ReVival 56

It’s ReVival 56, and we’re in Spokane.

Two weeks after the harrowing, ultra-violent action of UltraViolence, the scene is one of a man standing in front of a podium. That man has the familiar features of a blue waistcoat and a prominent forehead. Placed proudly on display on the podium and just in front of the microphone is the PRIME Universal Championship.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. It is the King of Conquerors, Coral Avalon.

Avalon scans the room. We should clarify some things about this room. First, it’s not the Throne Room, aka a lot of other nicknames that we’ll get into later in the night. It’s something like a conference room, big and fancy. It has a big screen behind Coral’s head that could display a PowerPoint presentation, which Coral has thoughtfully not done for the purposes of this address.

Visible to Coral’s sides, seated on a long table set just behind the Captain, are a few of the other Bandits. Bobby is the most prominent, appearing over Coral’s right shoulder. He’s got a bucket of KFC, fresh from the Octane courtesy of the finest crumbs that Jiles ever sent there by way of superkick. Doozer is there in a liminal state. The only way the other Bandits know he’s there is because he radiates a certain degree of yacht energy. Cardboard Dan Ryan stands slightly more menacingly than the actual flesh-and-blood version. The ominous shadow of Hessian can be seen off-screen to the left.

Avalon stands calmly in the middle of this tumultuous storm of questionable individuals.

Coral Avalon: My fellow Bandits.

The camera pans around. The audience attending this speech is sparse, to say the least. Eagle-eyed PRIME fans can spot Sean O’Neill inconspicuously hiding somewhere in the background as a treat. A few Enemigos sit by, waiting for something to happen. One eats a bag of chips.

They might be there because there’s at least several very suspicious individuals in this crowd. One of them has their face painted up like they’re a shark. One of them is an overweight, balding man in a tank top and shorts and flip flops who sits by a murderous red bicycle. Every time the camera pans to the bicycle, the distant sounds of Slayer’s “Raining Blood” could be heard. Also, Tanuki Phil is here. He’s not happy about it.

We turn our attention back to Avalon.

Coral Avalon: Two weeks ago, we came dangerously close to tearing each other apart at the seams. Eggs were cracked, the carton torn. And perhaps, had things not gone the way they did, I would be stuck in the gallows of the USS Octane.

From off-camera, one of the people in the crowd, we don’t know who, raises a very common query. We don’t hear the question, just Avalon’s response to it.

Coral Avalon: Yes, it’s called “the gallows”. Not the brig. The brig is a different thing. This was all explained in the pamphlet that I had Tony hand out when you came in.

The camera cuts over to Tony Gamble, who stands upon three genuine Spokane phone books and is carrying a stack of pamphlets in his hands. He is not entirely happy to be put in this position, despite the fact that he’s always smiling.

Back to Avalon, who places his hands on the Universal championship.

Coral Avalon: But, as you can see, things turned out alright. Thank you for those that supported me in my hometown two weeks ago. Annabelle had a lot of fun. Franco was heated. And I remain the King in front of my people here in Washington State, and I remain the Captain of the eGG Bandits. As such, I had a few things I wanted to get out of the way.

He clears his throat, and reaches into his pocket to pull out a slip of paper.

Coral Avalon: First of all, First Mate Avalon… Annabelle, I should say, will be stepping down from her position out of respect for the Bandits and because I reminded her that she was still the First Mate and she responded with a long string of words I won’t dare repeat.

The narration will, though.

She said, and I quote, “what the fuck, are you fucking serious, fuck this, fuck that, fuck the Bandits, make someone else the First Mate already”.

Coral Avalon: The new First Mate will be determined at a later date, by the judgment of I, your Captain. I imagine it will be very competitive, buuut… My guess is that CBD is the front-runner.

A lot of eyes turn to Dan Ryan’s cardboard doppelganger. Jealous eyes. Eyes that could kill.

Avalon cheerfully ignores these eyes.

Coral Avalon: Second order of business! I know I’m succeeding in ways even I never thought possible after my exit from the Almasy last year, but I really do want the eGG Bandits on the whole to succeed. It can’t just be me. It’s me, and Bobby, and Tony, and Big Hess… and Jiles. So therefore, I encourage the Bandits as a whole – especially Bobby and Tony – to go after the newly-reinstated tag belts.

Bobby’s voracious chewing of his chicken, which has been low-key audible over Avalon’s microphone this whole time, slows. He’s wide-eyed at the notion, because that declaration might require effort.

Coral Avalon: And finally, I wanted to propose something a little out of left field for the eGG Bandits. As you can see from my choice in wardrobe, I’m not all that big a fan of the tracksuit thing.

There’s gasps all around. The chicken falls from Bobby’s mouth. Hessian lets out a breath. Cardboard Dan Ryan tilts slightly to the right. Doozer invisibly cringes.

Coral Avalon: So, I’ve brought something to Spokane that should really bring our team together after months of in-fighting. A little gesture from one Bandit to the other. From me, to you. Bryce, if you would?

You might not be familiar with Bryce, a member of the crew of the USS Octane. He’s been around. Okay, he was around that one time when Coral snuck Nate Colton onto the Octane. Nevermind that shit, because the person staring back at Coral isn’t Bryce.

This is Cancer Jiles as you’ve never seen him before.

Oh, sure, there’s a familiar underlying pettiness behind his every movement. His T-shades remain pristine, his alfredo hair immaculate. No, what we’re referring to is the blazer.

It’s not just any blazer, though. It’s in electric blue, it’s made of fine silk, and it has two logos stitched to its sides. On one side, it’s an egg. Just a normal, everyday egg. It’s wearing the T-shades, though. On the other side, it’s an egg. This is not a normal, everyday egg, because it’s actually an egg-shaped skull. It has half of a broken crown on the top of it. It’s Avalon’s symbol.

All eyes are transfixed upon the blazer he’s wearing.

In horror.

Coral Avalon: Oh. You’re not Bryce. You’re Cancer Jiles. I couldn’t tell because the collar was down.

Ha.

Coral Avalon: Take a spin so everyone can see.

Jiles sighs, then, shockingly, he obliges. Superimposed smile and all. Afterwards, as in after his turn about humbling, The COOLYMPIAN loses the smile and gazes into Coral’s soul — via The King’s massive forehead of course. In fact, the way Jiles is looking at Coral and the way Coral’s forehead is looking back at Jiles, well it would lead you to believe the two had a conversation after the events of UltraViolence.

A lengthy one.

That went one way.

Coral Avalon: Thanks, pal. Dare I even say it, but it sure does look cool on you.

There’s a universe where Jiles unleashes a superkick in Coral’s face and Coral’s head detaches from his body and goes flying through the roof and into outer space, but it’s just not this one. In this universe Jiles finishes his humble pie, then walks over to his fellow brethren and falls in line.

Coral Avalon: Eggcellent. Thank you.

Avalon nods to the cameras.

Coral Avalon: One last thing, now that I think about it. I know I’ll have another challenger to this belt before long. To them, I say… Bring it on. That is all.

Avalon turns, and walks off the podium.

Tony Gamble: Wait, so what am I supposed to do with all these pamphlets?

The Grin stands stoically atop his perch, observing as the other Bandits rise from their seats without acknowledging his query. It is the cold lifeless glare of CBD, the only Bandit that remains stationary, that makes him feel like he is nothing more than a dream within a dream.

Quote the Grin, nevermore.

https://prime-wrestling.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/ReV56-Commercial.mp4

We are just minutes away from the start of the show and the first match between Alias Champion Kerry Kuroyama and Steve Harrison. Speaking of our Miracle Man he is seen pacing the hallway with his wrestling gear and amazing green robe right before his match. He is seen biting his nail and a bit of nervous sweat forming on his forehead.

Steve Harrison: But, what if…

He pauses and his mouth moves but so quiet nothing could be understood as if he is talking to himself. He nods slowly and lets out a long sigh.

Steve Harrison: Head first into the big pool, huh.

Suddenly his eyes get big as he sees someone come around the corner. As the person gets closer we see it is none other than the Five Star Champion Don Winters. The champion has the title strapped around his waist and looks dapper in his white suit and crimson shirt. His eyes sparkle in the overhead luminescence as he catches sight of Harrison and grins widely.

Steve Harrison: Just the man (pauses) I guess…hmm—yea, I was looking for.

Don Winters: Steve! (Winters smiles even wider) Big match tonight, huh? I wish you luck, I’d love to see you around the Champion’s Lounge. Now, that’s not a real thing, unless you count Coral’s skybox, but I digress. I want to wish you the best of luck tonight. I think you’ve got a real good chance tonight, and Lord willing, we’ll be celebrating back here.

Harrison gives him a small smile back and a nod of his beautiful bald head. He takes another deep breath and wipes the sweat from his brow.

Steve Harrison: Thanks, but about this match…um…do you know about the stipulation?

Don Winters: I’ve got to be completely honest with you about this. I’ve prayed long and hard over it, and unfortunately, no. No I do not. What is the stipulation?

Harrison groans quietly to himself as he will now have to explain what it is which of course makes him feel awkward like everything about does.

Steve Harrison: It is called VVingman which means Kerry can have Scott Hunter in his corner and his opponent can also have a corner man and that person can call one timeout.

Don Winters: (Winters strokes his chin. He seems a little off tonight.) Who’s in your corner, bub?

Harrison gets all his courage together and as blunt as he can and to get it out.

Steve Harrison: You?

Don thinks about this for a brief moment, dropping his smile for a split second before it returns, full of confidence and reassurances. He claps a hand onto Harrison’s shoulder.

Don Winters: I’d be honored, my friend.

Steve Harrison: Oh, great, I will see out there in a few minutes then.

Harrison turns and walks towards the entrance tunnel.

Steve Harrison: (To himself) See, that wasn’t too hard.

He nods to himself and gives out a soft laugh.

Steve Harrison: Let’s get this belt!

ReVival moves to the ringside area.

Now is the time on ReVival 56 where we do signs.

FOUR DEFENSES. FIVE STARS.
COOLOSSUS IS…. cancelled
IVAN’S GOT A HANGNAIL; COLTON/STANISLAV PUSHED BACK TO REV57
WITH MAX, BRANDON AND FLAMBO ALL TIED UP, CERTAINLY NOTHING MORE WILL COME OF THAT. YES, THOUGH NOTHING WAS RESOLVED, ALL THREE MEN WILL MOVE ON TO NEW AND DIFFERENT FEUDS AND STORIES! IT’S A CANCER JILES CERTAINTY!
IVAN PUNCHED A HOLE IN THE TIME/SPACE CONTINUUM; COLTON/STANISLAV MOVED UP TO REV29
PRIME FEARS MOO DENG

Nick Stuart: Welcome, everyone, to ReVival 56! We’re here in Spokane, Washington for some post-UltraViolence action!

Richard Parker: I’m still trying to recover from what happened in Seattle and here I am having to work in Spokane and I never get a vacation, man.

Nick Stuart: You signed the same contract I did, Rich, you gotta be here.

Richard Parker: I want to go home.

Nick Stuart: Well, that’s a shame, because we’ve got an Alias Championship match to open tonight’s events!

