to their feet in applause – it’s been a SCRAP so far, and it feels like something’s coming soon.

Hessian makes it to a knee, and then hops a little gingerly as he gets to his feet. He smacks his left leg a couple times, trying to dull the pain or wake up a dead leg, it’s hard to tell which.

Winters is proactive this time, charging forward for the bullseye that’s presented itself.

Hessian sees it coming! He lifts a big boot that connects with Winters’s charging head. He stomps over and wraps his enormous arms around the Revelator’s neck, heaves up, and starts swinging!

Nick Stuart: Halleluja Mountains, he’s choking the air out of Winters once again!

Richard Parker: First it was the chest, now it’s the neck – what’s left, the nose?

As if on cue, Hessian stops swinging his opponent, spins him, and punches him right in the mush. Winters staggers, falls to a knee, gets up – gets punched again – and falls to the mat! Hessian covers!

ONE!

TWO!

…

NO! KICKOUT!

Hessian picks up Winters again – he knows a thing about Crucifix powerbombs himself, after all – and chucks the Five Star Champion across the ring!

SMASHHHH!

Richard Parker: Eat your heart out, Absolution, because Hessian just CRUSHED him with the Ballista!

Nick Stuart: Another cover! This could be it!

ONE!

TWO!

…

Hessian hooks both legs!

THR-

Winters uses that momentum and reverses the pin! Hessian’s shoulders are down!

ONE!

TWO!

…

WINTERS HAS A LEG!

THRE-KICKOUT BY HESSIAN!!

The adrenaline is spiking for both men as they each realize how close they came to winning (and losing) this championship match.

Hessian charges in to deliver a lariat – Winters ducks, bounces off the ropes, and dives at Hessian’s legs – Hessian hops over (what surprising agility for a man his age and size!) – bounces off the ropes – the two men collide in the middle of the ring! Each staggers back, Winters a bit moreso than Hessian. Hessian swings forward with a strike – Winters ducks and goes for the side headlock! He stomps into Hessian’s calf for good measure!

Hessian finds a way to power out, swinging his choppin’ hand for the death blow to the remaining ribs in Winters’s chest…

Winters sidesteps it! He catches Hessian and plants him with a Russian Leg Sweep!

OHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: This crowd knows what’s coming next!

Winters grabs hold of that left leg and wrenches back as hard as he can with a single leg Boston crab!

Richard Parker: IT’S THE THRESHING FLOOR!

Nick Stuart: THIS COULD BE IT!

Ashley Barlow goes to check on Hessian right away – they’re in the middle of the ring and the submission could come at any time. Hessian shakes his head “no” before gripping his scalp in anguish. He has another zap of lightning in his head – why is this familiar too? – as he finds his body, almost on autopilot, crawling for the ropes.

It’s a fight and a struggle, and Winters is almost able to drag him away, but Hessian’s just too damn strong.

Nick Stuart: Hessian makes it to the ropes!

Richard Parker: Fat lot of good it’s doing him though!

Ashley Barlow’s started her count, but Winters is gritting his teeth and pulling back as hard as he can – this might be the last gas he has in the tank.. The Murder Show lets out a jarring howl, convulsing in agony as his sweat-soaked hands grip the bottom rope even tighter.

Ashley Barlow: ONE!!

Richard Parker: Where’s Cancer Jiles now, huh? Who’s got Hessian’s back out here? That’s gotta be on his mind right now!

Nick Stuart: I think he knows he’s in a fight with the Five Star Champion, that’s for sure!

He tries climbing up the ropes, but he’s slipping and has to settle with a grip on the bottom rope. It’s a scramble, but Winters is still wrenching.

Ashley Barlow: TWO!!

Don adjusts his stance. There’s a zap in Hessian’s mind and a lightning storm in his leg.

Richard Parker: He might not be fighting for much longer! Come on Don! Break that big turkey’s leg right off!

Ashley Barlow: THREE!!

Nick Stuart: Winters is running out of time, Hessian’s going to stay in this fight!

He grabs for the middle ropes and starts twisting his hips. He starts twisting anything he can, whatever he’s gotta do to keep his leg from snapping off – or from hoping that someone would snap it off for him.

Richard Parker: This fight might be over in a second if Father Don doesn’t let go!

Ashley Barlow: FOUR!!

In all the twisting, Winters practically snaps Hessian’s ankle by twisting it at just the right moment while maintaining the crab – this horrible jolt forces Hessian to release the ropes! Winters drags the challenger to the center of the ring!

Nick Stuart: Unbelievable! How is Winters still in control??

Richard Parker: Hessian’s running out places to go!

Winters’s chest is deep purple and he’s covered in sweat – he pulls back on the giant’s leg as hard as he’s ever pulled anything in his life.

It’s hard to tell where the lightning is anymore with Hessian. It’s sort of everywhere.

He lets out a bellowing ROARRRRRRRRR~~~ as the fans are on their feet, hopping and yelling at everything that’s gone on over the last several minutes…

Hessian tries pushing up, but everything’s giving out, and in the end it finally includes his arms. They only have strength left for one final act.

Slapping the mat until he hears what he’s been fearing for a while.

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: HE TAPPED! HESSIAN TAPPED!

The Revelator flops to the mat, exhausted…

Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER BY SUBMISSION…AAAAND STIIIIIIIIIIILLL FIVE STAR CHAMPIOOON, DOOON! WIIIIIIIIIINNNTEEEEEERRRRSS!!

…but elated.

Nick Stuart: Winters retains! He just tied the record for most defenses of any title in PRIME! And he beat a giant to do it! What a hellacious match!

“Movin’ On Up” by Primal Scream accompanies a massive ovation and a blast of pyro and streamers. Ashley Barlow is handed the Five Star Title from ringside and hands it to Winters, who’s found himself on the ground, completely spent.

Richard Parker: If that’s what happened to Cancer Jiles’s lap dog, just imagine what’s gonna happen tomorrow!

Nick Stuart: Tonight’s not about him – right now, it’s about Don Winters and perhaps the greatest Five Star Champion of the ReVival era! Who’s going to stop this man?

Winters is finally to his feet, some tears forming in his eyes as he gently puts a hand over his (bruised and bleeding) heart, his other hand holding aloft the Five Star Championship.

We cut to commercial.

It’s FLAMBERGE!

(applause!)

FLAMBERGE: What do you want?

The Lizard King of PRIME has precious little time before his big, deadly triple threat match against Brandon Youngblood and Maximilian Wilhelm Kael. He doesn’t need distractions. He doesn’t need this.

What “this” is would be the Fabulous Gold Mask. Fabby, as he’s called. He’s his usual self, golden mask and cheap ashen gray suit… but also a little disheveled. You can’t see under his eyes, what with the mask and all, but it looks like Fabby hasn’t slept much in the past two weeks.

Fabby looks like he’s going to pantomime his explanation. Then he sighs and slumps his shoulders.

The Fabulous Gold Mask: Julien, I have something from Joe for you.

This gets FLAMBERGE’s attention. In the entire time that Fabby has been around the Glueminati, he’s never said a word. Not a single one. That was eight whole words! The masked man reaches into the inside pocket of his suit and pulls out a cell phone, then walks over to the television screen. FLAMBERGE watches him work, until at last, Fabby backs away.

The television screen in the Gluite comes alive.

The room is a bedroom. A man cave, if you will, marked by a glass case containing figurines of the popular Idolmaster franchise. An old bowling trophy with a Post-It note lazily slapped on it that reads “PRIME’S Cleanest Boy 2022” sits covered in dust. There’s a poster of Rashid from Street Fighter V hanging on the wall. The whole room looks like Joe hasn’t actually been in there in a while, yet there he sits.

Joe Fontaine: Hey! Is this thing on?

Sid Phillips’ head pops into view for a few moments. He looks different. His hair’s been cut short. His beard is getting fuller. Clearly, this is just after Tropical Turmoil, after Sid’s already left PRIME and given up all of those powerbomb nicknames for Max Kael to steal. He studies the camera for a moment.

Sid Phillips: Red light’s on. You’re live. Why am I here, again?

Joe Fontaine: Sweet!

He gives Sid a thumbs up. Sid shrugs and leaves the room.

Joe turns back to the camera, gives a heavy sight, and tents his fingers.

Joe Fontaine: If you’re watching this… Cecilworth, FLAMBERGE, Hayes… Fabby? Fabby might see this. Okay, so. If any of you guys are watching this, it means it finally happened and some dipstick went and assassinated me for how good I am at the Jabbers or at life or something like that. And that sucks! I’m way too bedazzling for anyone sane and intelligent to want to assassinate me to death!

There’s a feeling that the air’s going out of Joe already on this idea as he sighs. He stares up at the camera, the silly smile drooping from his face.

Joe Fontaine: Okay, real talk, I know how I am, and I’m not blind to how PRIME is, either.

He sighs, and looks away from the camera for a little bit.

Joe Fontaine: We had an event called a Murder Rumble just last year, and I don’t know about you guys, but the fact that there were zero murders resulting from it tells me that someone’s time is up. So, chances are, I probably really pissed someone off, if you’re seeing this now. And, well… even though I was voted PRIME’s number one funeral director, there’s no one to direct my funeral if it had to happen!

He laughs.

Joe Fontaine: Cecilworth, Hayes, FLAMBERGE… fabby i guess i don’t know… You know, I had my doubts about joining up with you guys. Back then, we didn’t have Hayes and instead we had… I don’t know, a cacophony of screams in the vague shape of a human man, so I think Hayes was a huge improvement. We’ve had a lot of fun together. Cecilworth and I did some conga, ate some questionable “pizza” together, we broke reality in places once or twice, we won WarGames… you know, we’re pretty damn awesome.

In the background, Sid returns.

Sid Phillips: Hey.

He’s smoldering. Just like old times.

Sid Phillips: Are you going to pay me back for borrowing money for all these chairs you’re trying to make or what?

Joe Fontaine: They’re not chairs, they’re jolf clubs.

Sid Phillips: Did you… did you fucking say the word “golf” with a hard J?

Joe Fontaine: Yes.

Sid doesn’t say anything. He only storms off angrily.

Joe turns back to the camera unabated.

Joe Fontaine: If you’re there, Cecilworth… Thank you for taking a chance on me. Really. Couldn’t have asked for a better non-powerbomb-y friend. The conga line was a great time! Well, okay, maybe not the acute limbitis, that shit was rough. Really, I hope your love for the ring is reciprocated eventually. I’m rooting for you!

He pumps his fist. It looks about as goofy as anything this man-child with an unfortunate manbun does.

Joe Fontaine: Hayes, let me tell you, you’re pretty cool in my book. You got that sweet stache and all that. You should, I don’t know… Maybe kinda calm down a bit, enjoy life a little more, you know? Maybe play laser tag with the boys, that might be fun!

He considers it for a moment.

Joe Fontaine: Um, don’t… take this the wrong way, Hayes, but I just thought about it and you do seem the sort of guy who’d take human shields in laser tag and pistol whip them when you’re done. Just have some chill, man!

Joe seems blissfully unaware of how little chill exists within the Glueminati. So, so blissfully unaware. It’s almost adorable. Let’s forget about all of those murders he thought about doing for the last two months.

Joe Fontaine: FLAMBERGE, FLAMBO, FLAMBdaddy… Julien? Eh. You always did prefer I keep that name out of my mouth.

He laughs.

Joe Fontaine: Listen, FLAMB-man. We’ve shared ourselves a religious experience at Church last year. You know how I am, I know how you are. And if some dipshit ups and assassinates me in a professional wrestling kind of way, I know you can avenge me. 

There is a pause as Joe’s smile fades.

Joe Fontaine: Bit morbid, I know. I got this whole “murdering Coral Avalon” thing going on, so I figure if anyone’s going to assassinate me, it’s that jerk. So I hope you revenge the shit out of him, if it’s him. God, I hope it’s him. It’d be lame if someone like Max Kael did it. That guy’s like two years old.

He shrugs, and then waves.

Joe Fontaine: Okay, that’s all, bye-bee!

Static.

The video has ended.

We pan over to FLAMBERGE, whose arms are folded, his expression intensely focused, possibly deep in thought, though it’s more and more hard to tell the longer and longer he goes without blinking. Behind him, he is flanked by two super realistic cardboard cutouts, one each of Sweet and Sour Glue Boys, Cardsworth and Hayesboard – they, too, glower with a certain intensity. They too don’t blink, which maybe you’d expect out of cardboard, but also sometimes people jump off of roofs and are eventually fine, so. It’s worth over-clarifying.

After a few beats, the Neck Collector turns towards Fabby, who is at this point probably too overtired to adequately express his grief through his golden mask, but he looks up to meet FLAMBERGE’s gaze.

FLAMBERGE: ………………………….ouais.

He turns and exits. Fabby looks at Cardsworth and Hayesboard, perhaps searching for understanding from the depths.

The Fabulous Gold Mask: ¿…?

While we are left to wonder how much Spanish Fabby really knows, or why he’d respond to French in such a manner, we dramatically and slowwwwwlyyyyyy paiiiiiinfullyyyyyy slowwwwwwwwlyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy faaaaaaaaade to blaaaaaaaaaaaaaack and cut to the next thing.

The broadcast returns to ringside as a somber piano tune plays. The Big Dick Stallions, AKA Them Rare Boys, emerge from the Argyle Position, already in their ring gear. But it’s not their match that’s about to happen.

This is a tribute. Not to a great man, not even a good one. In fact, by the end, it was hard to say if he was still a man or just a skeletal husk inhabited by hundreds (maybe thousands) of tiny spiders. But he lived once, and now he doesn’t.

And his final will and testament made sure this moment would come. (And that the announce team would be muted so they don’t chime in with some bullshit and cheapen the whole affair.)

Fred Dick and STRONK enter the ring to a mix of boos and some cheers. Fred grabs a mic and taps it on his thigh to make sure it’s turned on.

Fred Dick: We’ll keep this thang brief. Louella Dom Cold was STRONK’s manager… and kinda mine until Reed Young showed up… and then he went and died a coward’s death—or so we’ve been led to believe. The little fugger put it in STRONK’s PRIME contract that if he died he’d get the ol’ ten-bell and a sappy vidya. Never said nothin’ about us having to say nice shid about him though, so we ain’t. Right, STRONKY TONK?

STRONK: WHAT IS GOING ON? IS IT TIME FOR THE LARGE PENIS PONIES TO CRUSH FRAIL HUMANS AND OBTAIN BELT WEIGHT?

Fred Dick: Baby boi, you gotsta clean the wax out them ears. Later. We fight later. Got anything to say ‘bout the skinny boy that offed himself?

STRONK: YES. STRONK’S LARGE ROOM OF ICE AND MEAT IS EMPTY. THE SKINNY BOY NEEDS TO MAKE IT NOT EMPTY AGAIN. THE SKINNY BOY IS LATE AND BETTER HAVE A GOOD EXCUSE.

Fred Dick: (chuckling) I think he’s got a gudd’n… if this ain’t some ruse, that is…

The PRIMEview switches from a live shot of the arena to a Lowell Dot Com In Memoriam tribute video as the lights go down.

On the screen, as “With Arms Wide Open” by Creed begins to play, Lowell Dot Com stands awkwardly beside STRONK at some point in the last few months. Quick flashes follow, showing his chaotic interactions with Fred and the rest of the Whoresmen. The video then cuts to Lowell hopelessly combing his disintegrating toupee in the Argyle Position. Next, he’s in catering, nibbling tiny bites of food while gagging, chain-smoking as spiders crawl from his infected scalp. Then, he’s in the gym, struggling to deadlift an empty bar while STRONK easily lifts an entire squat rack beside him. A shaky phone clip shows him fleeing the scene of a recent hit-and-run. A clumsy, deceptively edited montage follows, making it seem like Lindsay Troy is non-verbally hitting on him during their one-and-only PRIME meeting back in April. The video then takes a hard left: random shirtless shots of Don Winters flash across the screen (most look… voyeuristic), ending with Don handing Lowell a lock of his hair at Tropical Turmoil.

The final clip shows Lowell on Instagram Live at 3am, looking strung out while smoking the lock of hair. He’s in both heaven and hell at the same time. He looks dope-sick but also manic and aroused.

Over a still image of Lowell staring forward, inches from the camera, sucking on the pipe with a tuft of Donny Wintz flaming hair sticking out, his eyes bulging like they might burst from his skull, the following words appear:

LOWELL DOT COM

1979 — 2024

“Though I may be gone, know that my spirit lives on in the memories we made together.”

“Randi Dick’s butthole looks like a stepped-on McDonald’s sausage patty. Tell everyone.”

“I CANNOT DIE! IT’S FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO DIE! FUCK YOU! LMAO!”

Fred Dick: We usin’ PPV time for this… GAWTdamn..

STRONK: THE STRONK-SIZED PICTURE BOX SHOWS PICTURES BUT THE PICTURES MAKE NO SENSE TO STRONK.

Fred Dick: Ol’ Fred knows ya brain can’t process vidya in real time, and that’s okay, ya didn’t miss anything important. Now, let’s—

The customary ten-bell salute for a fallen ring warrior starts with a resounding DING! Typically every member of a promotion’s roster would pay their respects with an appearance out in front of the crowd, but Lowell wasn’t the most popular guy backstage to say the least, so it’s just STRONK and Fred, and neither one seems to want to be there.

Fred rolls his eyes, pulls out an airhorn, and interrupts the tribute with a long, disrespectful HONK! directly into the mic, completely drowning out the dinging.

Suddenly, ALL THE LIGHTS GO OUT!

A spotlight hits the rafters!

But there’s nobody there.

Because this was all planned and set in motion before Lowell botched faking his own death and actually hung himself in a stinky, by-the-hour motel room.

The lights come back on.

There’s confused silence in the arena. The audience has no idea what’s going on—most are just learning for the first time that the creepy guy that manages the Big Dick Stallions is dead.

Fred Dick: I think that ticks all the boxes in Lyod’s stupid contract. Let’s get to the back and get alllllllllll stretched out, all loose ‘n shid. We got some fuggin’ tag straps to win, boy!

STRONK: YES. STRONK AND MAMA DICK MUST GO DO THE THINGS THAT PREPARE STRONK AND MAMA DICK FOR FRAIL HUMAN CRUSHING.

The somber piano tune starts again as Them Rare Boys exit the ring, but just before tossing the mic to the floor, the King of Wrong Style waves his hand in the air.

Fred Dick: Nah, ‘nuffa that! Lemme hear the BIG DAWGS!

And so their entrance song “BIG DAWGS” by Hanumanking ft. Kalmi kicks in like a cocaine heart attack:

UH, YEAH, UH, YEAH!
UH, YEAH, UH, YEAH!
UH, YEAH, UH, YEAH!
UH, YEAH, UH, YEAH!

They disappear to the back after antagonizing the booing fans, as ULTRAVIOLENCE 2024 rolls on…

PRIME fans, hold onto your butts.

It’s time to get truly… UltraViolent.

For that, we go to Vince Howard in the ring, standing with some degree of trepidation. After all, Lumen Field is about to become the hottest of war zones. It’s time to go to Defcon One.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… The following contest, scheduled for one fall… is a TRIPLE THREAT MATCH!

And while there’s two of those happening tonight, fans know which one Mr. Howard is talking about. It’s the one with three of the most surly motherfuckers that PRIME has to offer. It’s the one that most promises to become a bloodbath.

Lumen Field darkens. The shift in ambiance has the fans rise to their feet, the sound rising. There had been a shift, a change, in the manner of the man about to approach. A call out that the people of PRIME were no longer his to save. The Diamond eschewed. But here, on this evening, and those following, it is time to stay true.

Return…

The Battlecry from a wall of blinding flame.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE

LET THE GALAXY BURN

The stadium lights return as Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH surges forward, Brandon Youngblood moving from behind the PRIMEView wall into the well of sound filling the stadium. Through the blinding red and white strobing light cutting, the Tower of Babel powerwalks, his top clad in a white branded hoodie with the return of his Diamond logo across the chest, the hood drawn down. He stops on the ramp, throwing his hood back, his eyes trained forward, an oppressive scowl of intensity a hallmark painting his face. Reaching into his hoodie, he pulls out a white mouth guard with the Diamond logo in the center, putting it in his mouth and chomping down upon it.

His shoulders sway with the bravado of his BMF walk, a spotlight lighting his path. The two time Universal Champion is quick down the ramp, his gait swinging him around the arena floor, to the ring steps. There is no slowdown as his feet pound the steel, stepping between the ropes and exploding upright. Once inside, he begins pacing around the outside perimeter of the ring, ready to fight, all as Vince Howard makes his announcement.

Vince Howard: Announcing next…hailing from Bandera, Texas by way of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada… weighing in at 265 pounds… he is…THE DIIIIIIAMOND! OF THE REVIVAL! BRAAAAAAAANDON! YOUNGBLOOOOOOOOOD!

The lights return, and as they do, the Strong Father unzips his hoodie, tossing it to the ring bell table, readying himself in an amateur stance, his hands on his thighs,

Countdown to show time.

Countdown to…

♫…

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…oh, shit.

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

Showers of teal and coppery sparks run up and down the tall scaffolds atop the roof of Lumen Field. The crowd noise isn’t Marshawn Lynch “Beast Quake” level – but damn, they’re giving it real crack.

A lizard stencil with three crowns flashes into view on the screen, and FLAMBERGE emerges. His beard is still mostly tidy, if a bit on the bushy side…weirdly, he seems to be wearing a matte brown leather jacket and old-looking (maybe even dusty?) brown slacks. Around his neck is a long black lanyard…at the end of the lanyard, a glue gun.

As “ooh la la” by Run The Jewels featuring DJ Premier & Greg Nice blares through the speakers, more teal and copper sparks shoot up from the stage. A series of nicknames flash across the screen:

PRIME WRESTLER OF THE YEAR 2023

THE BEARDED DRAGON

THE LIZARD KING

LE PROTAGONISTE

THE TRIPLE CROWN

THE NECK COLLECTOR

F L A M B E R G E

Vince Howard: The following contest is a TRIPLE THREAT MATCH!! Now approaching the ring, from Strasbourg, France! Weighing in at 206 pounds…he is THEEEEEE NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNECK COLLECTOR! FLAAAAAAAAAAMBERRRRRRRRRRRGE!

AH OUI OUI! AH OUI OUI! AH OUI OUI! AH OUI OUI!

As the crowd roars some more, he FLAMBOyantly tosses off the jacket and rips off the pants as if he’s coming in off the bench at a basketball game – beneath the old Western gunslinger look, a very bright teal pair of boxing shorts with the Triple Crown Lizard stencil in copper on the sides. His wrists are heavily taped, and his dark kickpads prominently feature swords. He holds the glue gun up to his ear as he slither-walks down to the stage, almost listening to it…hearing what we presume he likes, he removes the lanyard and tosses the glue gun to a ringside attendant.

He takes a lap around the ring…and then, notably, a second lap. He passes a camera on the second lap:

FLAMBERGE: One for the good, one for the bad!

He finally reaches the ring steps and pauses – freezes, really.

AH OUI OUI! AH OUI OUI! AH OUI OUI! AH OUI OUI!

Hearing, for the second time, something we presume he likes, he skitters into the ring and swag struts from one corner to the other. His face is cold as ice – for now.

The lights in Lumen Field shut off with a loud banging noise as the crowd collectively boo in anticipation of the arrival of the Black HEART of PRIME. With a crackle of static the PRIMEtron flickers to life with four words.