Richard Parker: Sigh. I’ll do this only because I want to see Ker-bear in action.

The lights dim and the slow melonic song of “Monsters,” by Phish begins to play. Steve Harrison slowly emerges to the entrance ramp. His green robe flows behind him as he takes a few steps. His eyes are closed as he stops at the top of ramp:

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

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

He gets as far as midway down the ramp when another individual appears from behind the curtains with little preamble. The fans cheer as it’s none other than Father Five Star himself, Don Winters. The 5-Star Champion is dressed to the nines, but with the championship belt strapped around his waist. Tonight, he’s in the corner of the Miracle Man. Because a man of miracles should always have a man who preaches the Word with him, yes?

Harrison smirks as the fans cheer, though he doesn’t care much if they do or not. He gets to the steps and swiftly makes his way up and into the ring.

He walks to the middle and looks out at the crowd and then runs from one corner to the other and then leans against the turnbuckle and takes his robe off and hands it to the ring attendant as he prepares mentally for the battle ahead.

Nick Stuart: Evidently, our 5-Star Champion Don Winters is serving as Steve Harrison’s wingman for tonight’s match after weeks of rumors.

Richard Parker: I was kinda hoping for Conor Fuse, despite the standing “Fuck cOnOr fUsE” policy.

Nick Stuart: Stop.

The house lights dim to black. The stage fills with neon lights in green and pink just as the PA is overtaken by “Blouses Blue” by Konrad OldMoney and Sleep Steady. The PRIMEview loops through a retro-stylized animatic of Vae Victis’ own VVingmen, KERRY KUROYAMA and SCOTT HUNTER, cruising around in a Ferrari.

The Emerald Apex strides out onto the stage. He is the picture of calm and focus, once again dressed for battle in his customized “Seahawks” colored robe and tights. After a moment, Hunter struts out after him, pumping up the crowd with the Wingman Championship held close to his chest.

Kerry is as firm and resolute as a mountain. Scott is in full-on party mode. Then Kuroyama extends his hand. His Wingman dutifully hands over the belt. The champion holds it HIGH as an array of rockets fire off into the air behind him!

B-B-B-B-B-BA-BOOMM!!

Kerry begins the procession down the rampway with Scott sticks to his side.

Stepping into the ring, the Pacific Blitzkrieg finds the nearest corner, posts up, and raises the title for a photo-op moment. He crosses the ring, briefly locking eyes with Harrison, to do the same thing for the other end of the arena.

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

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the challenger! Hailing from Motreal, Quebec, Canada, and weighing in at two-hundred and fifty pounds… the MIRACLE MAN… STEEEEEVE HAAAARRIIIIIIISSSOOOOOONNNN!!!!

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

Kuroyama tears off his robe. Hunter snatches it out of the sky. The Wingman Championship rises up overhead. People get super stoked.

DING DING

The two big men step forward and immediately go into a collar-and-elbow tie-up. It’s a contentious one. It’s the kind of tie-up with some stank to it, if you know what I mean. Harrison has the height and reach advantage, but Kuroyama has a low center of gravity and is harder for the Canadian to move around. They maneuver around like it’s a complicated dance until they’re in the ropes. At first, it’s Harrison with his back to the ropes, but he manages to turn Kuroyama around, and now he’s in the ropes. It goes around and around like this until they’re in the corner, and referee Jimmy Turnbull has to call for the clean break.

Kuroyama, who’d managed to be the one to put Harrison’s back in the corner, smugly and slowly lets go of the collar-and-elbow, and gives Harrison a cheeky, mock-friendly slap to the chest.

Harrison looks over at Winters with a bemused expression before he steps out of the corner and shoves Kuroyama back.

Nick Stuart: Things are getting heated out here early on, Rich.

Richard Parker: We really sit way too close to the kaiju, I’m just saying.

Kuroyama shoves Harrison again, and then it became on in a Donkey Kong kind of persuasion. First, it’s the exchange of chops. When that doesn’t work out for either man, Kuroyama goads Harrison into trying to knock him over with a shoulder block. So, Harrison obliges, bouncing off the ropes and smashing shoulders with Kuroyama. Kuroyama is only knocked back a single step, and then he brushes his shoulder like it ain’t no thang. Harrison invites Kuroyama to try his luck, so Kuroyama takes the opportunity to show the Miracle Man how it’s done. He bounces off, hits Harrison with the shoulder, and…

…nothing.

Harrison does not budge.

Richard Parker: This is like when I ram two action figures into each other over and over again and I can’t decide which one of them falls over.

Nick Stuart: I know enough about you to know that I shouldn’t be surprised you play with action figures.

This time, both men come running off of the ropes. They collide in a shoulder block that budges neither of them, and almost immediately they run the ropes again to try again. This time, Kuroyama attempts to rock Harrison with a lariat, only for Harrison to duck under his arm and keep running. Kuroyama also keeps running, and has to duck a return lariat from Harrison. Off the ropes again, and…

THUD.

That’s the only sound necessary to describe the heavy impact of both men hitting each other with lariats. Neither go down, neither can follow their lariats through. A second attempt at a lariat from both men – THUD. – leaves Kuroyama rocked and backing into the ropes. This allows Harrison to hit him with a clothesline that sends Kuroyama flipping over the top rope and to the floor.

Nick Stuart: Kuroyama’s out of the ring!

Richard Parker: …What’s that idiot doing?

Scott Hunter, the aforementioned idiot, is currently trying to fan Kerry Kuroyama. As he’s not fully equipped to do so, he has to use the ring apron to do it. Harrison is out on the apron and he’s yelling at Hunter to get out of the way. Hunter does, but this small delay is what allows Kuroyama to sweep Harrison’s feet out from under him, causing Harrison to hit hard on the apron and fall to the floor.

Nick Stuart: Ooh! Harrison takes a spill to the outside!

Winters is there, and Father Five Star is trying to encourage his man to get back to his feet and get back into the fight. Kuroyama, though, puts his shoulder to Harrison’s stomach and rams him into the guardrail. Then he turns and rams him into the ring apron. Back to the guardrail again, and then back to the apron again. By the time Harrison is done being bounced around like a ping-pong ball, he’s writhing in pain on the ground with Kuroyama standing over him.

Kuroyama glares at Winters like he wants him to call that time-out early. Winters doesn’t. So instead, the Emerald Apex throws Harrison back into the ring and climbs in after him.

He’s relentless in his attack. Surgical, really. A few stomps to the back of Harrison’s head is followed by a side Russian legsweep. It only gets two as Harrison muscles out quickly, but Kuroyama grabs the front facelock and pulls him up to his feet. Harrison tries to fight out of it, and eventually succeeds in loosening Kuroyama’s grip enough to escape, but Kuroyama buries a knee into his gut to stop him.

Nick Stuart: Kerry Kuroyama has taken control of this match, Rich. He’s really beating Steve Harrison down right now as he’s looking for his third defense!

Richard Parker: Please, God, let him win so I don’t have to remember that the only other person to get three defenses is an eGG Bandit. I don’t ask for much. Okay, actually, I ask for a lot of things. I ask for so many things. I should ask to not ask for so many things, but I should also ask for more things.

Nick Stuart: God must think you’re very needy.

Richard Parker: I keep asking him to strike Cancer Jiles down with a bolt of lightning every day. One day, my prayers will be answered.

Kuroyama hits Harrison with a snap suplex, but doesn’t go for the pin. Instead, he’s back to looking at Winters, as though waiting for him to call his man’s lone time out. Winters doesn’t budge. Another snap suplex, and another contemptuous glance at the reigning and defending 5-Star Champion.

When he goes for the third, though, Harrison blocks it. He ties his leg into Kuroyama’s to prevent himself from being lifted. Then Harrison twists out of the hold into an arm-wringer. Duck under into the back suplex. The crowd cheers as Harrison gets up, looking as though he’s powering up. Kuroyama’s quick to his feet again, but Harrison gets the go-behind into the German suplex.

Nick Stuart: German suplex from Harrison! He’s firing on all cylinders!

Well, maybe a couple of cylinders. He goes to grab Kuroyama for another suplex, but Kuroyama slips out of the waistlock and suddenly drops down. His legs wrap up with Harrison’s in a drop toe hold, but he keeps the legs locked around Harrison’s own and quickly grabs the facelock.

Nick Stuart: Cascadian Clutch! Center of the ring! Harrison has nowhere to go!

The entire time, Kuroyama’s eyes are locked onto Winters. Daring him. After a few long moments of consideration, Winters hops up onto the apron with the universal sign of the time out.

Kuroyama smiles, and releases the hold.

Richard Parker: Kuroyama forced Winters’ hand in calling the time out, and now Harrison’s up shit’s creek without a paddle and has to get his hands covered in shit trying to paddle. Which I just now realized is the point of that metaphor, whoopsiedoodle.

Nick Stuart: I can’t with you.

Harrison slowly recovers on the mat, while Kuroyama continues to stare down Winters. Winters stares back, the 5-Star Champion not intimidated in the slightest. The time out period is almost over, but the moment Kuroyama finally turns around to address his actual opponent, he finds that Harrison has recovered much more than anticipated.

Nick Stuart: Clothesline from Harrison!

Kuroyama hits the ground hard, but scrambles to his feet in disarray. He practically walks into another Harrison clothesline in the process, and is slower to get up. Harrison then grabs Kuroyama and…

Nick Stuart: Saito suplex! Kuroyama is down!

Harrison quickly falls into a cover.

One.

Two.

Harrison almost expects the kickout when it happens, and is already pulling Kuroyama up almost the moment he shoots his shoulder up. Harrison pulls Kuroyama in for a dragon suplex, which would probably be a disaster for Seattle’s Beast. Instead, Kuroyama blocks it and lifts Harrison up into a fireman’s carry.

Nick Stuart: Fireman’s carry, could be the Kuroyama Driver II…

While the sequel to the Kuroyama Driver is every bit as good as its critically acclaimed original, Harrison slips out and pushes Kuroyama into the ropes. Kuroyama looks to bounce back and…

THUD.

Nick Stuart: ENLIGHTENMENT! ENLIGHTENMENT FROM HARRISON!

There is no such word as “hesitation” in Steve Harrison’s vocabulary. Not in this case. He’s inches from claiming the Alias Championships. All he needs is a…

Nick Stuart: IT’S A HARRACLE! THAT’S GOT TO BE IT!

Kuroyama hits the mat hard from the crossface chickenwing suplex, and Harrison goes right for the cover.

ONE.

TWO.

…

…

…

Um.

Scott?

Scott, what are you doing?

Richard Parker: I don’t believe it! This is brilliant! Scott Hunter just called the time out for Kuroyama right on the cusp of Steve Harrison’s victory! Maybe he isn’t such a blithering moron after a—

Scott Hunter: MY EYE! I’VE GOT SOMETHING IN MY EYE!

Indeed, Scott Hunter is on the apron and is holding a hand over his eye. He’s not exactly consistent about which eye, though.

Richard Parker: …….Nope. Still a dipshit.