–The Real Segment One–

The lights snap back on as the entire entrance area has been converted into the Red Manifesto stage minus. Standing off to the left side of the stage is the Red Manifesto house orchestra while the rainbow of sub-Heralds stand on the right side. A single mic stand is set up in middle of the stage.

The conductor of the house orchestra raises his hands and begins to gesticulate aggressively. A sassy horn is joined by heavy use of drums. Across the stage the sub-Heralds in their different colored tunics begin to stomp and clap their hands in beat with the music. The Herald, Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington, marches out from the mouth of a giant golden Max Kael head that has replaced the entrance. Bentley makes his way to the microphone, before he begins to sing, joined by the chorus of sub-Heralds.

♫♪We’ve got Fontaine, we can feast!

Celebrate for three days at least

Joe’s blood, break Cody bones

Blood all over the murder scenes!♪♫

As he sings the Herald proceeds to do a little jig. It starts off as what you might describe as a subdued little boogie. He hasn’t decided to bust a full blown groove yet. Yet. Surprisingly, a decent singer as well, looks like somebody has been taking lessons!

♫♪Little Cody feets, little Cody toes

We all wanna punch his nose

Cody’s had such very bad luck♪♫

The PRIMEtron comes alive with a video of Cody losing in his wrestling match a few weeks back. Max’s looming, grinning face sliding into the shot. The sub-Heralds have started to join Bentley’s not quite a busted groove, dancing in sync with each other. The Chorus takes over the singing as the Herald steps away from the microphone. He proceeds to break it down and bust a move.

♫♪Tears over Joey, don’t give a fuck!

Crushed that Joey, add French salt

Bay leaves, barley, powdered malt

Now Joe’s assaulted, he’s a treat

His destiny did Fontaine meet!♪♫

Finishing his dance number the Herald returns to his mic, sweat dripping down from his forehead. He looks a little winded but bless his little the Herald heart, he’s soldiering on. A golden Max Kael head descends from above the stage like a slow moving meteorite. It settles on the stage behind the Herald, its wild, wide golden eyes staring down at the ring.

♫♪Cody we need

Joe’s neck seized

Eat with our teeth

Better than beef

Joey so soft

Carried aloft

Tear out his eyes

Max Kael rise!♪♫

The head cracks in half as smoke pours out of it, engulfing the entire stage in a swirling gray curtain. Red flashing lights flicker from within the bisected golden head as a figure steps forward. Boos are reigned down on the Commissar of the Red Army as Maximillian Wilhelm Kael makes his grand arrival.

♫♪He’s Commissar Kael!

Yes, Commissar Kael!

He’s not a myth, he’s very, very real!!

Here’s the Kael, here’s the Kael!

Here’s the Kael, here’s Commissar Kael!♪♫

The man of at least a hundred nicknames swaggers out of his own golden head as the Herald aggressively dances around him. While all the chaos and ridiculous breaks down around him, Max Kael keeps a stoic, focused expression on his face. His wicked eyes are locked on the ring, on his future. One might even note a look of.. Concern? Doubt? Dare I even say.. fear?

♫♪We love the Kael, we sing ding-a-ling

And we love his chin when it’s wobbling

He likes to dine on coincidence

It fills him, builds him up and hence♪♫

Max begins to make his way toward the ring as the Herald quickly shuffles toward the mic and mic stand, pulling both out of the Red Right Hand of Communism’s path. Reaching the top of the ramp, Kael stops, folding his arms across his chest. The music continues however there is a minor interlude allowing Max’s the Herald to do his proper job.

The Herald: Worms of Prime! I am Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington.. Introducing at this time.. Weighing two hundred and fifty five pounds and standing at six foot, four inches.. He is the Cruel and Cunning Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, Commissar of the Red Army, Red Right Hand of Communism, the Black HEART of PRIME, Second of his Name, Long May He Maim!

As Bentley finishes, the sub-Herald chorus picks up again, their shrill voices growing with excitement. The Herald joins them as well as they all begin to dance around Max who continues to glower down at the ring.

♫♪He can eat. He can eat!

Five hundred puppies with golden fur

Vickie’s face with long, blonde hair

RIA’s beating heart, that fuckin’ loon♪♫

A picture of Vickie Hall appears on the PRIMEtron, though it’s clear someone has edited her lips to move.

Vickie Hall: He can eat me, he makes me swoon!

The sub-Heralds all mimic fainting, Bentley power sliding across the stage as he delivers the last lines of the song!

♫♪A banquet for a king on high

Oh little FLAMBERGE, oh little Youngblood,

SAAAAAY GOOOOOOOOOD BBBBYYYYYYYE!!!♪♫

The Herald ends his song with double fist pumps as the lights in the arena once again cut out! With the live music no longer being played, the booing from the crowd is much, much more audible.

When the lights snap back on a few moments later the entrance ramp and stage are returned to normal. Max Kael is standing in the ring, his arms crossed over his chest while the Herald, complete with Jolf Bag on the outside.

With all three men in the ring, and the crowd electric, referee Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell to get this match started.

DING DING

Three very different men stand across from each other. One once wished he was dead. One used to be dead. One was a lizard wearing the skin of a man. They were all here, ready for a fight.

Max Kael takes one step forward.

Both Brandon Youngblood and FLAMBERGE turn to each other. There’s a silent nod between them. An understanding, however fleeting, that there’s something bigger than their long-held grudge against each other. They both turned immediately towards Max Kael.

Max… Max is a lot of things.

Brave? Ha ha ha! Yeah, that’s not Max’s speed. The moment he realizes that he isn’t picking off one of the two badasses in front of him after they start face-punching each other, but instead might be dealing with the two very angry, pissed off alpha males that he’d wronged so many times trying to get into this match, he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He flees to the outside.

Nick Stuart: Max Kael wanted this match so badly, and now that he’s here, he wants nothing to do with this!

Richard Parker: Max was expecting these two to start beating each other up immediately! Outside of his own actions, what did he do to deserve this!?

FLAMBERGE pursues. He has no other choice. As much as he’s long despised Brandon Youngblood and everything that he stands for, Max’s efforts to try and get his attention for the past few months have gone terribly right for the Red Army’s newest member. The Lizard King slips to the outside like an iguana on ice skates, and chases Max. Max, being taller, is just a little faster.

Max has a problem, though. That problem stands about 6’3” and weighs 260 pounds, he has no hair (because Craig isn’t writing this match), and he is a man possessed of terrible strength and a penchant for suplexes. Max spends so much time worrying about FLAMBERGE’s pursuit that he runs directly into a hard clothesline from Youngblood. The very thud of the impact was palpable enough that some of the front row could legally hold Youngblood accountable for assault.

Nick Stuart: Youngblood almost took Kael’s head off with that one!

Brandon Youngblood does not hesitate. He pulls Max to his feet and rams him back-first into the apron. He’s done it a second time by the time FLAMBERGE, who’s slowed to a jog to meet up with the former two-time Universal champion. Youngblood relents just long enough for FLAMBERGE to take Max and bodily toss him into the Spanish commentary table. Max skips over the top of the table like a pebble cast into a lake, and the Spanish commentators scatter like bowling pins underneath him.

Richard Parker: Hey, stop bullying those guys! I don’t even know their names!

Nick Stuart: We work with them every show!

Richard Parker: Okay, but do you know the names of every single person you work with? I don’t. I barely remember your name, and we’ve known each other for decades!

Now, this has been some quality teamwork between the Diamond and the Ace of the Glueminati. It would be great if they could maybe get along and work together to take their revenge on Max Kael before they started beating each other to death.

Here’s the thing, though.

Two alpha males seldom wish to share their prey. After FLAMBERGE tosses Max into a whole other language, he goes to follow up. He has a neck to claim, after all. Yet Youngblood stops him. Initially, it’s just a hand on his shoulder to pull him back. This causes FLAMBERGE to whirl around and go face-to-face with the target of his first great act in PRIME – pulling back the rope to prevent Brandon Youngblood from breaking Phil Atken’s Tarp. No words are exchanged between the 2022 and 2023 Wrestlers of the Year.

They just start swinging.

Nick Stuart: YOUNGBLOOD AND FLAMBERGE! FLAMBERGE AND YOUNGBLOOD!

Richard Parker: Mass hysteria!

Youngblood might be the bigger of the two men, but FLAMBERGE briefly gets an advantage with a hard knee to his gut. He goes to slam Youngblood’s head into the ring apron, but Youngblood blocks it and hits FLAMBERGE in the gut with an elbow. Then FLAMBERGE’s face hits the apron.

While they’re fighting, Max Kael has gotten to his feet. He snatches one of the steel chairs that one of the Spanish commentators was sitting on, raises it over his head, and charges in on the other assailants.

As it so happens, though, FLAMBERGE and Youngblood just so happen to create separation from each other at the exact moment that Max was going to hit one of them in the skull. So, Max hits the apron, and the very impact causes him to lose his grip on the chair and hold his hands in pain.

Both FLAMBERGE and Youngblood simultaneously smash him with elbows.

Nick Stuart: Nothing is going right for Max Kael so far!

Richard Parker: Don’t worry, Max has a plan!

Nick Stuart: Does he?

Does he?

If so, then I guess his plan definitely involves both FLAMBERGE and Youngblood each taking an arm and hurling Max into the crowd. Fortunately, they gave the crowd plenty of time to get the fuck out of the way before Max lands, back-first, into at least ten chairs. Strike!

The crowd reacts joyously to this act of violence, because Max flew very far, landed very hard, and absolutely deserved every second of it.

OHHHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: Max goes flying into the third row!

Richard Parker: Stop throwing people into the crowd! What if they’re all like Fred Dick and can’t get out of their chairs without five minutes, an order from the governor of Washington State, and at least three corruption charges to public officials?

Nick Stuart: …What?

Richard Parker: You know what I mean!

At this point, FLAMBERGE and Brandon Youngblood feel like Godzilla and King Ghidorah going blow for blow in the streets of Tokyo, and Max Kael feels like the unfortunate third wheel. The Jet Jaguar, if you will. This only ratchets up when FLAMBERGE picks up the fallen Max’s steel chair and Youngblood grabs the other end of it before FLAMBERGE can even lift it up to swing. They pull, a tug-of-war that Youngblood eventually wins. But as Youngblood readjusts his grip so that he could hold it by the legs, FLAMBERGE has plenty of time to go pick up another steel chair from underneath the ring.

It is a known science that skulls and steel chairs have a volatile chemical reaction. I don’t even think you need to fact check that like most nonsense that gets thrown out as an aside on PRIME shows. Speaking of things you shouldn’t fact check, it turns out that both Brandon Youngblood and FLAMBERGE have bachelor’s degrees in chemistry because they are definitely attempting to demonstrate this chemical reaction to each other.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

Both men swing their chairs at each other three times, but the only thing they hit is the other man’s chair. They could go at this for a while, if we let them.

But, well… someone isn’t very happy with being ignored over this pissing contest.

You see, the Herald has been lurking around them as they’re fighting, lugging the oversized “jolf bag” that he’s entirely too small and weak and pathetic to be carrying around. As Youngblood and FLAMBERGE size each other up for another round of steel chair jousting, a hand reaches into the Herald’s bag and pulls out the eight iron.

The “eight iron”, in this case, is the lighter steel chair. It swings faster. Really good for quickly making those tough shots, you know?

Nick Stuart: Max Kael is here with a chair!

As FLAMBERGE raises his chair into the air, Max Kael swings the “eight iron” across the chest.

smack

Richard Parker: I think that’s the eight iron, Nick.

Nick Stuart: …I’m assigning you the important role of knowing which of these stupid golf clubs these are supposed to be.

Richard Parker: Don’t worry, I did my research. First of all, it’s jolf. Hard J.

Nick Stuart: I already regret this.

FLAMBERGE falls to the ground like a sack of bricks, his chair falling with him to the ground. Youngblood sees this, but before he has time to process what just happened, Max thrusts the eight iron into his gut. That doubles him over and his chair clatters to the ground. Then Max swings the eight iron right into his back.

smack

You may have noticed the, uh… anemic sound that the eight iron made. Max Kael certainly noticed. He tosses the eight iron aside and marches over to the Herald.

Richard Parker: (in a low, careful whisper) Ah, yes. It would appear that Max Kael is consulting with his caddy about his choice of club here. On a long fairway such as the UltraViolence course, he might wish to opt for a slightly higher grade of club here. He’s… Yes, he is definitely cursing the name of Joe Fontaine right now over the quality of his jolf clubs that he legally obtained by means of an illegal act of professional wrestling assassination.

Nick Stuart: I really regret this.

Before Max actually chooses a club, he sees FLAMBERGE recovering. So he grabs him by the head and flings him bodily over a barrier…

CRASH!

…and into the timekeeper’s table.

OHHHHHHHHH!!!

With the former Universal champion put to pasture, Max plucks the nine iron – the normal, ordinary steel chair – and swings it at Brandon Youngblood.

One problem.

Youngblood has caught it. With one hand. Like a baws. Max’s eyes go as wide as saucers, as he very quickly comprehends what’s about to happen. You see, Brandon Youngblood is the Paterfamilias of Suplex, and often when he gets into the ring, he will introduce all to the Suplex Family Reunion. Don’t be afraid, Max Kael. This is simply the way of things.

The go-behind. The German suplex, the most famous of all suplexes and the true overachiever of the entire Suplex Family, slings Max down to the padded floor with authority and sending the “nine iron” flying.

Nick Stuart: German Suplex from Youngblood!

Richard Parker: Oh no!

Anyway.

Max bounces off of the ground and rolls to his feet, but he also doesn’t roll to a stand. No, this is Max on his feet while bent over so far forward that his face touches the ground. It looks very uncomfortable. The Herald withers away when Youngblood so much as glances at him, leaving Max to fend for himself for the time being.

Youngblood picks up Max and throws him back into the ring, mercifully allowing the match to enter the ring for the first time.

Nick Stuart: Back in the ring, finally… I think we can breathe a little easy now.

Richard Parker: I’ve been trying to convince Lindsay Troy to get us a blast shield to sit behind during these matches.

Nick Stuart: No luck?

Richard Parker: She laughed in my face.

Max holds up his hands, begging for forgiveness. Unfortunately, he’s dealing with a man who needs skulls for his skull throne. A man he had definitely threatened the family of in order to get inserted into this match. A man who has no qualms about dribbling him like a basketball for it.

Youngblood approaches, and Max goes for the thumb to the eyes.

But Youngblood has been in this rodeo before. Hell, he’s beaten Cancer Jiles multiple times. He knows how to deal with him. So when Max reaches up for the thumb to the eyes, Youngblood simply knucklelocks him. Have you ever had a really unpleasant handshake with a guy who’s trying very hard to crush your hand? It’s kind of like that. Only instead of another human man hand, what if that hand was practically bionic and could crush like a vise grip?

Max falls to his knees, in utter agony.

Then Youngblood rips him forward into his waiting arms and drops him nearly on his head with a Saito suplex.

OHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: Max Kael nearly got dropped on his head!

Richard Parker: Comrade!

Max flops over onto his knees, and sits there in a daze. Only the Minister is home, and he’s not very happy about the way the power outage is fucking with his internet connection right now. Youngblood bounces off the ropes and crushes Kael with a huge clothesline that sends him crashing to the mat.

BOOM!

Nick Stuart: Crushing lariat from Youngblood! He almost decapitated Max Kael with that one!

Richard Parker: And that would be a murder. Just saying.

Kael bounces up, less out of resilience and more because his body just happened to bounce up to his feet. Youngblood sees this and goes to bounce off the ropes again. Only, the strangest thing happens.

He goes flying over the top rope and hits the ground pretty hard.

That’s because FLAMBERGE grabbed the ropes. Again. As he is wont to do when it comes to Brandon Youngblood.

A little smirk appears on FLAMBERGE’s face as he looks down on his longtime rival, before he re-enters the ring. In the ring, Max seems almost thankful that FLAMBERGE has taken care of the Brandon Youngblood problem. Perhaps, he thinks, that he could reason with FLAMBERGE using his reason.

FLAMBERGE considers it. You know, for a moment. Like a microsecond, really.

He considers it for such a short length of time that you might actually think that he didn’t hesitate at all in kicking Max Kael so hard in the face that he’s going to wake up tomorrow looking like a raccoon.

Richard Parker: Jeeeeesus Christ.

Nick Stuart: Max Kael might not have a face after this.

Despite the fact that his face just got busted up, Max manages to poke FLAMBERGE in the eye. This stuns the Frenchmen, because even Collectors of Necks need eyesight. Max whirls around to face the Herald and shouts at him.

Richard Parker: (in a low, careful whisper) Max Kael seems to be calling for the six iron. Quite the useful instrument on the fairway, it can hit to the green quite well. It also has thumbtacks glued to it. Very important.

Nick Stuart: Stop it.

Joe Fontaine had previously described the “six iron” on social media as a steel chair with thumbtacks glued on it. It also, previously, had the name of the PRIME Universal Champion, Coral Avalon, written on it. Max has taken the liberty to cross it out and replace it with a different name. Well, half of a different name. Would it surprise anyone to know that Max Kael couldn’t remember how to properly spell FLAMBERGE’s name, and thus he got as far as “FLAM” before he gave up? No? Okay.

Anyhoodle.

The Herald finds the six iron in the comically oversized “jolf bag” and tosses it to Max.

There’s just one problem.

The Herald overthrows it, and the six iron somehow flies over Max’s head. How? Well, when you’ve spent the last two weeks lugging around an entire bag of “jolf clubs”, you build up some strength. The Herald could probably bench press a truck right now if you ever got him motivated enough to do so. That’s probably an exaggeration, but the Herald generally doesn’t make sense anyway.

One man does grab the flying six iron out of the air.

Nick Stuart: INTERCEPTION!

Richard Parker: Oh no!

FLAMBERGE would normally like to use his fists and feet to murder Max Kael. But he remembers walking in on Joe Fontaine carefully gluing thumbtacks to this chair. He remembers finding some amusement at Joe’s insistence at calling it a “jolf club”. And he sure as fuck remembers what Max Kael did to him.

SMACK!

OOHHHHHHH!!!

So then he just started blastin’.

A shot across the bow. A chairshot that is not in any way “safe” to take is made even less safe by the fact that it’s covered in thumbtacks. Several of them break off upon impact. The chair’s seat ends up giving way and Max is now wearing the remnants of the chair as a cursed necklace that gives him a -3 in consciousness. Pretty big penalty.

Hey, you know what would make Max’s life even worse right now?

What if, let’s say… FLAMBERGE were to decide that now was the time to collect Max Kael’s neck? Because that’s what he does. With the six iron still wrapped around a barely conscious Max’s head, FLAMBERGE grasps his head.

Nick Stuart: MARIE ANTOINETTE! CENTER OF THE RING! MAX KAEL MIGHT BE IN TROUBLE!

Richard Parker: No, he might be dead. Uh, again.

Under normal circumstances, FLAMBERGE has Max Kael dead to rights. Just like he had Ivan Stanislav dead to rights at last year’s Colossus before a now-suspiciously-disappeared referee called for the bell. There’s no way Max Kael could survive this. And even if Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell right now, it might take a team of burly security guards and a crowbar to pry FLAMBERGE off of Max right now. He might not even care that he’ll damage the neck beyond the point that it’d be worthless to display on the mantle.

However, while it isn’t a team of burly security guards with a crowbar, Brandon Youngblood has something more potent at his disposal.

An entire Suplex Family Reunion.

Youngblood’s arms lace themselves around FLAMBERGE’s waist, and with an unexpected force, the Diamond throws FLAMBERGE to the ground nearly head-first. FLAMBERGE hits the ground and rolls until he’s half-lying, half-seated against the bottom turnbuckle in a daze.

Nick Stuart: Max Kael almost suffered the same fate that Joe Fontaine suffered at his own hands, but Brandon Youngblood put a stop to it!

Max is dazed himself, but he manages to look up at Brandon Youngblood with an almost thankful expres—

Nope. He is suplexed.

The first one is a standard German suplex, the same that he delivered to FLAMBERGE. But this time, he hangs on and rolls over until he delivers a second one. This one, however, is different. This is one where Youngblood transitions into an uranage. This is all so Youngblood could mount him and start punching him in the face. A lot.

Max’s face, already busted up from FLAMBERGE’s kick earlier, can now be said to be wearing the crimson mask.

Nick Stuart: It’s getting uncomfortable out here.

Richard Parker: It’s Max Kael, he probably deserves this.

Youngblood stops punching him for a moment, almost to see if Max has anything left. He does. He holds up one middle finger. No, wait. Two. Two middle fingers. If he had more hands, there’d be that many more middle fingers. Youngblood punches him again.

And he might’ve kept going, but then he hears a familiar voice shout at him.

FLAMBERGE: ALORS, DICKHEAD!

Youngblood turns to the source of the voice, which pierces through the cacophony of fans.

SMAAAAACK!

It was the nine iron. And by that, I mean the “jolf club” that was the bog standard steel chair. It hits Youngblood across the top of his dome, only a token resistance of his hands coming up out of instinct to blunt the impact. The blow puts Youngblood on his stomach, and Max Kael is able to get out from under him.

He sees FLAMBERGE pick up the chair again to strike Max next.

Max decides, in this moment, that HE NEEDS FLAMBERGE’S BONES.

OHHHHHHH!!!!

Nick Stuart: A LOW BLOW FROM MAX KAEL!

FLAMBERGE’s vengeful expression turns to shock and then pain, and he topples over to the ground clutching his groin. It’d been a brutal punch.

Mainly because it wasn’t just a punch.

Nick Stuart: Wait, what does Kael have in his hand!?

Richard Parker: (in a low, careful whisper) Max appears to have selected the two iron. Yes, Joe Fontaine was very careful about the weight distribution of his jolf clubs, and you can see that in the fact that he had a set of brass knuckles made… with steel chair insignias on the knuckles.

Nick Stuart: WHY do you know so much about the jolf clubs!?

Richard Parker: I spent a week in a jolf correspondence course to prepare for this match.

Nick Stuart: ………

Max staggers like a wounded movie monster. He’s bleeding badly from a cut over his left eye, such that he’s forced to keep his eye shut to keep the blood from leaking into it. Nevertheless, he is wholly focused on his task of getting his murder on. He calls for the Herald to give him the next club.

Richard Parker: (in a low, careful whisper) Yes, clearly only a chipshot is needed from here, so Max is getting out th—WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?

That, my friend, is the three iron.

It’s a tiny, handheld novelty-sized steel chair. It’s probably something you’d build for a larger-than-average doll and not for a normal human person to sit on. The only thing about it is… It’s laced in razor wire.

This isn’t your mama’s steel chair, that’s for fucking sure.

As FLAMBERGE gets to his knees, Max comes up behind him and… well… There’s no kind way to say this: He tries to rip FLAMBERGE’s face off with the three iron.

OOOOOOHHHHH!!!

The squeamish may wish to turn their gaze from what’s happening right now. What you’re witnessing right now is Max Kael grinding a novelty-sized steel chair laced with barbed wire into a man’s face, and this is the world we now live in that you have to see this. Unsurprisingly, FLAMBERGE’s face is bleeding heavily after this grinding, and it’s only made worse when Max starts clubbing him over the head with the three iron.