Harrison looks up to see that Scott Hunter is on the apron, and that being the reason why there’s no three count. He stands and goes to jaw-jack with Hunter, and that gives Kuroyama more time to recover from the Harracle. Eventually, Kuroyama recovers enough that the match can continue, so Harrison goes back to the well. Another Harracle from the Miracle Man…

…is denied.

Kuroyama fights out of it with an armdrag, and Harrison gets up with an elbow. Kuroyama responds with one in kind. Then they hit each other at the same time with elbows. Twice. Three times. Finally, Harrison tries to throw a bomb of a right hand, only for Kuroyama to catch it and land a boot to the gut. Pull him in…

Nick Stuart: Judgment Bolt Bomb! He flattened Harrison with that!

Harrison can only get to his hands and knees before Kuroyama takes advantage. He loops Harrison’s arm through his legs and hooks the other arm, and…

Nick Stuart: KUROYAMA DRIVER!

The original will almost always shine over the sequel. With Harrison flattened on the mat, Kuroyama goes for the cover.

And while the Harracle had damaged him enough that he needed to hold the back of his neck during the cover, he never stops staring at Winters as he does so.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE!

DING DING DING

Kuroyama slowly stands up, still holding the back of his neck. He raises his hand over his head. He’s done it.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… the winner of this match, and STILL the Alias Champion! KERRRRYYYYY KUUUUUUUROOOOOOOYAAAAAMAAAAAAAA!!!

Mind you, he’s only “still” Alias champion for the rest of the night.

Nick Stuart: Steve Harrison came so close, but in the end… For the second time this year, a man has successfully defended the Alias championship all three times!

Richard Parker: I can’t believe Scott Hunter, of all people, was so instrumental in this.

As Harrison convalesces in the ring, Don Winters enters to check up on him. It isn’t long, however, before Kerry Kuroyama is in his face. After a few tense moments, Kuroyama holds up the Alias championship over his head.

And, for the first time, Kuroyama’s eyes aren’t squarely in Winters’. They’re on the 5-Star Championship strapped around Winters’ waist.

Nick Stuart: Could it be that Kerry Kuroyama is calling his shot right now?

Richard Parker: No, I’m sure he has other reasons for staring at Don Winters wa—What the hell do you think?

After a moment’s pause, Winters nods and pulls the 5-Star belt from his waist. He holds it up over his head as well.

The scene cuts away as the two stare each other down, holding their belts over their heads.

…Previously on…
THE RED MANIFESTO

The Herald: It smells bad down here..

Caked in dirt, Bentley peers up at Max from the bottom of a grave.

Max Kael: That means we must be close! Keep digging!

The Herald: Are we sure he’s here?

Turning back down to the dark, wet grave soil, Bentley begins to once again shovel.

Max Kael: Yeah, it looks like the last update he made to his FetLife account was from here..

Pausing, the Herald looks up at Max with a curious expression.

The Herald: What’s FetLife?

Coughing, Max waves his arms toward the Herald in a dismissive manner.

Max Kael: Adult stuff, I’ll tell you when I’m older.

Bentley is confused, if only for a few moments, when his Farthington Madness washes all those questions away. Turning back down toward the grave with a dumb smile, he once again returns to digging.

The Herald: Oh boy I love digging!

Max Kael: Yeah, I bet you’d like trains too, buddy.

THUNK!

The sound of the Herald’s shovel hitting something wooden perks Max up. Grabbing a near by shovel, Max jumps into the grave with the Herald as the two begin to dig up the cheap, Walmart “Damaged Packaging” discount quality coffin.

Max Kael: Whew! Smells like RIA’s cooch got into an angry make-out session with Fred Dick’s mouth! Heh-he-UUURGH!

Mid giggle Max begins to gag. As he turns away the Herald breaks apart the upper section of the coffin lid. A plume of small, flying insects explode through the lid followed by a crawling carpet of spiders.

The Herald: .. this man’s head has TURNED INTO A BUM!

Bentley shrieks in horror, scrambling out of the shallow grave with panic stricken eyes. Controlling his want to vomit, Max peers down through the damaged coffin line. A smile touches his lips as he shakes his head, batting away the cloud of flies buzzing about.

Max Kael: Those fuckin’ idiots. It’s fine, my the Herald! They buried Lowell head down, ass up.. I assume because that’s the way he likes to fu-BLLLAAAUUGG

Before he can finish Max vomits into the coffin lid and all over Lowell Dot Com’s rotten, boney ass.

💀💀💀💀

Max and the Herald stare down at the emaciated corpse of Lowell Dot Com who, surprisingly, doesn’t look all that different from how he looked while he was alive.

The Herald: He looks so peaceful.. Like he’s just sleeping..

A worm slithers out of Lowell’s ear, plopping down onto the metal table with a wet slap.

The Herald: ..okay now he looks dead.

Max Kael: He’ll be fine, we just need to get some meat on dem bones.

Donning a white lab coat, Max moves toward a large, damaged looking tankard with faded MEAT? markings. Rubbing his hands together, Max grins a wicked grin.

Max Kael: Using Russia’s considerable resources I have procured the MEAT? container which contains the very meaty MEAT? corpse of one Ulsa N. Couth, my former manager.

The Herald: Wait, Couth is dead?

Freezing as he realizes he was admitting to knowing something about Couth, Max tastes panic for a moment. Then he realizes it’s just Bentley he’s talking too. He counts down from ten before peeking over his shoulder at the Herald. Bentley has begun to dance in place to a tune only he can hear.

Max Kael: Did you ask me something?

Pausing, the Herald looks up at Max with wide, innocent eyes.

The Herald: I did?

Nodding to himself he looks back up at the MEAT? container, a smile spreading across his face again.

Max Kael: Nope, just checking.

The Herald: So.. what are we doing with the spider-guy’s body, anyway?

Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Max spins around with a manic, toothy grin on his face.

Max Kael: … PUT MEAT? ON DEM BONEZ!

💀💀💀💀

Rotten meat, blood, MEAT? and bloated viscera cover both Max and the Herald. Thankfully both are wearing goggles.

The Herald: The goggles were a good idea.

Max Kael: Yeah, remind me to thank Kenny for the idea.

Wiping away the runny gore from their goggles, Max sighs.

Max Kael: Well back to the drawing board, I guess. See what you can scrape off the walls. I see his head over by the sink, I’ll go pick that up.

There is a wet, squelching noise as Max walks across the operating room floor. Bentley turns to stare at the wall attempting to work out the best way to deal with this. With his hands on his hips the Herald shakes his head.

The Herald: Who would have thought pumping the spider man with MEAT? and Couth juice would result in him exploding everywhere!

Max Kael: No me, I think we’ve made that pretty clear at this point. Still, there is more science left to explore here. Rumor was Mr. Dot Com was experimenting with various different fluids and drugs, I’m sure we can resurrect him.. And if science fails me there is always…

The room darkens as a cold breeze blows over the visceral remains of Max’s insane experiment.

Max Kael: … Dark Magic™

💀💀💀💀

We smash past the intro of THE RED MANIFESTO as the thuggin’ Soviet remix music blares over the screen.

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, the Commissar of the Red Army, is seated behind his desk in his Red Army uniform conspicuously absent two new medals. Instead he wears fresh bandages that cover the wounds of his UltraViolence match.

Max Kael: Worms of PRIME! Welcome to THE RED MANIFESTO, tis I, your gracious host, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael!

Canned cheering pipes in to infer that Max is beloved by most people.

He is not.

Max Kael: This is our first show back since the travesty that was my match at UltraViolence. Despite my best efforts that toad vomit Jimmy Turnbull, CLEARLY under orders from that vile villainous Lindsay Troy, managed to edge things out into a TIE! Have you ever heard of anything more ridiculous in your whole life?!

The pre-recorded crowd noise machine voices its strongest collective opinion of “NO!”.

Max Kael: No! Of course, no! That’s not to say the efforts of FLAMBERGE and Brandon Youngblood are not to be applauded. I’ve been in some horrific crash-ups in my life, hell I even died once, but that was the most brutal, wild, hellacious match I’ve had since I’ve been re-alived.

There is no smile on Max’s face. He’s somber, perhaps even a little disappointed.

Max Kael: The Lizard King, once encouraged with the assassination of his lil’frwend Joe Fontaine, truly lived up to the hype. I know he must be frustrated that he didn’t get to claim my neck. Well, FLAMBERGE, I didn’t get to kill you so we’re both going home with the bitter coffee beans of being just as good as each other. Cecilworth gets to keep his new pet-friend. On the other hand, Joe Fontaine goes unavenged. Guess that makes you..uh.. Just.. as good a friend as me… heh-heh.

Despite his little giggle, Max doesn’t smile.

Max Kael: Tower of Babel! D̶̪̆͊ȧ̵̧͖͊s̷͈͗͗h̵̩͔͑ ̷̨͓͐͝k̷̨͕̈́͒ạ̴͝z̴̡̰͒u̴͎͠ ̸̲̭͒̿l̸͉̘͌ạ̸̹́z̴̜̮̉̄ ̶̹͚͑͝d̷̟̀ñ̶̝g̶͖̼̈ ̵̄ͅû̸̻͜z̷̢̬͛͘l̶̓͜ḁ̶̧́á̵̠d̷͙̮̍̐a̴̗̽.̷̼̺̂ ̶͉̼͂B̷͉͖̂͝w̵̭̕͝å̴͚͓l̵̩̟̈́l̶͓͌̔ ̵͈̳̿̎w̸̲̩̋d̷̻͙̈́a̴͓͝l̶̤̈͂ ̴̫̜̂ỷ̸̖̻͠e̶̩̊̍t̷̪̎͝ͅt̸̰͚̍a̴̳͂ ̷͖̋ḳ̵̀ă̸̤ĺ̸̺̆ ̴̢͖͛̀k̸̻̿u̴͔̒͌z̸͇͕͗k̵̮͗̓.̴̛̪̲̾ ̶̼̳̑̋D̴͎̍r̵͉͊͝ȗ̶̧͜l̵̪̔̚a̷̱̓̈l̸̪̍ͅḻ̵̦͗̕ Brandon Youngblood,̵̞̗͑ ̵̤̞̀̓b̵͖̐l̴̖̗͂͘o̷̦̔́k̷̳̙̿a̷̯͊ ̷͕̝̈ḋ̸̻̭a̴̤͊ä̸͎́ ̸͕̗͗r̴̤̼̓̎ṳ̷̯̍̍ḳ̴̈́͒ḁ̴͉̊̉.̴̪̰̀̚ ̸͖̋̚T̵̗̞̈̾r̴̗̾a̷̬͐̉ͅz̶̠̪̕û̴̡̫l̴̺̇͂k̸͇̎ä̸̹̞̀ ̶̢̛̦̐d̷͍̃ň̷̹͜ģ̵͉̑ ̵͕̳͊u̴͙̚ẑ̵̗̇ͅĺ̴̯ḁ̶͑͝ ̸͖̀͆l̴͚̠̀ụ̶̞̇z̶͔̟͛z̴̮̎̉u̶̧̪͆l̵̗̚͜a̴̧͊.̴͈̥̍͑ ̴̘̑T̵̗͙͘͠ȓ̴͚a̶̘͛a̸͚̺̔ ̸̢̲̄g̸̣͍̏̽u̴̙̓̈́u̴͜͝ Brandon .̶̢̺̿̏ ̷͕̃͂T̸̘̲͠r̸͇̓̏ă̵̧͓a̵̦̞͝ ̴̭̌g̵̝̈́̅͜ū̶̻̩ụ̴̠͘ ̶̟̥͒l̶̹͝a̷̹̅̈l̵̫̕͝ă̶̩̎d̶̟͎̆o̵̮̎ͅŏ̷ͅk̷̞̈̉.̷̩̝͒ ̶̡̲͐

Nodding grimly toward the camera, Max turns his head toward Camera 2.