Max only relents so he can adjust his grip on the three iron, like he wants to hit FLAMBERGE with his forearm using it. It rips into his hand just as much as it’d just ripped into FLAMBERGE’s face. He loads up for the Red Right Roaring Elbow. Forearm? Three Iron? Whatever. If he hits this, FLAMBERGE might just join Joe Fontaine in a hospital bed.

Max spins…

…and comes face to face with Brandon Youngblood.

Richard Parker: What is Brandon Youngblood made of!?

Suplexes, mostly.

Youngblood catches Max before he can finish his rotation. It’s another German suplex. Only, Youngblood has a high grip on it. End result?

Max lands right on the top of his head.

OOOOOOOOHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD.

Richard Parker: These three guys are going to kill each other!

The suplex took a lot of energy out of Youngblood, and all three men are down. There’s a buzzing in the crowd as Jimmy Turnbull begins a ten count. There’s a very real possibility that all three men could be counted out. At the count of seven, FLAMBERGE staggers to his feet with blood gushing from a myriad of wounds on his forehead. He looks like he tried to headbutt a weed whacker to death, and you should see the other guy. Brandon Youngblood appears to be punch-drunk, staggering the moment he’s on both feet again. Max Kael should be dead, but we all know that the grim reaper itself wants nothing to do with that crazy motherfucker.

The moment each of them sees the other, they stagger over and starts beating the fuck out of each other.

Nick Stuart: RIGHT HANDS! ALL OF THEM ARE LANDING RIGHT HANDS ON EACH OTHER!

If you’ve ever seen Yoshihiro Takayama and Don Frye do their famous fight, then it’s a lot like that if you added a third, equally surly individual in the fight. The punches are vicious. The punches are unrelenting. It all lasts for half of a minute.

Richard Parker: WHEN WILL THEY STOP!?

Until the gates of hell open up and swallows all three of them.

Or, in this case, until the fighting goes towards the ropes. That’s when Max knocks FLAMBERGE through the ropes with an elbow, which is almost immediately followed up when Youngblood hits Max with a clothesline that sends him over the top rope and to the floor.

Youngblood drops to one knee. He’s lost a fair amount of blood by now, much of which had pooled in the corner where he’d laid after FLAMBERGE hit him with the “nine iron”. He’s not able to join in the fight on the floor immediately.

Max Kael lands on his feet after the clothesline, but not in the cool way. Instead, Max staggers backwards until his back hits the guardrail. He looks over to see FLAMBERGE struggling to get to his feet, and he decides that he’s easy pickings over the wounded Papa Plex.

Nick Stuart: Max Kael is far more resilient than even I thought possible, he’s about to go after FLAMBERGE, an—OH!

FLAMBERGE decides, in this moment, that he wants his fucking bones back.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Max Kael’s oft-crazed expression is replaced with an expression of exquisite pain. Because FLAMBERGE has found the 3-iron that Max dropped when he was suplexed on his head earlier, and he decided to introduce that razor wire abomination to Max’s dickial region. That’s the most scientific terminology you’re getting out of that. Science is going out to lunch now, you can call it back during the main event.

Inside the ring, Brandon Youngblood tries to reach through the ropes to grab at FLAMBERGE. FLAMBERGE does the only sensible thing he can and he picks up the discarded and well-worn nine iron and takes another swing at his head.

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: JESUS!

Richard Parker: …Ladies and gentlemen, this is not the match for you if you’re a fan of wrestlers being able to think conscious thoughts.

Youngblood falls through the second ropes and down to the floor. FLAMBERGE drops the nine iron and starts punching Youngblood while he’s on the ground, a primal scream the entire time. Years of pent-up anger towards the Tower of Babel has finally boiled over.

But he’s not wholly consumed with anger, because he hears the words “two wood”.

FLAMBERGE whirls around and, like a coiled viper making its strike, he snatches the “two wood” from the hands of the Herald before he could give it to Max Kael. For your information, the two wood is just a bog standard wooden chair. Hence the name. The Herald’s eyes go as wide as saucers. Because FLAMBERGE has no qualms doing what he’s about to do to him.

KABOOM!

Richard Parker: JESUS!

There’s a lot of Jesus going on around here, just saying.

The Herald has the broken chair wrapped around his hair, and he just stands there as frozen as a statue. Then, much like a statue, he falls to the ground as stiff as a board.

Max Kael’s eyes go red, and it’s not just because he’s bleeding in one of those eyes. No one abuses the Herald. No one but him. Max grabs one of the broken shards of the two wood and attacks FLAMBERGE, aiming the sharp point of the shard towards his eye. FLAMBERGE blocks it. He has no other choice if he wants to keep his eye.

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE needs to fight this man off! We have a strict no eyepatches policy in PRIME!

Don’t let Henry Keyes hear you say that.

FLAMBERGE ends up tripping over the fallen corpse of the Herald, and now Max Kael is on top of him, ready to drive this spike through his eyeball. Fans are screaming. People are screaming. FLAMBERGE is screaming. Max is screaming.

But the reason Max is screaming is because of the vise grip around his waist.

Nick Stuart: YOUNGBLOOD! YOUNGBLOOD HAS MAX BY THE WAIST!

Brandon Youngblood is not easily dissuaded by mere chairshots to the skull. The adrenaline is too much. He’d keep coming at you until his body literally falls apart, and even then you couldn’t be sure if he wouldn’t spring up from the dead just to suplex you again. That’s just how BY rolls, y’all.

Max, in his desperation, tries to break Youngblood’s grip by stabbing him in the arms repeatedly with his wooden spike. Unfortunately for him, he does break the grip… to grab his wrist. Then he grabs the other wrist. Max’s arms are now trapped within the vise grip. Then, without a care in the world over whether Max Kael survives the landing, Brandon Youngblood pops them hips.

OHHHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: DEAR GOD!

Richard Parker: That’s it. He’s dead. Again.

Max, as you might have surmised, has landed almost on his head. Unprotected, of course. Reckless abandon is the family crest of the Suplex Family. He lands hard and doesn’t get up again.

Youngblood goes to pick FLAMBERGE up off of the ground, but FLAMBERGE plants both feet in Youngblood’s chest and shoves him off. He scrambles to his feet, just as Youngblood does, and the two meet in a clash of fists once more.

Nick Stuart: It’s back to FLAMBERGE and Youngblood! They’re fighting out here on the floor!

Like we said earlier, this is a fight between Godzilla and King Ghidorah. It’s a fight that’s sure to create collateral damage if you got in their way. It’s a fight where we’re 98% certain that Brandon Youngblood has nuclear breath and FLAMBERGE would grow three more heads if you took his current one off.

Here, there be monsters.

FLAMBERGE catches Youngblood with a knee, and drags him closer up the entryway. It’s a long path from the ring to the stage, but two of the most dreaded men in PRIME’s history are battling it out the entire way. One right hand would send FLAMBERGE further up towards the stage, only for FLAMBO to judo toss Youngblood even further. They move up the ramp, and…

THUD.

That’s Brandon Youngblood bodily tossing FLAMBERGE halfway up the ramp with a released vertical suplex.

Nick Stuart: They’ve fought all the way up to the damn stage here! And Brandon Youngblood has the advantage here!

Richard Parker: They can’t win the goddamn match out there, though! They need to get back into the ring!

That’s the whole reason Jimmy Turnbull’s followed them this far. Youngblood and FLAMBERGE have well and truly lost the plot, their emotions getting the better of them, their desire to murder Max Kael for his crimes having been pushed aside once again for their mutual desire to once again settle a score that’s been going for two whole years.

They finally make it to the stage, though it’s mostly because FLAMBERGE is dragged the rest of the way by Youngblood. A waistlock soon follows, and it’s a familiar position. A contentious one. He lifts him like he’s going for the Diamondplex, but there’s too much sweat and blood. Youngblood’s grip loosens. FLAMBERGE spins around just enough…

Nick Stuart: MARIE ANTOINETTE!

The guillotine choke has its hooks in, but for the same reasons that Youngblood couldn’t get a strong grip for the Diamondplex, FLAMBERGE can’t fully keep the choke locked in. Youngblood grabs FLAMBERGE’s waist. At times, he’s able to pry FLAMBERGE off and threaten to complete a front-facing version of the Randallplex, but each time he does, FLAMBERGE manages to shift himself back into the Marie Antoinette. Something has to give, though, whether it’s FLAMBERGE’s grip or Youngblood’s seemingly infinite stamina.

Or…

Hear me out.

What if, hypothetically, we introduce a little bit of chaos to this mix?

Because Max Kael has staggered up the ramp like the unkillable zombie while this desperate struggle has been going on. Yet again, Max sees FLAMBERGE and Brandon Youngblood fighting without involving him, and it angers him to the core to be so ignored. FLAMBERGE sees him first, but he can’t do anything about it. If he lets up at all against Brandon Youngblood, he was going to get Diamondplexed onto the stage and possibly be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He can’t do anything. Neither can Brandon Youngblood, who can’t even see what’s about to happen.

Nick Stuart: No, no, NO!!!

A lot of things happen in a very short amount of time. Max builds up steam and rams his body into Youngblood and FLAMBERGE. The force is just enough to send both of them flying off of the stage. The only problem is that Max, in his jilted hubris, fails to realize that both Youngblood and FLAMBERGE chose that moment to grab hold of Max’s arms. Grasping at whatever they could to prevent their certain doom. The end result is that Max, too, is sent flying off of the stage.

Below the stage is something like a production island. There’s important things there, the kind of technical whatsits that the layman usually isn’t aware of. The point is, all three of these fall into that island and…

BOOM BOOM BOOM KA-BOOOOOOOOOM!!!

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Nick Stuart: JESUS CHRIST!

Richard Parker: Dear God.

We’ve sure been yelling that a lot, and when you fall into an area that promptly explodes in sparks and somehow catches fire, you’d probably be yelling that too.

HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!

Staff immediately hits the area with fire extinguishers. There is human wreckage amidst the rest of the wreckage. Blood and broken bodies.

Nick Stuart: GET SOME HELP OUT HERE! GOOD GOD!

Jimmy Turnbull, standing helplessly on the top of the stage, can only do his due diligence and start a ten count.

One.

Two.

Three.

FLAMBERGE flops over onto his stomach and lays still.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Brandon Youngblood reaches up to the sky, before his arm falls back to earth.

Seven.

Eight.

Max Kael twitches a little bit.

Nine.

But none of them can get up.

TEN.

DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Immediately after the bell is rung, there is chaos. The crowd is unhappy about the lack of a definitive result, a chorus of BULLSHIT ringing out across Lumen Field. PRIME’s medical team, headed up by Dr. Astrid Fihlguud, is immediately out there to check on the conditions and well-being of all three men as they lay unmoving in the wreckage.

Nick Stuart: I… I never thought this would escalate to this point.

Richard Parker: These guys just beat the blood out of each other the whole time, like three very territorial badgers duking it out. With steel chairs. Something had to give, just… Yeah.

Nick Stuart: Thank God we have doctors on site in case of things like this.

Richard Parker: At this rate, we might need some more priests. Does Don Winters work overtime?

Nick Stuart: (audibly sighing) Folks, we need to move on. We hope we can get Brandon Youngblood, FLAMBERGE, and Max Kael some medical attention as soon as possible, and that they’re alright in the end.

The cameras continue focusing on the parade of officials and doctors surrounding the fallen combatants, before we cut backstage.

Ah yes, Lumen Field.

The two-time Guiness World Record holder for the loudest crowd roar in an outdoor stadium.

A veritable field of dreams.

The best place to see a wrasslin’ match in all of Seattle…

But we’re not interested in any of that. No, our cameras are settling a few miles to the east, across the train tracks, on other, more important matters. UltraViolence is cool and everything, there’s a lot of great matches, and it will almost assuredly be another slam dunk PPV in PRIME’s long history of slammin’ dunks, but… you ever get the feeling it’s missing a little bit of edge? Oomph? Pizazz? You ever feel like you might want something else, something better, an alternative event for the real sickos?

Let’s back up.

The place is Seattle’s Chinatown-International District, the CID. Beneath the Paifang archway and further still to where the streets hang with paper lanterns, where the language on the signs shift English to a secondary language, where the night market is in full swing. We’re not interested in any of that either. We’re interested in a nondescript, dirty, graffiti-covered alleyway. We’re interested in an equally nondescript, dirty, graffiti-covered door at the end of that alleyway. The door opens to reveal a narrow staircase leading down into a darkened basement.

Somewhere below, a crowd roars, screams, fights. People have filled this tiny basement, gathered in a circle, and the camera pushes through to see what’s happening at the center of it all: two shirtless men are bare knuckle boxing, bloodied and bruised, slamming their bodies into the cement floor… and there amongst it all, rising above the crowd on a custom-made rhinestone throne, watching the fight with something between boredom and annoyance, is none other than Daytona goddang Diamonds.

A banner hangs above his head. It reads, in big, bold letters:

ULTRADIAMONDS 2024
‘THE RHINESTONE TOURNEY’
$30 ENTRY FEE PER PERSON
FIGHT DAYTONA DIAMONDS AND WIN ONE OF HIS LEAST-WORN HATS!

We’ve been here before, albeit to a lesser extent. Chicago, UltraViolence 2023, in a parking garage outside of Soldier Field. Daytona was new to the company and didn’t have a match, so what did he do? He set up shop out of the back of his truck and offered the fans a chance to fight him for twenty bucks a pop! Later, he was arrested and his truck was impounded. Even later, he was fined for his little stunt by Lindsay Troy

In all likelihood, he’ll be fined for this too.

As one of the shirtless men in the ‘ring’ (we’ll call him ‘Peckerwood’ for the sake of simplicity) lands a slobberknockin’ punch on the other shirtless man’s (we’ll call him ‘Dicknose’) jaw, a slow grin curls across the corners of Daytona’s lips. Dicknose goes falling towards the floor, a couple teeth now missing and blood leaking from his busted lip and Peckerwood stands triumphant, wincing as he lifts his arms in the air. The crowd is worked into a frenzy, shouting and cheering as Daytona stands from his throne, clapping his hands together before lifting a megaphone to his mouth.

Daytona Diamonds: Goddang! What a fuckin’ fight, huh?! Let’s hear it for these two sonuvabitches! C’mon now, give it up for ‘em!

The crowd begins to chant ‘PECK-ER-WOOD!’ in unison, right on cue. Daytona just grins.

Daytona Diamonds: Alright, alright, that’ll do! We ain’t wantin’ to get the cops turnin’ up to shut this shitshow down ‘fore we get to the finals, ain’t that right? Speakin’ of the finals, though…

The Rhinestone Cowboy steps down from his throne and the crowd parts like the Red Sea. Diamonds walks between the crowd of onlookers and right up to where Peckerwood stands, hands on his hips, breath gone heavy, blood and sweat dribbling from his forehead. Daytona puts a hand on Peckerwood’s shoulders, looking at him with a look of… appreciation? Respect? Disgust?

Daytona Diamonds: You done went and done it, Peckerwood! Y’all made it to the finals! You got one fight left and then you get to fight me! For my hat! What a fuckin’ champ, huh?!

Once again, the crowd hoots and hollers. Peckerwood looks mighty pleased with himself, waving to the fans even as his jaw aches and bruises have already formed on his enraged skin.

Daytona Diamonds: Well, whaddya say, Peckerwood? You got any words goin’ into this last match…?

Daytona extends the megaphone out to Peckerwood’s cracked, swollen lips.

Peckerwood: I just… I just wanna say… dreams do come true!

Cheers. Fanfare. More chants of ‘PECK-ER-WOOD!’ ring through the dingy little basement before Daytona lifts his hand, telling the crowd to pipe down.

Daytona Diamonds: Atta boy, Peckerwood! Don’t let no one say you ain’t worth a damn, alright? You’re a fuckin’ bruiser, baby! A bare knuckle brawler! Hell, you got me shakin’ in my boots a little bit! But say… let’s not get ‘head of ourselves, alright? You still gotta face the mystery opponent, ain’tcha? You still got to go up against… the one… the only…

From the fringes of the rabid crowd, a giant fat man with red hair falls into the center, directly across from Peckerwood. The crowd quiets momentarily as everyone watches to see what his first move will be. The Peckerwood sizes him up, smiling to himself and thinking this will be easy game.

Fat Man: I, uh…

Voice From the Crowd: Aww, shit- get the fuck out of my way, will ya?

Daytona Diamonds: ROB GODDANG WILLIAMS!

No sooner does Daytona finish enunciating the final S does Rob Williams push past the heavyweight. The crowd goes absolutely ape shit, liquor and bodily fluid flying everywhere. Defeat crosses Peckerwood’s face, his dreams lifting from his body like smoke from the burning cigarette loosely held in Williams’ lips before giving way to the elements to disappear forever. This man knows the feeling of so many brave souls whose bodies have become the guide paths up Mount Everest. Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight.

Williams doesn’t wait for any further ado, splitting the distance between them like a bolt of lightning in the night sky. An expertly placed right hook lands on Peckerwood’s jaw, which turns out to be made of glass. The man who has spent the night abusing out of shape wrestling fans for a few beers and a wink from old Double D now folds in a most inhumane fashion.

Rob Williams: Two hits, boy. I hit you and your dick hits the dirt. Now where’s my fucking hat?

Daytona Diamonds is cackling, pulling the megaphone back up to his lips.

Daytona Diamonds: Ladies and gentlemen, I ain’t even gotta fight ol’ Robbie Williams to know he’s the winner of The Rhinestone Tourney! Let’s hear it for The Goddang Legend!

Some of the fans seem disappointed. Others are too shitfaced to care, clapping wildly as Daytona rushes back to his throne to grab the awaiting prize: a black hat covered in sparkling rhinestones and golden filigree. He holds it up high as he carries it back to Rob Williams, presenting it with two proffered hands as if it’s the most important, priceless trophy a fighter could ever hope to win.

It’s not, but y’know, let’s play along for Daytona’s sake.

Daytona Diamonds: Here it is, buddy. You bested the only other fighter here worth a dang. It’s yours. Robbie the Peckerwood Slayer! Yeehaw!

Williams takes the hat with a smirk, sliding it onto the crown of his head. While it matches the motif of his boots and general bravado, it just isn’t him. Still, he’ll cherish it. He snorts, spitting beside him and wrapping an arm around Daytona.

Rob Williams: Mighty kind, Daytona – mighty kind. Been trying to get a word with you since before War Games. Had to crucify a preacher and perform emergency dental on poor Peckerwood just to get it. And now here we are.

Daytona Diamonds: S’that right, Robbie? Well, hell, I ain’t too hard to find. Been thinkin’ ‘bout pickin’ your brain ‘bout a little matter anyway, so why don’t we just go ‘head and call that sweet, sweet serendipity?

There’s cogs turning in the ol’ cowpoke’s head, each one nearly spinning off their gears on account of the cocaine that’s almost definitely stuffed up his nose. He lifts the megaphone to his lips one last time.

Daytona Diamonds: Dicks and pussies, that’s ‘bout the end of this here show, folks! Y’all ain’t gotta go home, but you sure as shit can’t stay here!

The crowd begins to mosey towards the exit, a couple of Peckerwood’s buddies peeling the poor sucker off the floor. Daytona turns back to Rob and gives him a quick slap on the back, punctuating it with a wink and that trademark, not-at-all foreboding grin.

Daytona Diamonds: Now, what say you and me do a bit of spitballin’, huh? Think I got a couple propositions y’all might be interested in and it ain’t got nothin’ to do with no crucifixion business. C’mon, let’s go on and take a load off, ol’ buddy.

As Daytona and Rob start walking towards the back of that dingy little basement, Daytona turns and points towards the camera.

Daytona Diamonds: And turn that goddang camera off! Ain’t needin’ no eyes on this here schemin’!

And just like that, the scene fades.Some folks might be wondering what’s happening, what evil plot might be unfolding in a basement somewhere in Seattle, but…

Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.

And we move along.

The UltraViolence feed cuts away from Daytona and his diamonds to someone who must be lost.

There, standing in front of the steel door to the Principal’s Office, is none other than Mr. Night Two himself, Cancer Jiles. Instead of knocking, and being polite, because that would mean he knows the meaning of the word, he chooses to enter like he owns the place.

Lindsay Troy: Sure, dickhead, why don’t you just walk right in.

Jiles looks like you’d imagine: FB tracksuit, T-shades, simmering alfredo hair, and a cockroachy smile that stretches from ear to ear. Lady Troy has got her executive thing going on, not that she couldn’t beat someone’s ass if need be, and she’s not in the greatest of moods given what went down with Ivan and Johnny Dorn just moments ago.

Cancer Jiles: I… did? Thanks, I guess? Do you want me to ask if it’s okay to sit down?

The COOLYMPIAN chuckles to himself, and as he goes to take his seat…

Lindsay Troy: Yes, I want you to ask if it’s okay to sit down.

The star of Night Two sighs, exaggeratedly of course. He knows better than to question the Queen’s seriousness. Especially if he wants this conversation to go in his favor.

Cancer Jiles: Fine. Can I sit?

Lindsay Troy: Not if you’re going to ask me like that you can’t.

Again Jiles sighs, very much in the same vein as just prior.

Cancer Jiles: Fine. You win. You are the greatest. Can I please sit down and talk to you about something? It’s very important and I think after hearing me out you’ll agree. I mean, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.

That was a Night One reference.

Cancer Jiles: By the way, your nails look wonderful and I love what you’ve done to your hair.

A few seconds of stalemating pass.

Lindsay Troy: Sit, but make this quick, Pizmo.

Jiles takes a seat.

Cancer Jiles: I meant that about your hair–

Lindsay Troy: Quicker!

Cancer Jiles: Last time I was in a match for the Universal Championship we all know what happened…

Lindsay Troy: You lost the belt to Hayes at Colossus, and haven’t stopped crying about it since.

Ouch.

Cancer Jiles: Yes, that is somewhat true, but the only reason I lost was because Timo decided to stick his painted nose in my business.

Lindsay Troy: Timo? Been a while for you, huh Piz?

Ouch.

Cancer Jiles: I haven’t noticed, Queen. Regardless, I don’t trust the ref for tomorrow night. I want someone I know who will call it down the middle. Someone of integrity. Someone who’s going to keep their whistle in their pocket and let the chips fall where they may. I mean, is that so wrong? Like you said, it’s been a while for me. Fair is fair, right Mom?

Lindsay Troy: Is that so?

Cancer Jiles: That is so.

Lindsay Troy: Fair is fair, you say?

Cancer Jiles: I did. I do.

Acting interested, the Queen of the Ring continues to play along.

Lindsay Troy: Fine. I’ll bite. Who’d you have in mind?

Cancer Jiles: Well, I think a Bandit would be fine. After all, it is Bandit versus Bandit. Bobby, Dooze, Tony, if Hessian is not too banged up.

Lindsay Troy: No Cardboard Dan?

Cancer Jiles: Between us I think he’s a little jealous of Coral, and I don’t want an unfair advantage.

Lindsay Troy: (rolling her eyes) How noble of you.

Confident, King COOL eases back and kicks his feet up on LT’s desk. If he had a cigar, it’d be hanging from out of his mouth and he’d be puffing on it.

Lindsay Troy: Well let’s see. We all know Bobby can’t count unless he’s counting how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop. Doozer is lost at sea. I don’t trust Gamble as far as I can launch him with a catapult, and Angelus is in your pocket because of his stupid, misplaced integrity. And if Cardboard Dan is out…

She smirks, just a little.