Max Kael: And with that said, we can put this behind us. You failed to stop me, FLAMBERGE. Your family isn’t that interesting to me, Youngblood. I WILL see Cecilworth Farthington. There are events in time that are reputable, unchangeable, destined to happen. The very best dinosaur scientist couldn’t stop the asteroid that caused their extinction. Da Vinci’s stab proof toga couldn’t save Julius Caesar from the Senate’s blades. The greatest Time Travelers couldn’t save Kennedy from the barrel of Lee Harvey Oswald’s Carcano Model 38. Nothing can stop me from Cecilworth Fartington.

Perking up slightly, a smile touches the edges of his lips.

Max Kael: If you are listening Cecilworth.. I.. hmm.

His voice waivers for a moment as he seems somewhat lost as to what to say. Clearing his throat he recollects his thoughts.

Max Kael: I need to speak with you. I know things have been… Tense… between us. But I hope to endeavor to change your mind on that. I’ll give you time but I wasn’t lying. Our paths are destined to cross. Soon.

He winks, or perhaps blinks out of sync, toward the camera.

Max Kael: Let’s meet our guest this week! He hails from…

Turning toward the couch where his guest would normally be asked to sit, there is instead a large bullet proof glass chamber. It is connected to an enclosed metal passageway akin to something you might expect from a Jurassic Park enclosure.

Max Kael: You know, I thought he was from Canada but apparently he’s from Georgia. Chicken City, Georgia. You’d think he’d be more sympathetic to the interest of the Red Army. Anyway.. Please welcome..

The doors to the glass chamber slide open as smoke pours out of the passageway.

Max Kael: .fred dick..

Canned boos pour in from the non-existent crowd.

Fred Dick wanders out, funneled, much like a chicken at a factory farm, into the chamber. It makes him feel claustrophobic.

He looks around, touches the glass. Places his lips against it. Blows. Hmm, interesting. The fog his breath left on the glass was shaped like a bicep. Or a dong. Very interesting indeed.

Fred looks at Max with a raised eyebrow.

Fred Dick: Welp, always knew you was a crazy sumbench – not that I needed no confirmation. Also, I was promised tater chips. Where’s my chips? I want some dip, too. Frinch onion, please and thank ye.

Max stares at Fred, his eyes narrowing into small slits before he waves his hand. From above Fred a small chute opens as various different kinds of chips rain from above. Ketchup, French Onion, Everything, Swedish Fish, the flavors are as varied as the colors of the rainbow.

Max Kael: The deal was chips. No dip. I’m not made out of money, Dick, you know how much it cost to do my entrance on UltraViolence? And now my “Fred Dick Containment Chamber”? Now, while you satisfy your craven urges and consume the fried and seasoned potato slivers, I will ask you questions. Understand?

Smoothing out his uniform, Kael retrieves a list of questions from his pocket.

Fred Dick furrows his eyebrows. His upper lip curls as his face reddens.

Fred Dick: Fine. No dip.

Max Kael: Excellent! Now, the first question… Since this is the month of October and the season of ghoulies, what do you think the chances of Lowell Dot Com returning as a zombie this month?

Fred pretends like he’s legitimately thinking about the question, scratching his chin. Who’s he think he’s foolin?

Fred Dick: I don’t know, prolly ‘bout the same as the chances that you won a match at Ultra Violence! Nawmean? ZEE-ROW. Nawmsayin’? Haha, just fuggin wijja. Winnin’ don’t even fuggin’ matter no way. Neither does Lowell. Why you brangin’ ‘im up? HUH? You had a crush on him or sump’m? “Tire of the cat, fug on the spiders,” so they say.

Max’s brow raises slightly at the accusation that he had a crush on the spider man.

Max Kael: A crush? No, no, but you have to admit, his blood is probably an addictive substance at this point. Speaking of crushes and love..

Clearing his throat, Max tosses a few of his papers away, skipping forward to a different question.

Max Kael: Let’s say that you had this crush on someone, you really, really loved them. Buuut a few years have passed by and now your relationship is, what could be labeled as, complicated. How would you try to rectify that relationship?

Fred looks Max over. There’s some kind of calculus going on in that brain, which produces a thin film of sweat on Fred’s brow.

Fred Dick: Well, I reckon it depends. Ya know, just cuz yew LUV A BENCH, don’t mean yew NEED A BENCH. Ya feel me? See, the heart is a liar. The dickmeat too is a liar. They tell ya, ‘Lawd I love the bench. I gotta have that bench.” But whatcha brainhole say? Does ya brainhole agree? If so, you grab that bench by the hand, look her in the eye, and say, “Bench! Fug all that otha shid. I love you. Come stay tha night wid da big dawg.”

Fred coughs, clears some mucus.

Fred Dick: That bein’ said, I know whur this is goin’. And though, I must admit, I truly am flattered, I just don’t see ya that way. I gotchu in the friend zone/hated enemy zone.

Max pauses, staring at Fred Dick. He sets down his notes, reaches down into his desk and retrieves a small glass of water. He carefully sips the water before setting the glass down. He then spits the water out as though he were surprised by the answer Dick gave.

Max Kael: ..friendzone/hated enemy zone? I didn’t know you cared so much! Gotta say, there aren’t many benches I’ve had feelings for, thank you for qualifying those feelings. Next question!

He stares down at his notes, throwing them away as he bypasses several of the questions he has no interest in. Finally he finds something that catches his eye.

Max Kael: Since you were able to defeat Paxton in the Warchamber, have you set your sights on the INTENSE Title, currently held by.. Uh.. who was it again?

Looking back down at his notes, Max feigns confusion as to who the INTENSE champion might be. Mostly because it’s the man who defeated him for the title.. That damned Rhinestone Cowboy, DAytona Diamonds.

Max Kael: ..uh.. Daytona.. Diamonds?

Fred chuckles. He picks up a chip off the ground. Munches on it.

Fred Dick: Ya wanna know the truth? I’m talgin’, the real shid? The authentic shid that I brang to the table, night in and night out, whut gets all these fans in the arenas, buyin’ tickets and sellin’ these benches out just to get a glimpse of Ol’ Fred? Well, I don’t give not nary a fug about the Intense Title. I don’t give not nary a fug about any titles. They gon’ come. Nawmean? Lawd yes, my opportunities will come and when they come so will I come. I too will come, and I will come harder than anything that you’ve ever seen come. Go on Google. Search “men coming harder than I’ve ever seen anyone else come.” Then thank about me. I’m comin’ harder than that. When it’s time to come, and only when it’s time to come. Not a second too soon. Not a second too not soon. See, a Fred Dick never comes early. Nor does he come late. He comes precisely when he means to.

Max nods.

Max Kael: A very wizard answer.

Clearing his throat, Max tosses the rest of his notes away.

Max Kael: Any final words for our audience before I flush you away like an unruly turd?

Fred thinks for a moment.

Fred Dick: …Show me your tee-tas?

Max Kael: THAT’S OUR SHOW!

Max begins to dance away from his desk as the credit music rolls. The chips have not stopped falling and now they are threatening to drown Fred Dick in their salty goodness.

Nobody seems overly concerned as we cut away.

Sunny O’Callahan bursts into the Hawaiian BBQ dressing room, her frizzy blonde hair bouncing with each step. The scent of coconut oil and leather mingles in the air as she takes in the scene before her.  Bryan Dawkins warms up in the corner… Adam Ellis sits motionless on the bench, eyes fixed on the floor.

Sunny O’Callahan: Alright, boys! Are you ready to bring the heat tonight?

Bryan pauses his warm-up, flashing a grin.

Bryan Dawkins: Bruh, you know I’m always ready to bring the heat.

Sunny’s gaze lands on Adam, concern flickering across her face. She’s seen that look even since she agreed to be his manager.

Sunny O’Callahan: Hey, country boy.  You gonna give us a little show tonight, or what?

Adam’s eyes lift slowly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Adam Ellis: Sure.

Dawkins ignores his partner’s apparent disinterest in their upcoming match.

Bryan Dawkins: That’s what I’m talkin’ about, bruh! We’re gonna smoke these guys like a pig at a luau!

Sunny can’t help but grin at Bryan’s enthusiasm. She reaches for her trusty bottle of Southern Comfort, taking a swig before continuing.

Sunny O’Callahan: Listen up, guys. We’re gonna go out there and absolutely demolish those… what the hell is their name again? Kinetic Innovation? More like Pathetic Stagnation. They’re about as innovative as a flip phone in 2023. I’ve seen more kinetic energy in a retirement home bingo night.

As Sunny’s roast gains momentum, a chuckle escapes Adam’s lips. She’s on a roll now, her words flowing as smoothly as the whiskey she loves.

Sunny O’Callahan: I mean, seriously, who came up with that name? It sounds like a failed tech startup that pivoted to pro wrestling when their app to disrupt the shoelace industry tanked. They probably think a suplex is some kind of new-age smoothie.

Bryan’s booming laugh fills the room, and even Adam’s shoulders are shaking with mirth now.

Sunny O’Callahan: So what do you say, boys? Are we ready to show these Kinetic Kitty Cats what real innovation looks like?

Adam nods. Bryan steps forward, extending his hand to Adam. With a firm grip, he pulls the gentle giant to his feet.

Bryan Dawkins: Let’s go, bruh. We’ve got work to do…

Sunny O’Callahan: Let’s do this.

And we go to ringside.

Nick Stuart: We’re going to keep the action going with some tag team action, ladies and gentlemen! Bryan Dawkins and Adam Ellis keep the Hawaiian BBQ going tonight, squaring off against Cory Kensington and Jamaal Igram of KING, the new team of Kinetic Innovation!

Richard Parker: We’ve had so many new teams show up lately, Nick, I’m starting to lose track of ‘em!

Nick Stuart: It’s shaping up to be a very robust second wave of the new tag team division! Let’s go to the ring, where our man Vince Howard is standing ready!

The arena quakes with anticipation, the roar of the crowd reverberating off the walls.

Vince Howard:  Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first…

The opening chords of Garrett Biggs’ “Mama Didn’t Raise No…” cascade over the masses, a siren call that heralds the arrival of Adam Ellis. Adam comes out on stage, dressed in a pair of plain blue wrestling shorts.