Lindsay Troy: I guess that leaves… me.

Jiles is stunned. He’s speechless. Shell-shocked. He is so caught off guard his head turns sideways like a confused dog.

Lindsay Troy: For one night only I eggcept your standing offer to join the Bandits.

Yeah, Jiles still hasn’t moved. If anything, it seems he’s even more stifled than before.

Lindsay Troy: Not only that, I will give you what you want and a Bandit will be the referee.

Impossible to tell if King COOL has even blinked because of the T-shades but chances are that’s a no.

Lindsay Troy: Loathe as I am to admit it, you were right. Fair is fair. You get your wish, and I get to watch as the life leaves your body from the best seat in the house.

Still nothing from the Night Two challenger.

Lindsay Troy: Now get your feet off my desk and the fuck out of my office. I guess you could say your Queen for an evening decrees it.

Ha.

We move on.

Nick Stuart: Well, Richard. The time has come. Our night one main event, the Tag Team Tournament Final!

Richard Parker: The PRIME Tag Team Championship will be decided right here and I for one couldn’t be more JACKED MY DAWG.

“Big Dawgs” by Hanumankind hits the speakers.

Richard Parker: AND HERE’S. THEM. BIG. DICK. STALLIONS. A. K. A. THEM. RARE. BOOOOOOOYS!!!

UH YEAH UH YEAH

UH YEAH UH YEAH

UH YEAH UH YEAH

UH YEAH UH YEAH

WAIT A MINUTE

GET IT HOW HE LIVE IT

TEN TOES IN WHEN WE STANDIN’ ON BUSINESS (I’MA)

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the PRIME TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS! Introducing first, at a combined weight of 604 pounds… THE BIG DICK STALLIONS, AKA, THEM RARE BOYS!

Fred Dick and STRONK! Godson step out from the back, led by Reed Young. They griddy all the way down the entrance ramp. They’ve actually gotten pretty decent at it by this point, and they griddy all the way to the ring before rolling under the bottom ropes.

Fred motions towards his waist, suggesting they plan to win the belts.

STRONK screams at the top of his lungs.

STRONK: STRONK AND MAMA DICK ARE HERE TO CRUSH FRAIL HUMANS’ ASSES AND GRIND THEIR FRAIL HUMAN ASSES UP IN OUR TEETH AND SPIT THEM OUT AND WIPE STRONK AND MAMA DICK’S WELL-ENDOWED HORSE ASSES WITH THE CHEWED UP PIECES OF FRAIL HUMAN ASSES.

Nick Stuart: Interesting!

STRONK: THE GOLD IS STRONK AND MAMA DICK’S! YES!

Nick Stuart: Well, we’ll see what this next team has to say about that!

The Seattle 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 have been on quite a run to get to this championship match!

Richard Parker: They cheat, look at them.

Nick Stuart: What? The Anglo Luchador and Zapp have been a breath of fresh air compared to, well, BOTH opponents tonight.

Richard Parker: Depends on who’s eyes you look at it from, Nick.

Nick Stuart: No, I don’t think so Richard. It’s pretty cut and dry.

Vince Howard: Introducing second, 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. Eventually they make it to the ring.

The arena lights cut out and strobing white lights shine from the floor near the entrance at the top of the ramp. An awful and untalented bass line booms from the PA system, followed by an overly dramatized Boston Irish accent.

This one’s going out to all the scumbags, lowlifes, and outsiders.

Fuck Your Tag Team appears at the top of the ramp, the white light shining from the floor behind them, casting vast shadows across the ring of their outlines. “Wasted Youth Crew” by Blood for Blood offends the ears of everyone in the arena.

Fuck you

Fuck you

Fuck you

and fuck society too.

Rob Williams and Anna Daniels look locked in, staring at their opponents as they slowly make their way to the ring, ignoring the jeers of the fans. Rob slaps the popcorn out of a fan’s hands before climbing into the ring.  Anna dances around avoiding every fan’s hand that goes to reach out for her before sliding under the bottom rope and slithering to her feet.

Fuck you

fuck you

fuck you

and fuck the world.

Vince Howard: AND FINALLY – The team of ANNA DANIELS! And ROB WILLIAMS! FUCK YOUR TAG TEAM!

All the teams make their way to the ring, and huddle up in the corner. Reed Young is giving intense instructions to Fred Dick and STRONK Godson, while Anna looks across the ring and sees TAL. She moves to the front of the line for their team, and points over to The Luchador. STRONK steps into the ring for Big Dick Stallions.

Nick Stuart: Looks like STRONK is going to be starting for BDS and for FYTT it looks like Anna Daniels is going to be leading off.

Richard Parker: And that stupid luchador for the fake twins.

Nick Stuart: I thought you said they were real?

Richard Parker: Fake news.

DING DING 

The bell sounds and Anna Daniels shoots out of the corner like a missile towards The Anglo Luchador, TAL engages with a looping right hand but Daniels ducks under, The Muse swings a leg around and tries to sweep the feet of The Anglo Luchador out from under him. TAL manages to step out of the way with two steps on the bottom rope, springboards off and hits Anna Daniels with an arm drag. TAL spins towards STRONK who just gives him the blankest of blank stares.

Nick Stuart: STRONK Godson is just watching as Anna Daniels and TAL go at it.

Richard Parker: Smart strategy.

Nick Stuart: I think he’s just a bit confused.

TAL shrugs, turns and tries a blind Pele kick at The Muse, but Anna slides out of the way and rotates with a wicked roundhouse kick but TAL leans back, limboing below the ballistic missile like shot. Daniels momentum rotates her halfway around and she drops down on TAL with an elbow drop that connects across the chest. Reed Young walks up the steps and huddles with Fred for a moment who turns and says something to STRONK. He nods, and Reed claps like four hundred times as he walks down the steps chanting BDS.

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels finally caught TAL!

Richard Parker: Took something unexpected from The Muse, but she brained that dork with that falling elbow.

Nick Stuart: STRONK hasn’t moved.

Richard Parker: KEEP CONSERVING STRONKY BABY! YOU GOT THIS!

Daniels lands and starts to bend TAL’s left arm by slipping her left arm behind his head and grabbing his wrist while pressing upwards on the bottom of the elbow with her right. She yanks forward and TAL lets out a yelp as Daniels continues the pressure, TAL slips a right hand in and the arm comes free for a moment but Daniels recovers in a more dangerous position.

Nick Stuart: KIMURA LOCK!

Richard Parker: Ow! STOP CONSERVING NOW! YOU HAVE TO SAVE THE IDIOT SO YOU CAN CHOKE HIM!

Fred Dick can be seen whispering in STRONK’s ear, as TAL struggles and flops his way like a salmon swimming upstream to get his toe on the rope. Fred, for all his stupidity, is a dangerous man. And while Nixon slides around to tell The Muse about the rope break Fred wanders his way into action. Fred walks very carefully down the apron and grabs TAL’s leg and drops off the apron causing the Luchador to cry out, as Daniels waits a full five count to remove herself from TAL’s back. She steps off holding her hands out as Fred very slowly walks his way back to the corner.

Richard Parker: Opportunistic, but still conserving! Way to show STRONK such a great example Mama Dick!

Nick Stuart: I don’t quite understand the strategy here, but Fred is whispering in STRONK’s ear.

STRONK sits his ace on the bottom rope while Fred places his large ace above him on the middle rope.

Nick Stuart: They are sitting.

Richard Parker: Conserving!

Scatino paces on the outside of the ropes while TAL writhes, holding multiple limbs in the wrong side of town. Daniels yanks the Luchador up by his mask and whips him into her and Williams’ corner. TAL goes in unquestioned, but takes a shot to the kidneys from Williams. He stumbles out of the corner and Daniels absolutely levels him with a roundhouse kick to the skull. TAL spins around in a full 360 and falls neckfirst across the middle rope. Fred looks down the ring at Williams and begins yelling and screaming, waiving Nixon over towards STRONK. Rob sprints down and drops TAL’s neck across the middle rope. Reed Young is still just clap clappity clapping away.

Nick Stuart: TAL’s neck!

Richard Parker: Smart move by the former Five Star Champion.

Zapp tries to step through the ropes and go after Daniels, but Fred happens to let Nixon go just in time and Nixon stops Zapp from interfering. He begins shouting at Nixon about Williams who gives Dick a point as he climbs up onto the apron.

Nick Stuart: Are Williams and Dick working together or am I seeing things?

Richard Parker: I believe we could be watching some sort of handicap match.

Daniels, not one to ignore an advantage slips her way out to the apron and sprints down the apron and hammers TAL with a low dropkick. TAL spins his way out to the apron and Daniels grins as she gets to her feet. Daniels kips up to her feet on the apron, almost inhumanly. She saunters forward towards TAL who has conveniently propped himself against the ring post of the Williams/Daniels corner.

Nick Stuart: It’s like trying to wrestle the entire senate as Julius Caesar right now. Knives everywhere.

Richard Parker: Et tu Fred?

Nixon tries to wave Daniels off, but she dismisses Elvis Nixon with a simple wave of her hand. She lunges forward suddenly and violently, smashing her knee into TAL’s face. The Luchador clutches his skull and slumps to the side. First leaning his head against the inside of Anna’s knee. She takes a step forward and TAL rolls down the ring steps head first. Rob Williams starts clapping for Anna as she turns around. Elvis Nixon starts counting, but Daniels has no intention of it getting to that. She drags the luchador up by the mask and rolls him under the bottom rope. Reed is still out there a clapping. Just clapping along to some song on his head. His hands have to be hurting.

Nick Stuart: She absolutely leveled TAL with that knee. That was unreal! Absolutely brutal!

Richard Parker: Whatever brain matter TAL had left is somewhere at the bottom of those ring steps! Jeeeesus!

Daniels walks up the ring steps, and steps into the ring. She kicks an arm of TAL’s away from the ropes, and steps on the center of his chest and stares back and forth at STRONK and Zapp. Nixon gets down for the count a little suspiciously, expecting Godson or Zapp to engage.

ONE!

TWO!

STRONK steps forward and tries to push Daniels off of The Anglo Luchador but Daniels steps off herself to engage Godson who immediately begins backing up to his own corner away from Anna Daniels. Anna, very confused, stops and looks at STRONK and Fred Dick, Fred, ace down on the middle rope while Godson slowly walks back to the corner as Dick gives a few claps to STRONK and pats him on the back. Guess what Reed does? Clap.

Nick Stuart: I have no idea what I’m watching.

Richard Parker: We’re watching the tag league final, Nick.

Nick Stuart: I know, Richard. I mean, what the fuck is going on here?

Richard Parker: I have no clue.

Daniels looks back to Williams confused, Zapp Scatino is probably trying to figure out how fucked, double fucked, or triple fucked they are right now. The Anglo Luchador is coming to terms with his 847th concussion currently, and is staring at the lights, possibly wondering if he’s dead. Elvis Nixon is just as lost as the rest of the world about what’s become of the tag league final.

Nick Stuart: I’ve been doing this a long time.

Richard Parker: Me too.

Nick Stuart: I’ve never seen anything like this. Twenty years, Richard. Twenty years.

Richard Parker: Yeah, no, no idea.

Reed Young, just claps along. His hands have to be numb. Zapp, well he does what he’s supposed to do and holds his arm out for TAL. He starts to move, so that’s positive. Daniels has had enough of whatever the fuck all of this is and lunges at STRONK Godson and smashes him in the skull with a leaping knee strike. Fred Dick stumbles up off the middle turnbuckle with his hands in the air surprised.

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels is done with this conserve energy idea.

Richard Parker: Yeah, I mean, great strategy to start though. STRONK’s so fresh.

STRONK is not very fresh at the moment as he stumbles backwards into the corner. TAL manages to rotate in the general direction of his corner. The fans are sure that he is now still with the living and hasn’t been resurrected by some witchcraft. Daniels unloads on STRONK, a running knee to the midsection, followed by two right high kicks to the face. Reed has stopped clapping and is now shouting with Fred Dick at Godson.

Nick Stuart: TAL’s getting pretty close to his corner.

Richard Parker: He hasn’t figured out what planet he’s on, let alone that he’s in a match with a partner.

The shouting for Godson may have been a bit too late as Anna hammers a knee into a kneeling Godson’s mouth. STRONK rolls to his side and spits a wad of very heavy, very viscous blood out of his mouth. The Anglo Luchador has learned how to drag himself across the floor like an infant, but it’s not quick going. Scatino holds his arm out, and TAL finally gets a burst of energy and dives towards the ropes and makes the tag.

Nick Stuart: What the hell is Zapp going to do.

Richard Parker: No clue.

Scatino steps through the ropes, surveys the situation, and decides the best course of action is to sprint across the ring and punch the not looking Rob Williams right in the teeth. Williams explodes off the apron like he’s shot out of a cannon and Scatino is on a different kind of warpath and makes a beeline down the apron towards Fred Dick.

Nick Stuart: I think they all forgot about the people they were supposed to be beating up.

Richard Parker: I have no idea what’s happening.

Scatino, a master of chaos excels in this situation and spears Fred Dick backwards off the steps and they smash into Reed Young, who is also paying absolutely zero attention to what’s going on until it’s all too late. Daniels, distracted by the momentarily flying Scatino, Dick, and Young lets a STRONK Godson get a very thicc hand around her wrist.

Nick Stuart: SCATINO JUST TOOK DICK OUT!

Richard Parker: What the hell is Scatino doing?

Nick Stuart: ZAPP IS LEANING INTO THE CHAOS!

Scatino picks Dick up and smashes him into the steel steps, Elvis Nixon is shouting to whatever god or spiritual being that will listen to help him get control of this match, and Rob Williams starts to get to his feet, but Scatino half runs, half stumbles away from the bodies of Fred and Reed. He stumbles towards a recovering Williams and blasts him with a short arm clothesline. TAL is still dead btw.

RAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Nick Stuart: This crowd is losing it, Elvis Nixon is losing it.

Richard Parker: I’ve been lost since the third minute.

Daniels kicks STRONK’s arm forcing him to let go of her wrist, but it lets STRONK establish a base and he’s able to press up to his feet. Daniels tries to slide a kick in on STRONK’s knee but Godson hammers her with a right hand to the body. Daniels stumbles backwards and Godson lunges forward.

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels might have her hands full here.

Richard Parker: STRONK with another left hand bodyshot!

STRONK smashes Daniels who immediately gets out of range of whatever the hell that is. She stumbles to her corner but realizes what’s going on outside is a little worse than anticipated. She turns back towards STRONK and and swings a roundhouse kick that forces Godson to step backwards.

Nick Stuart: The big guy doesn’t want that thing anywhere near him.

Richard Parker: Reed Young is a supreme strategist. He guided JCH to the Universal title! Look at what he’s done for these boys!

STRONK doesn’t stay on the defensive, and Daniels finds herself in a quick game of cat and mouse to reset the ring. Nixon turns officiate, whatever is actually happening behind him. TAL has found his way to leaning against the ropes. But sitting and facing the crowd, he slowly gets to his feet.

Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador might be done.

Richard Parker: That gas tank is on E!

Nick Stuart: He took a beating from Daniels.

Scatino, still the arbiter of absolute chaos has rolled Williams into the ring. He dives in after him, and Elvis Nixon is back to shouting. Zapp ignores it and throws Williams into the back of Godson. Williams hits the ground and STRONK turns around into a right hand from Scatino that drives STRONK backwards into the corner.

Nick Stuart: Scatino is a big man too!

Richard Parker: Not STRONK big though.

He is indeed a large boy though, and the two men crash into Daniels. He is however, not quite STRONK, and Godson hurls Scatino backwards into Rob Williams who stumbles backwards into the Whoresman corner and into a recently aproned Fred Dick. Fred flies backwards, and lands on Reed Young, again. Fuck you, Reed. Fuck you.

Nick Stuart: Dick back to the outside and OH! Reed Young takes another one, real shame that is.

Richard Parker: DISQUALIFY SCATINO! HE’S A CHEAT!

Nick Stuart: I thought you liked Zapp.

Richard Parker: It’s all a scale Nick, it’s all a scale.

Williams comes out of the corner and finds Nixon in his face, but finds Nixon in his face shouting at him to leave the ring. Williams ignores this command and grabs Zapp, and hurls him into the Whoresman corner. He throws a lefthanded body shot into Zapp’s midsection, then a right hand across the mouth. Zapp tries to throw a right hand back, but Williams cuts it off with quick jab to the nose.

Nick Stuart: Nixon needs to do something in there.

Richard Parker: Turnbull’s normally the tag ref.

Nixon does finally do something and begins shouting and counting in the air behind Williams. Rob, aware of how a ten count works ignores the rules and throws a shoulder into Zapp’s midsection. He then blasts Zapp in the stomach with a kick and slams his head to the canvas with a DDT. Oh, Anna Daniels is on Godson’s back, probably the only place STRONK can’t reach, holding onto his neck and elbowing him repeatedly in the back of the head.

Nick Stuart: Oh! Scatino’s down!

Richard Parker: Williams better get out of there.

As Nixon gets to eight, Williams exits the ring, and Nixon turns around to the madness unfolding. Godson, frantically pulls at Daniels’ arm, but it’s in deep, realizing choking a man with no neck is useless, she pulls herself up onto the widest back in PRIME and smashes STRONK repeatedly in the back of the head with elbows. Godson, is busted open across the forehead and retreats to the corner, Fred slaps STRONK and runs into the ring.

Richard Parker: SAVE HIM MAMA DICK! SAVE HIM!

Nick Stuart: Who knows.

Mama Dick does indeed come to her sons rescue and Fred Dick chases behind a stumbling STRONK, throwing punches into Anna Daniels’ back. Anna finally is forced to let go, and STRONK stumbles forward through the middle rope to the outside. Anna turns towards Fred and lunges at him. Fred gets the fuck out of there, and rolls to the outside. Daniels follows, Zapp Scatino begins to stumble up to his feet. Zapp looks back to his corner at the almost lifeless Luchador and down at the situation outside.

Richard Parker: Oh look, Zapp’s up.

Nick Stuart: Daniels following Dick to the outside!

Scatino jumps down and hits a recovering STRONK with a double ax handle, or at least that was his intent. But STRONK has apparently had enough of whatever just happened to him and catches Scatino in mid-air. He hurls Zapp over his head and into Reed Young, and the two fly into the barricade. Nixon, looks on in chaos while on the other side of the ring Fred Dick steps out of the way of an Anna Daniels kick and her leg smashes the barricade. Daniels’ leg wraps in the barricade and Dick takes the opportunity to start smashing Daniels with slaps and chops.

Richard Parker: Did Reed just break Scatino’s fall?

Nick Stuart: Sure. Anna is in trouble!

STRONK turns around and pulls Scatino up off of Reed. He turns and throws him into the ring post like a lawn dart. Zapp smashes face first, and falls to the steel steps. TAL, finally, has a bit more energy and makes his way around to the chaos.

Richard Parker: What is that idiot doing.

Nick Stuart: Richard, you’ve asked me a hundred times. I have no idea.

TAL dives off the apron with a tornillo to the back of Godson that sends him stumbling backwards into the barricade. The Anglo Luchador, realizing that steel is much harder than his hands, begins smashing STRONK’s head into the guardrail over and over again. Dick hits an eye rake on Daniels and Scatino drunken stumbles to his feet and falls into Fred Dick, who bumps into Daniels who gets knocked out of the guard rail trap. Daniels struggles to her feet and dives into the ring, holding her eyes.

Richard Parker: Dirty move by Dick.

Fred gets to his feet and starts yelling at a still stumbling Scatino. Fred smashes Zapp’s head into the guard rail. Much like TAL is still trying to do to Godson, but STRONK stops and shoves TAL away. The Anglo Luchador considers the mission accomplished, and gets the hell away from STRONK.

Nick Stuart: TAL on the retreat!

Richard Parker: First intelligent thing TAL has done this entire match.

Fred rolls Scatino into the ring, and comes in behind him. Daniels makes the tag to Williams, Rob comes through the ropes and tries to go for a booty on Zapp, but Scatino manages a quick single leg, and retreats to his corner. He dives and tags TAL, while Fred gets in the ring. TAL storms through the ropes and straight at Williams who smashes him with a haymaker. TAL is stumbled immediately and Dick clubs TAL across the shoulder blades. Godson has made his way to his corner, still leaking the thick red wet from his forehead. Daniels makes it to her corner, and Scatino to his.

Nick Stuart: This is a wrestling match again!

Richard Parker: Elvis Nixon just sighed in relief.

Fred lunges forward at the staggered TAL, but The Luchador hits him with an arm drag that turns Dick inside out. He rolls towards Williams, looking for a heel hook, but Williams steps to the side and smashes TAL with a forearm for his trouble. He grabs TAL around the waist and whips him over his head into the corner, back first with a suplex. Zapp has decided he’s had enough of all of this, and while Nixon is officiating the Williams/TAL corner, Zapp walks up behind Fred Dick and levels him with a shot directly to the jibbly bits.

Nick Stuart: LOW BLOW! LOW BLOW FROM SCATINO!

Richard Parker: DISQUALIFY HIM! NO! OF COURSE NIXON DIDN’T SEE IT!

Fred collapses and rolls to the outside while Zapp grabs Williams around the waist by surprise and rips him over his shoulder and backwards onto his head and neck.

Nick Stuart: Sheer landing on that return German from Scatino!

Scatino helps TAL to his feet, Nixon grabs Scatino by the shoulder and turns him around. Scatino turns towards Daniels and smashes them with a forearm to the face. Daniels falls backwards, and Zapp takes off sprinting and dives at STRONK Godson.

Richard Parker: STOP THAT IDIOT!

STRONK takes the shot to the midsection, and doubles over. Zapp tries to get to his feet, but STRONK has ahold of his hair and pulls him to the apron. Zapp punches at STRONK’s arm, but Godson picks Zapp up and suplexes him off the apron.

Nick Stuart: Scatino and STRONK to the floor!

Richard Parker: Scatino’s down! STRONK BABY!

Williams and TAL are at a standoff in the ring. The two veterans lock-up, waist lock for TAL, reverse for Williams, TAL escapes out with a hip reversal of his own, and takes an arm wrench on Williams, Williams rotates through the arm wrench into a reversal, TAL dips to the ground and swipes Williams’ leg out from under him. TAL takes the arm.

Nick Stuart: Down goes Williams!

TAL acts in an instant, he rolls Williams up in the la magistral cradle.

Richard Parker: NO!

ONE!

TWO!

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THREE!

Nick Stuart: THATS IT!

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: NO! HOW!? WHAT HAPPENED?

Nick Stuart: TWINS DID IT! THEY DID IT!

Richard Parker: What the hell, Nick. What the hell. STRONK and Fred were robbed!

Nick Stuart: This was a match of moments, Richard! And that was the biggest one!

TAL and Zapp scramble to the outside, and away from the gathering of beings that are not too happy with them, but the ring announcer meets them in the aisle way with the World Tag Team Championships.

Vince Howard: Your winner, and new WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS!!!! ZAPP SCATINO AND THE ANGLO LUCHADOR! TWINS!!!!!!!?

Zapp stumbles away holding his back with one hand and clutching the title to his chest with the other.While TAL drops to his knees for a moment holding the belt as our scene fades.

Nick Stuart: TUNE IN TOMORROW! NIGHT 2! JILES VS AVALON!

ULTRAVIOLENCE.