Then, as if on cue, Blur’s “Song 2” erupts, its iconic riff vibrating through the air. Bryan Dawkins steps out, confidence personified, his laid-back demeanor a stark contrast to the electric atmosphere around him. A smile plays across his lips, his eyes scan the sea of fans now on their feet, the din grows louder with every step he took.

Vince Howard: …accompanied to the ring by ‘The Manager of Champions’ Sunny O’Callahan.

The lovely Sunny O’Callahan emerges from the back dressed in the fashion of a female background singer from a late seventies Southern rock band wearing a spaghetti strap top, a pair of jeans, heels, and her usually straight hair is all frizzed out and curly.

Sunny takes a swig from a bottle of Southern Comfort and sways on the stage to the music.

Vance Howard: At a combined weight of four-hundred and fifty-eight pounds… Bryan Dawkins… Adam Ellis… they are… HAWAIIAN BBQ!

The declaration is met with a thunderous ovation, a collective voice that echoes through the rafters.

As Sunny escorts the group down the ramp, each step is met with flashes of cameras and the reach of outstretched hands.

At ringside, Adam and Bryan ascends into the ring as Sunny takes her place at ringside.

Nick Stuart: Ellis and Dawkins have shown a lot of promise since coming together as a team, though faltered in last season’s campaign for the PRIME Tag Team Championships. But perhaps “The Manager of Champions” has what it takes to bring their combined talents to the next level.

Richard Parker: That, or one of these two are seein’ Sunny Days, if you catch my drift, partner. Hopefully, not Adam!

Stupid

Without warning, “Fix Up, Look Sharp”, hitting the fans gathered with a pulsating rhythm that sounds like a heartbeat during a workout (or cocaine, take your choice). A drum loop follows up behind it and it pounds like a sledgehammer slamming into a concrete wall — a thunderous crack that resonates deep in the bones of everyone.

Fix Up Look Sharp
Don’t make me pick up with sign get park
Hear the bang, see the spark
Duck down, lay down just

Vince Howard: And their opponents, representing KING…

As the chorus repeats, Kinetic Innovation emerges from the backstage area, bouncing to the music and looking like they’re in the middle of an underground club instead of the Spokane Arena. Their arms are moving as they look out at the crowd — ignoring their jeers and boos in the process — because they could care less if they’re getting appreciation from the crowd. They’re in PRIME and ready to show up and show out.

I got the big beat
I hear the sound
I got the big beat
I get on down

Vince Howard: Weighing in at a combined weight of four-hundred and fifty-two pounds… please welcome the team of JAMAAL INGRAM and CORY KENSINGTON… KINETIC INNOVATION!

The two are each wearing a pair of jeans and no shirts — which shows off their muscular physique, thank you very much — highlighting that they’re here to work, not look pretty with elaborate outfits. As they move down the ramp, the music continues with them as a bass line weaves with the drum hits as Dizzee Rascal serenades the crowd unapologetically.

I’ve heard the gossip from the street to the slammer
They’re tryin’ to see if Dizzee stays true to his grammer
Being a celebrity don’t mean shit to me
Fuck the glitz and glamour, hey I’m with the blicks and gamma

The duo enter the ring with Jamaal Ingram heading to one corner and Cory Kensington to another corner, looking at the crowd and lifting their arms over their head before connecting with back flips off the top rope and meeting in the center of the ring where they dap each other up before getting ready for the match ahead.

Nick Stuart: And here come Kensington and Ingram! Kinetic Innovation! They were introduced to PRIME almost a year ago as a part of KING, but are only now getting their feet wet in tag team action!

Richard Parker: Are you freaking serious… that was a year ago? And we’re only seeing them in a match now?

Nick Stuart: We didn’t have a tag division then, partner. In any case, many are interested to see what this young team can bring to the table!

Official Ashley Barlow pats down and reviews the rules with both teams. In a matter of seconds, things are squared away, and she signals for the bell.

DING DING

Starting off for their respective teams, Dawkins and Kensington come out of their corners and meet in the center of the ring. Bryan goes right for the lock-up, but Cory comes out swinging with multiple jabs to put him on the defensive. In a matter of moments, Dawkins is backed into a corner and covering up.

Nick Stuart: Cory Kensington looking to get off to a hot start here!

Despite the drubbing, the veteran Dawkins keeps his poise, times out the strikes, and blocks one to count with a knee to the gut. Bryan quickly slaps on a side headlock and leverages him across his hip into a judo takedown that puts him on his back.

Richard Parker: Wanted the hot start, but it quickly fizzled out!

Nick Stuart: Kensington may have jumped the gun there, and now Dawkins has turned the tables!

Kensington frantically sits himself up, but it only works into Dawkins’ favor, who cinches up the head from behind and applies a traditional sleeperhold. ****However, from this position, Kensington has a few seconds to regulate his breathing and calm his nerves. Eventually, he forces himself to his feet…

Nick Stuart: Cory is back up, and Dawkins trying to keep hold… but Kensington suddenly backs up into the corner!

Kensington puts all of his weight into it, crushing Dawkins against the turnbuckles. Once freed, he hurries to his corner and tags out to Ingram. Jamaal hops the ropes to enter the ring.

Nick Stuart: Tag made to Jamaal Ingram, who hits the ring faster than greased lighting!

Richard Parker: He certainly drank his coffee before coming out here.

Dawkins recovers in time to see Ingram coming, and narrowly ducks a running lariat. He turns around, catching Jamaal springboarding off the ropes and coming back with a spinning heel kick… which he also ducks! Ingram stays in motion, hitting the ropes once more…

Nick Stuart: Jamaal Ingram is throwing caution to the wind in there, but Dawkins keeps his distance! Here he comes once more… leaping up for the hurricanrana — but Dawkins DUCKS at the last second!

Ingram nearly falls through the other set of ropes putting on the brakes. He recenters in times as Dawkins approaches, and attempts a waist-level kick for a step-up enzuigiri, only to have it immediately swatted down.

Nick Stuart: Enzuigiri Kick fails, and Ingram kisses the mat! Like Kensington, he was looking for a hot start, but it may have been too hot! Clearly, ****Kinetic Innovation are showing some first-match jitters out there.

Richard Parker: Welcome to the big stage, boys! It’s sink or swim in there!

Nick Stuart: Dawkins, with the waistlock, brings Jamaal Ingram back up… BIG German Suplex to the back of the head! He bridges for the cover!

One!

Two!

Kickout!

Ingram rolls free, while Bryan goes to his corner and tags Ellis into the match. Adam steps through the ropes and quickly clips Jamaal with a low running elbow.

Nick Stuart: Hawaiian BBQ has been in firm control of the opening moments of this match, and they look to maintain that with Adam Ellis now stepping into the action!

Richard Parker: Bringing all that raging, throbbing New Dad Energy with him!

Jamaal gets to his feet, but Adam stays on him and pushes him off the ropes. Ingram returns, looking for a headscissor take down, but Ellis frees his head and instead brings him down across his knee!

Nick Stuart: Ellis shuts Ingram down with a Tilt-a-whirl Backbreaker! He hooks the leg for the cover!

One!

Two!

No!

Ellis puts Jamaal into a front facelock before the young KING talent before he can attempt to get to roll away. He throws the arm over his head, preparing for the suplex… but as he snaps back to the mat, Ingram grabs hold of the top rope to prevent himself from going with him.

Richard Parker: Whoops! Butterfingers!

Adam curls up on the mat, holding the back of his head. Ingram briefly freezes, not immediately knowing how to follow up. Then he hears Cory calling from his corner, and snaps out of it. He makes the tag. Kensington steps through the ropes. As Ellis pulls himself to his feet, they charge at him.

Nick Stuart: Double Shotgun Dropkick to the chest of Adam Ellis! Just like that Kinetic Innovation coming roaring back into this fight!

Richard Parker: The Missouri Valley Meathead had to bungle things up eventually.

Nick Stuart: Or, could be that Ingram and Kensington are finally getting over their jitters! Here comes Cory with the cover!

One!

Two!

Ellis kicks out!

Kensington moves in to pull Adam back to his feet. Ellis has other ideas, fighting back with repeated shots to Cory’s abdomen. The star athlete of Missouri Valley quickly runs himself into the ropes, and knocks Kensington onto his back courtesy of a running shoulder block. He again runs into the ropes as Cory scrambles up…

Nick Stuart: Adam Ellis tries to fight back here… and here’s a running lariat — DUCKED by Cory Kensington! Now Kensington hooks the arms from behind… and there’s a TIGER SUPLEX!!

Ellis takes a favorable bounce towards his corner, and desperately tags out to Dawkins. He rolls to the floor while across the ring, Kensington tags back out to Ingram. Jamaal hops back into the ring, the two quickly meeting Bryan Dawkins as he himself steps inside.

Nick Stuart: Ellis tags to Dawkins, and Kensington tags to Ingram! Here comes Bryan… no, Kinetic Innovation with DUAL SUPERKICKS lay him out! They’re showing some real synergy now!

Richard Parker: Well, to be fair, it’s mostly Hawaiian BBQ dropping the ball again…

Nick Stuart: Not sure I’d agree with you there, but right now, Cory Kensington looks to put this away with the lateral press!

One!

Two!

TH–NO!! Dawkins gets the shoulder up in time!

Bryan forces his way back to his feet, but Kensington quickly shoves him into Kinetic Innovation’s corner. Cory keeps him trapped there, exposing the chest and lighting him up with a series of STIFF chops!

Richard Parker: That’s makin’ pineapple slices made the HARD way!

Nick Stuart: Kensington’s making that chest as red as a Hawaiian sunset! Now there’s a tag made to Jamaal Ingram!

Ingram comes into the ring, picking up where his partner left off. Meanwhile, outside the ring, Sunny O’Callahan is assisting Ellis back to his feet, and begins giving him a stern talking to.

Nick Stuart: We’re seeing Adam Ellis getting some words from “The Manager of Champions” Sunny O’Callahan out there. Any guess as to what they’re saying?

Richard Parker: I mean, I’m not a mind reader, Nick, but based on the look on her face, I’m thinking, “Your head’s not in this, so pull it out of your ass and start giving us a hundred percent, you dumbass”, or something on those lines.

Nick Stuart: OH!! Back in the ring, a knee lift from Jamaal Ingram catches Bryan Dawkins under the jaw, and he drops to the mat!

Dawkins is laid out on his back. Ingram makes another quick tag to Kensington, and begins scaling the top rope. To the amazement of the crowd, Jamaal hops from the turnbuckles to Kensington’s shoulders.

Nick Stuart: LOOK AT THIS!!

Richard Parker: What circus did they learn this from?!

Nick Stuart: Jamaal Ingram, from the shoulders of his partner Cory Kensington… coming down with the GIANT SPLASH —

…only for Bryan Dawkins to roll to the side.

Nick Stuart: NOBODY HOME!!

Richard Parker: His Kahuna-sense was tingling, and he got out of dodge!

Ellis, back on the apron, is waiting with his arm outstretched and renewed energy on his face. Dawkins rolls over and makes the hot tag. Ellis hits the ring like a house on fire and lays out Cory Kensington with a running forearm. Jamaal Ingram recovers from his missed splash, only to be hit with the same.

Nick Stuart: Adam Ellis is cleaning house! Up comes Kensington, and right down he goes again with a lariat! Now Jamaal Ingram is up by the ropes… SUPERKICK sends him over the top to the outside!

Richard Parker: Whatever O’Callahan said to him, it must’ve worked!

Sunny cheers supportively from ringside, along with thousands of fans in attendance. Ellis measures up a rising Cory Kensington, who instinctively throws a wild right. Adam ducks, slips around behind him, snags the head, and drops him to the mat!

Nick Stuart: ARM-TRAP NECKBREAKER by Adam Ellis! He floats over for the pin!

ONE!

TWO!!

THR–NO!! A nearfall…

Ellis claps hands and shakes his head in frustration, but knows he has to stay on task. He peels Cory Kensington off the mat and scoop slams him in the ring center before going to the corner…

Nick Stuart: Ellis is climbing up top! He knows this has to be the coup de gras moment!

Richard Parker: I don’t know anything about “cootie grass”, Nick, but he’s going to need something big to keep this Kensington kid down for the count!

Adam Ellis sets himself on the top, poses for a pop, and —

Nick Stuart: INGRAM PUSHES HIM OFF!!

Adam bounces off the mat and flails across the canvas, screaming in agony and clutching his arm. Knowing the situation is dire, he instinctively rolls over to Dawkins. Meanwhile, Kensington musters up the strength to push himself off the mat and look to his corner.

Nick Stuart: Tag made to Bryan Dawkins!

Richard Parker: And tag made to Jamaal Ingram!

Dawkins and Ingram hit the ring at the same time. Bryan comes charging in, but skids to a halt the minute Jamaal throws him for a loop by suddenly hand-springing into him.

Nick Stuart: HANDSPRING CUTTER! Dawkins had no idea that was coming!

Richard Parker: Neither did I!

Nick Stuart: Going for the cover…? No! Ingram wants to put this away!

Jamaal resuscitates his partner and directs traffic. Together, they pull Dawkins off the mat, and Cory sets him into the fireman’s carry. While he holds him in place, Ingram climbs the turnbuckle.

Richard Parker: I have a feeling we’re about to see something big, partner!

Dawkins comes to, and immediately tries to fight his way free. Resolute, Kensington ignores the blows and holds him in place while Ingram gets into position on the top rope…

Nick Stuart: OH WAIT —

…only Cory doesn’t account for Adam Ellis! Not sensing the other half of Hawaiian BBQ on his hands and knees behind him, Kensington COLLAPSES, and loses Dawkins!

Nick Stuart: Dawkins is free!

Richard Parker: Futterbingers!

Bryan rolls right to his feet as Ingram dives off the top, fecklessly trying to stop himself mid-air. It can’t be helped. The former Flyin’ Hawaiian snatches him out of the air and takes him straight to the ground.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins with the EZEKIEL CHOKE LOCKED IN!

Richard Parker: Holy hell, do something, Cory!

Nick Stuart: Kensington has his hands full with Adam Ellis! Jamaal Ingram has nowhere to go!

If Ingram had any intentions of tapping, we’ll never know. Three seconds is all it takes before Barlow sees his eyes roll back and know that he’s out. She calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Spoken cheers LOUD as Dawkins releases the hold and bursts to his feet, high-fiving Ellis. Sonny O’Callahan joins her team in the ring and joins in on the celebration.

Vince Howard: Ladies and the gentlemen, the winners of this match, by submission… BRYAN DAWKINS… and ADAM ELLIS… HAAAAWAAAAIIIIAAAAANN BAAARRRBUHKYOOOOO!!!!

Nick Stuart: What a hard-fought victory for the team of Ellis and Dawkins! The young team of Kinetic Innovation brought a real challenge here tonight, but nevertheless, Hawaiian BBQ held them off in their ReVival debut!

Richard Parker: I give all the credit to Sunny! She’s got the secret sauce…

Nick Stuart: Regardless, Adam Ellis and Bryan Dawkins enjoy the win tonight, bouncing back from their disappointing bid for the tag titles. As for Jamaal Ingram and Cory Kensington… I’d say we’ve seen enough to know that these two are going to be an interesting addition to this burgeoning tag team division!

Being class acts, Ellis and Dawkins offer handshakes and compliments to the fallen. Being KING punks, Ingram and Kensington wave them off as they skulk their way out of the ring.

And ReVival goes to commercial.

We return from commercial to hear an overwhelmingly negative reaction from the crowd while the closing stanzas of the “Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir play throughout the arena. The crowd is bathed in crimson, the crimson banner and hammer and sickle swirls on the PRIMEtron, and Ivan Stanislav is thudding down the entryway.

Nick Stuart: Folks welcome back! Per our run sheet, we have Ivan Stanislav making his way down to the ring!

Richard Parker: I love Ivan, but it always feels better when he’s scheduled to appear, rather than, you know, choosing to just show up.

Nick Stuart: Isn’t that the truth! Stanislav is main eventing this evening against The New Diamond, Nate Colton. There’s no love lost between the two of them…

Richard Parker: Lost? There’s never been any love between them!

The Russian Bear is dressed for his match later this evening. He sneers at the crowd and takes his time, rounding the ringside area. He smirks at a few angry fans, pointing at them and jawing at them in Russian. His signature laugh echoes amidst the din of the crowd.

“DYAAHAAHAA!!”

Nick Stuart: Stanislav has been here since UltraViolence 2022. He’s terrorized countless superstars. Jared Sykes. The Anglo Luchador. Brandon Youngblood. Jonathan-Christopher Hall…

Richard Parker: Hey, they’re friends!

Nick Stuart: Ahem, Jonathan-Christopher Hall. He’s had a feud with Lindsay Troy that’s ebbed and flowed throughout the years, but it’s flared up to red hot levels as of late!

By now, The Russian Bear is walking calmly past the announce table. He points at Stuart and booms.

Ivan Stanislav: No lies out of you, Stuart!!

He continues onward.

Richard Parker: Guess we can, uh, add your name to the list.

Ivan grips the top rope and lifts one huge leg up and steps up onto the apron, and then steps over the top rope and enters the ring. He raises his arms and roars defiantly as he stands in the middle of the ring, the music dying down and the lights resuming their standard color and brightness.

Ivan cocks an eyebrow and turns his head to one side, taking in the negative reaction from the crowd. Already, a bag of popcorn and a soda flies into the ring and splats around him. Ivan looks amused, looking down at the objects and then back at the crowd. He reaches to his back pants pocket and pulls out a microphone, bringing it to his lips. He says nothing, but the crowd responds with more vitriol.

He basks in it, closing his eyes for several moments. Then, he opens them… and speaks.

Ivan Stanislav: Thank you all for your hospitality! Here at Spokane Arena in Spokane, Washington!

More insults are thrown his way. He smirks.

Ivan Stanislav: Name of this arena is true testament to American creativity!! DYAAHAAHAA!!

The sound system labors and pops as the technicians in the back struggle with the sound levels.

Nick Stuart: Well, so much for that one time Ivan might try to endear himself to the crowd…

Stanislav walks towards the ropes and leans on them, causing the rope to sag heavily beneath his weight.

Ivan Stanislav: Twenty-four years. It has been twenty-four years since I debuted in United States. Twenty-four years, you have all known the name Ivan Stanislav. Some of you knew it when you were children…

Stanislav nods and points to a middle aged fan.

Ivan Stanislav: …and your children have learned my name.

Ivan nods towards a family.

Ivan Stanislav: Your parents have known my name. Generations of Americans, cowering in their boots at the name…

He pauses for dramatic effect as the camera zooms in on his angry, haggard face.

Ivan Stanislav: …“Stanislav.”

The Russian Bear straightens his back and absorbs the hatred that the fans lob his way. That also includes some boxes of candy and a roll of toilet paper.

Ivan Stanislav: Your cries of rage, anger, and frustration are music to my ears. It always has been! For twenty-four years…

Ivan makes a “small” sign with his thumb and pointer finger.

Ivan Stanislav: …save for small moment at one time…

Ivan grins.

Ivan Stanislav: …I have listened to the screams and cries of Americans, fearful of what Russia’s favored son would bring to bear against them. You have mustered your best, and they have all crashed and broken against the bulwark of Russia. They have been courageous, yes. Fearless? Sometimes. Failures? Consistently. They have tried all kinds of tricks, and all have failed. Handicap matches. Hardcore matches. Tag matches. Cage matches. Structures that defy the mind. In locations that are unorthodox. Special referees. One-sided rules. You name it and I have seen it and prevailed!

Ivan pauses and inhales deeply.

Ivan Stanislav: I thought, Spokane, that I had seen it all. But no one in these twenty-four years has ever had the courage, or foolishness, to challenge me to “I Quit” match. Not until Nate Colton.

The change in tone is stark as large sections of the crowd, who actually choose to listen to The Russian Bear, hear Colton’s name and pop for him. Ivan’s mood doesn’t improve. He turns and walks to another side of the ring and speaks.

Ivan Stanislav: You all ask “why?” Why did I attack Nate’s brother? Why didn’t I just keep walking? Lindsay Troy herself has asked that. I had him down, right there, on the mat.

Ivan points to the corner of the mat where Blake had lain after Stanislav dropped him.

Ivan Stanislav: I didn’t have to turn around, lift his carcass up, and launch him into the post. Did I?

Ivan shakes his head.

Ivan Stanislav: No, I did not. And so, you ask me again “Why?” And perhaps I should give you explanation.

Ivan offers a cold grin.

Ivan Stanislav: Because I WANTED to! Because I CAN! Because NO ONE can stop me!

The reaction from the crowd grows violent, some push against the barricades and yet, no one dares to climb over and try to get in the ring with Ivan Stanislav. Maybe the memory of what happened to Blake grants them pause? No one would blame them.

Ivan Stanislav: And yet, there is one damning truth that all of you hold in your heart. One you will not admit. One you will not ever recognize: You love me!

Nick Stuart: Not sure what Ivan is going for here, but this crowd definitely doesn’t love him.

Ivan Stanislav: For without me, all of you have nothing to hope for. Nothing to pray for. Nothing to yearn for. Without Ivan Stanislav, there would be no reason to stay here tonight, would there? Without me, there would be no boogeyman for you to pray could be defeated!

The crowd roars once more, but Ivan shakes his head.

Ivan Stanislav: Yes, it is true. And so too does Nate Colton. The froth that pours from your mouths only exists because I beat Blake Colton like a dog, and had I not, you would have nothing to watch tonight. For I, Ivan Sergeiovich Stanislav, give you purpose, and in your hatred of me, so too is it love. There has been no one in wrestling like me, and there never will be again!

Ivan chuckles and paces to and fro in the ring.

Ivan Stanislav: Deep in your hearts, you hope silently that I do not lose tonight. Because if I do, everything in PRIME will be just. a little. more. boring. And the likes of Nate Colton, Youngblood, and all the other white knights in PRIME will lack one more reason to exist! I grant them that!

Ivan inclines his head and stands in the middle of the ring.

Ivan Stanislav: Do you want me gone?!

RAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

Ivan Stanislav: I said, Spokane Arena, do you want Ivan Stanislav wiped from the Earth and gone forever?!

RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Ivan Stanislav: Despite the lies you tell yourself, you want me to stay, and so I shall.

The camera zooms in closer to Ivan’s face, and he straight into the shot.

Ivan Stanislav: Nate Colton!! You cowardly yellow-belly! I think you realized when you made this challenge, that you signed your death warrant. I think, you learned, that you bit off more than you could chew! How dare you use your broken, brittle brother as an excuse to avoid me at UltraViolence. That was MY event! I destroyed Chet World nearly two decades ago! I battered Hayes Hanlon to within inch of his life! I nearly tore Brandon Youngblood’s arm off last year!! And you realized, you sorry son of bitch, that at UltraViolence this year, you would experience the same fate!!!

Ivan shakes his head.

Ivan Stanislav: But there is nowhere to hide. Here I am! Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Sergeiovich Stanislav! I am The Russian Bear! I am the Soviet Giant!! I am more than just favored son of Colton family, like you. I am all of Mother Russia’s most cherished warrior!!!

Ivan points at the camera, not blinking, yet the rage is boiling in him. He shakes as he speaks, the intensity in his eyes nearing critical levels.

Ivan Stanislav: I am unstoppable!! I am unbeatable!! I am indefatigable! And you, Nate Colton, have offered yourself as the next casualty in my patriotic war! Tonight, I obliterate yet another Colton! Tonight, the Colton family’s most cherished son crashes and burns!!! And tonight, Nate Colton, will be the last night you EVER set foot in a PRIME wrestling ring!!

Ivan smirks.

Ivan Stanislav: For twenty-four years, I have lived in your hearts and minds. And that will NOT end tonight. I will not say goodbye to you. However, I reserve such sentiments for someone else.

Ivan nods with a grin.

Ivan Stanislav: Das vidanya, Nate Colton! DYAAHAAHAA!!

Again, the sound system screeches as Ivan laughs and the crowd gives it back to him with more trash and garbage. But he doesn’t stop.

DYAAHAAHAA!!

DYAAHAAHAA!!

DYAA-HAA-HAA!!

And with the laughter echoing in our minds, we go elsewhere.

We cut away from a giant, communist dickhead to the backstage area where Rob Williams is casually performing a bris on a freshly unsheathed Ghurka cigar. Is he allowed to smoke cigars backstage? Probably not, but you fucking tell him that. Anyways – back to Rob Williams. Through some amazing miracle, Rob has a strike-anywhere match. Didn’t they quit making those because they’re a fire hazard? Rob doesn’t have time to give a shit about things like this. Nope, he doesn’t even think about these silly rules as he strikes the match on the side of his cowboy boot and brings it to the finished end of his cigar.

Blowing a plume of smoke in the air, Rob turns a corner to reveal Sebastian Gold in his entrance gear, shades on, leaning against a wall trying to look casual.  He shoots Rob with two finger guns then slaps him on the back. Rob has no fucking clue who this guy is, but finger guns can be a somewhat vague tell. Cool guys do it, but so do guys trying to be cool.

Sebastian: Hey, Robby Dubs!  My man!

Trying to be cool. Fuck. Rob looks as if to confirm that the guy is talking to him.

Rob Williams: Well please do forgive my ignorance, but who the fuck are you?

Sebastian: You haven’t heard of me? The Golden Boy, the Bastion of–

Rob Williams: Nope, not fucking happening.

He spins on a dime, turning his back to Sebastian and puffing away like the angry little choo-choo train that he is. Sebastian Gold, though, is only something if resilient.

Sebastian: Uh-Sebastian Gold! That’s my name! I’m new here and I’m a big fan.

Back still turned, Rob drags deep on the cigar and exhales through his nose. He shoots a look up to the sky as if asking God… really? Fucking really? But, he’s trying to be a different man. A man who would give the time of day to a fan, to a kid that probably is way more like him at that age than he even realizes. Someone who puts their own self-loathing on the shelf long enough to not make this interaction about how bad he feels about himself.

Rob Williams: (Under his breath) I’m going to fucking regret this, aren’t I, kid?

Despite his instincts, Rob turns around and feigns a smile around the cigar in his teeth.

Rob Williams: You want an autograph? Or to just whisper sweet nothings at me?

Sebastian: This time, neither. I think I can help you.

Yeah, back to nope. Rob turns and begins leaving again as Sebastian follows him.

Sebastian: See, I noticed we’ve got, uh— a fair number of wrestlers in recovery and I wanna get a regular AA Group going.

John’s words echo a parable from the book Alcoholics Anonymous in Rob’s head:

“Helping others is the foundation stone of your recovery. A kindly act once in a while isn’t enough. You have to act the Good Samaritan every day, if need be.”

He doesn’t turn around to face the kid, but Rob stops.

Rob Williams: I’m listening.

Sebastian:  Only PRIME folks.  There’s not many other people who get what we’re goin’ through anyways. No pressure, but…if you’re like me then I know how much you need it…

Rob Williams: That’s not a bad idea, kid.

Sebastian smiles wide and does a little hop.

Sebastian: Really? Great! I knew this was a good idea. When are you free next-

Rob Williams: Whoa, calm the fuck down kid. I didn’t say I was coming. I said it’s a good idea.

Sebastian: But-

The disappointment is palpable. It drips off the “t”, Sebastian’s mouth left agape as Rob interjects.

Rob Williams: Kid, I was smoking crack when you were no more than a twinkle in your daddy’s eyes. Don’t think because we’re both sober that you know something about me. It’s a good idea and I hope you aren’t just another person talking shit here in PRIME. Best of luck.

Rob decides to go past Sebastian instead of walking away this time. Seems like turning his back on Gold just isn’t effective. He begins to walk past the younger man when Sebastian steps in front of him, blocking his path.

Sebastian: That’s not good enough.

Rob Williams: (Smiling through his cigar) You got a fucking set on you, kid. Kudos on that. Now I suggest you go find a juice box and get the fuck out of my way.

Sebastian: Come on, man. We’re both alkies here, you can be honest with me, buddy. I know it must be tough disappointing Anna, blaming yourself for losing the tag titles.

What was casual annoyance on Rob’s face has turned to outright rage. His eyes are wide, the lights reflecting off his baby blues.

Sebastian: I can’t imagine how humiliating that must be. But you can’t let it keep you off the wagon.

Rob Williams: You had best walk away if you want to leave this place on your own accord.

Sebastian puts his hands on Rob’s arms.

Sebastian: It’s not your fault.

Ash from Rob’s cigar falls all over Sebastian’s chest as Rob leans in close, whispering with a seething rage.

Rob Williams: This ain’t Good Will Hunting, kid. Take your fucking hand off me.

Sebastian smells his breath, assuming he will pick up the smell of vodka. Rob backhands Sebastian across the face, just a warning shot but enough to send Sebastian reeling.  Gold checks his mouth for blood and massages his jaw. The welcoming smile is gone, replaced with a shit-eating grin.

Sebastian: Okay. Okay, man.  I’ll leave you alone.

He throws his hands and backs away, which sends Rob over the edge.

Sebastian: It’s for the best, anyways. I mean you’re a guy who coulda kept teaming with Anna fucking Daniels and you abandon her for the Whoresmen? If those are the choices you make sober, you’re better dying a drunk-

CRACK

No more warning shots. Rob lands a solid hook on Sebastian, but the rookie bounces right back with a haymaker of his own. Blows are traded back and forth wildly, the men smashing into a wall and rebounding into a catering table. They both hit the ground, the table easily snapping under their combined four-hundred plus pounds, but neither man stops swinging until security separates them. A roadman comes to grab Sebastian for his upcoming match. Rob’s eyes are hellfire, a stark contrast to his cocky smile.

Rob Williams: I’ll be fucking seeing you kid.

ReVival moves on.

Nick Stuart: Let’s keep this show moving, folks! Our next match is between the young, upstart, stuntman-turned-wrestler, Sebastian Gold, against a man who knows a thing or two about action, Crash Jackson.

Richard Parker: He might know a thing or two about losing girlfriends and eating hot dogs and betraying the bro code, but of course you were going to just breeze right past that, weren’t you?

Nick Stuart: What are you even talking about?

Richard Parker: Your Crash agenda. It’s bullshit. And it doesn’t paint the complete picture.

Nick Stuart groans.

I GET AHEAD ON MY MOTORBIKE

I GET AHEAD ON MY MOTORBIKE

The Opening riff of “The Living End” coats the arena as yellow smoke covers the top of the ramp.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing first, from Los Angeles California. He stands at five feet and eleven inches tall, and weighs in at 193 pounds. He is THE BASTIOOOOOOON OF ACTIOOOOOONNNN… SEBASTIAAAAAN GOOOOOOOOOLD!

THERE’S NOTHING ELSE BUT MEEEE

Sebastian flips through the smoke and lands at the top of the ramp and throws up his hands for the crowd.

THERE’S NOTHING ELSE BUT MEEEEE

The Bastion of Action takes his time heading to the ring, signing autographs and taking selfies with fans.

AN EMPTY ROOOAAAAD

AND A COOL, COOL WIND

MAKES IT FEEL SO GOOOOOOOOD

He climbs the top turnbuckle and points to the sky.

Vince Howard: And… his opponent…

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

Vince Howard: from Buffalooooo, New York! He stands at five feet and eleven inches, and weighs in at 238 pounds! He is NEW YOOOOOOORK’S FINEST!!! CRAAAAAAAAAAAASH JAAAAAACKSOOOOOOOOOOON!!!

LEEEET’S GET READY TO RUUUMMMBLE

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

FEEL THE FIRE, HE’S ENTERING THE RING

HIS MINDSET KNOWS ONLY HOW TO WIIIIIIIN

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

UNLEASHING HIS HELL

YOU WON’T EVEN HEAR THE BELL

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

FEEL THE POWER OF THE WAAAAARRIOOOOR!

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

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

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

LET’S GET READY TO RUUUUMBLE

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

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

The music begins to die out as Crash locks in on his opponent with an alarming stare, holding a violent gaze and snarl that raises red flags all over the place.

DING! DING!

The bell sounds and Crash wastes no time walking down Sebastian Gold, and to his credit, Sebastian meets him halfway. The two lock up in the center, and almost immediately, Gold gets the wrist lock on Crash. Gold twists Crash’s arm, and Crash has little choice but to somersault forward, kip up, and perform a perfectly executed arm drag to the Bastion of Action!

Sebastian kips up to his feet, and executes an arm drag of his own.

Arm drag by Crash!

Arm drag by Sebastian!

Arm drag by Cra–

NO!!! Sebastian nails Crash in the jaw with a vicious elbow!! Crash staggers backwards, tumbles through the middle and top rope, and falls to the outside.

Crash immediately starts to his feet, but even then he’s dazed, and stumbling.

SUICIDE DIVE BY SEBASTIAN!!! OUT OF NOWHERE!!!

BUT CRASH MOVES OUT OF THE WAY!!! AND SEBASTIAN HITS THE GROUND HARD!!!

Nick Stuart: You get the sense that Sebastian really wants to upstage Crash here.

Richard Parker: What is it with you?

Nick Stuart: I beg your pardon?

Richard Parker: Crash, Crash, Crash. It’s always about Crash with you. You can’t go five minutes without talking about that guy.

Nick Stuart: Richard… Crash is in this match. I have to say his name.

Richard Parker: Hmph. Convenient.

Meanwhile Crash is back in the ring, beckoning Sebastian to reach his feet on the outside. Just as the Bastion of Action does so, Crash runs to the opposite side of the ring, bounces off the ropes.

Sebastian thinks Crash is going high, so he rushes towards the ring.

BUT CRASH GOES LOW AND NAILS SEBASTIAN WITH A BASEBALL SLIDE!!!

Crash swivels his legs back into the ring as Sebastian is sent rearing into the guard rails. He places both hands on the top rope, pulls it back, and LEAPS!

BOTH FEET TOUCH THE TOP ROPE!!!

SPRING.

BOARD.

FLYING.

HEADSCISSORS!!!

Sebastian’s body is thrown into the guard rail, and Crash isn’t much better off himself!

The fans, nevertheless, ROAR for the high spot.

CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

Nick Stuart: Well, it’s not me saying his name, Richard.

Richard Parker: They’re ruining the bit if I’m being honest.

Given the nature of such a spot, both men are left lying on the floor, writhing in pain.

Elvis Nixon begins to count them out.

ONE!

And both men slowly begin reaching their feet. From two knees. To one.

But it’s Crash that stands first. He grabs Sebastian and helps him to his feet, carries him towards the apron.

TWO!

Crash starts to roll Sebastian into the ring, but Sebastian grabs Crash’s head and SLAMS it off the edge of the apron.

SMACK!

Sebastian climbs onto the apron.

THREE!

MIDDLE ROPE MOONSAULT BY SEBASTIAN GOLD!!!

IT TOPPLES CRASH, BUT SEBASTIAN LANDS ON HIS FEET!

And that’s all it takes for Sebastian to turn to the crowd and scream in an adrenaline fueled frenzy!!

They eat it up!!

Nick Stuart: This crowd is on fire for these two!

FOUR!

Richard Parker: I’m not particularly impressed with either of them.

Nick Stuart: No one asked you.

Somehow, you can hear Richard offer Nick a hurt frown.

Sebastian Gold rolls into the ring. Immediately he climbs to the top turnbuckle, and waits for Crash to reach his feet. Crash, a veteran in every sense, is keenly aware that something is about to happen by the fever pitch that the crowd is slowly rising towards.

Crash reaches his feet.

SEBASTIAN LEAPS!!!

A FLYING HEADSCISSORS BY SEBASTIAN!!!

BANG!!!

NOOOOOOO!!!

CRASH REVERSED IT INTO A POWERBOMB TO THE COLD FLOOR!!!

Nick Stuart: JESUS MURPHY!!!

Richard Parker: No thanks, I’m not thirsty.

Crash can smell blood in the water. He turns to the crowd.

Crash Jackson: COME ON BROS!!!

The crowd roars in response, and he quickly pulls a wobbly Sebastian to his feet and rolls him into the ring!

Crash follows swiftly and makes the cover.

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THR–

NO! SMALL PACKAGE REVERSAL BY SEBASTIAN!!!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

NO!!!!

Nick Stuart: Crash kicks out with not a MOMENT to spare.

Richard snores.

Nick Stuart: You’re a real jerk off. You know that.

Richard giggles softly. Snores again.

Both men are up to their feet. Crash goes for a clothesline, Sebastian ducks it.

Roundhouse kick from Sebastian!!!

No! Crash rolls and avoids it.

Crash kips up to his feet.

SUPERKICK BY SEBASTIAN!!!

Crash hits the mat hard! And Sebastian rushes to the top rope. He sets his feet. Rises to a stand.

HE LEAPS…!!!

THE GOLD RUSH!!! THE SHOOTING STAR PRESS BY SEBASTIAN GOLD!!!

Sebastian hooks the leg!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREEEEEEEEEE!!!

…

…

…

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Crash kicks out, once again, with not a moment to spare.

Sebastian pounds the mat from frustration. He decides to bring Crash to his feet and does so with haste. He whips Crash into the ropes.

JUMP SWINGING DDT BY CRASH!!!

Nick Stuart: Once again, both men are laid out and exhausted. They are giving us their all tonight!

Richard Parker: Kay.

Crash crawls towards the turnbuckles. He pulls himself to his feet with the ropes and begins the slow ascent to the top turnbuckle.

Sebastian is still, on his back and prone.

CRASH.

DOT.

COM.

CORKSCREW.

SHOOTING.

STAR.

PRESS!!!!!

Nick Stuart: PERFECTLY EXECUTED!!! CRASH MAKES THE COVER!!!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

DING! DING!

Richard Parker: Oh thank God it’s over.

Vince Howard: Heeeere is yoooooour winnerrrr.. CRAAAAAASHHHH JAAAACKSOOOOOOON!!!

“A Warrior’s Call” by Volbeat hits the speakers.

Elvis Nixon raises Crash’s hand in victory.

Nick Stuart: Sebastian Gold was very game tonight, but ultimately, Crash Jackson edges him out!

Richard Parker: Let’s cut to something else before I actually fall asleep.

ReVival moves on.

We cut backstage to see Angelica Brooks, as professional as ever, smiling at the camera. To her right is Paxton Ray, who is giving the same bored face he has ever since stepping into PRIME.

Angelica Brooks: I’m here with Paxton Ray, who is coming off of a devastating match in the Warchamber against Fred Dick where he came up just short. Paxton, after multiple months tangled with Fred Dick, how do you feel?

Paxton Ray: Well that match fuckin’ sucked. An’ it hurt like hell. Freddie got one on me, and I got one on him before that, but I’ll be damned if we have a rubber match. Far as I’m concerned, the Fred Dick chapter in my life is closed and locked with a key that’s at the bottom of the ocean.

Angelica Brooks: Interesting. I wanted to ask you about the end of the match, where you held him up for the same move that paralyzed your former tag team partner and mentor, Jonathan Rhine. You talked openly about paralyzing Fred Dick. But you didn’t go through with it. Why?

Paxton thinks on this question for a few seconds.

Paxton Ray: Kinda sounds like ya wished I had, Angie?

Angelica Brooks: Of course not. I just know that you were capable of such things in the past, and coming off of such a destructive match…I’m just wondering what changed.

Paxton Ray: A lot has changed, Ang. With me, with this place. I hate Fred Dick, an’ I promise ya if I saw him later on fire, I’d take my phone out and take a picture instead’a call 911. But in the past two years, a lot has changed. I did somethin’ no one should take lightly. I ended a man’s career, an’ I bragged about it. I was one of the worst people to walk these halls, an’ if ya ask me? I prob’ly still am.

The fans react to this. Some cheer, some boo, and one or two launch into a soliloquy of how they feel about Paxton Ray, but no one hears these people. Save it for the message boards, bro.

Paxton Ray: Facin’ off against a piece’a shit don’t suddenly make me some white knight. But I don’t really care ‘bout that. I hurt a lot of people, an’ most of ‘em still don’t forgive me. So I’ll try to fix those things if I can, but overall I’m jus’ tryin’ t’do right by me, and right by the people I care ‘bout.

Angelica Brooks: A noble pursuit. So then the natural question is: what’s next?

Paxton Ray: Not sure, really. I ain’t ready t’go yet, accordin’ to PRIME doctors. They said maybe I’ll be ready for 58. So I’m jus’ gonna hang out, eat some decent food, and see what my friends backstage are doin’.

Angelica Brooks: No, I mean long…

Angelica is interrupted by a man walking towards Paxton. When Paxton sees Doug Tim, PRIME’s best and most well known backstage assistant, he beams.

Paxton Ray: Speakin’ of! What up, Dougie?

Doug doesn’t smile, because he doesn’t know how.

Doug Tim: Pax, somebody dropped this off at the back of the arena. It’s got your name on it.

Paxton furrows his brow as he takes the envelope from Doug. He begins to open it. Angelica, because she’s the best, holds the microphone to Paxton’s face to get whatever initial reactions he has to this.

Paxton Ray: What the fuck…

Like that one.

He opens the letter and reads it, then shakes his head.

Paxton Ray: Fuck this shit.

He moves to throw away the letter, but Angelica – again, because she’s the best – takes it from him. Paxton walks out of frame as Angelica reads the letter aloud.

Angelica Brooks: “You took everything from me. Now I’ve come to return the favor.”

Her eyes widen as she realizes the letter is a threat.

Angelica Brooks: Who sent this? There’s no signature…unless these are meant to be?

The camera man, who is also the best, zooms in as Angelica turns the letter around for the camera. The shot zooms down past the scrawled threat to the bottom, where there are simply two emojis.

🎵💀

With that, we go elsewhere.

The feed returns to the ring, and a rowdy atmosphere. Vince Howard stands proudly with microphone in hand, staring towards hardcam and waiting for the cheering to abate to make his announcements. Beside him, prowling in the southeast corner, Jason Snow is loosening up after already having made his entrance during the last segment.

Nick Stuart: It’s time for more action here on ReVival folks and Jason Snow has already made his way out to the ring.

Richard Parker: Why does the wrestler with the scariest face have to be the one with no entrance music, Nick? Can we at least put a frickin’ bell around his neck or something?

Snow hits the ropes a few times, starting lightly but quickly picking up momentum.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Standing in the ring at this time, hailing from Parts Unknown and weighing in at two-hundred and thirty-five pounds…he is The ORIGINAL VILLAAAIIIN…JAAASSSOOONN SSSNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWW!!

Snow acknowledges the ovation with a nonchalant glance as he staggers his pace to a halt and returns to the northeast corner, eyes fixed on the canvas as the hypnotic rhythm of “Satori Part II” by Flower Travellin’ Band permeates the air.

Vince Howard: And his opponent! Hailing from Joshua Tree, California, and weighing in at two-hundred and one pounds…The BODHISATTVA OF TRANSFORMATIVE EXPERIENCE…SSSAAAAAAAGE POOOOOOOOOOONNNTIIIIIIIIIFFFFFF!!

Pontiff emerges from behind the curtain, swinging a censer in one hand and grooving to the music. A purple haze fills the air around him as he sashays down the aisle in serpentine fashion, effortlessly deflecting the negative waves as the crowd reaction turns sour.

Nick Stuart: Sage certainly appears to be in the zone tonight, and he’ll need to be as both competitors are looking for a win tonight to avenge their respective losses at ReVival 55.

Richard Parker: It’s a dirty hippy versus an old shellshocked veteran, Nick, call it what it is.

Nick Stuart: And what would that be?

Richard Parker: BUMFIIIGHT!!

Nick rolls his eyes as Sage rounds the ring, cleansing the atmosphere and taking no notice of Parker’s outburst. After completing a circuit he places the depleted censer next to the steps in the northwest corner and ascends to the apron. Rolling his shoulders confidently in time to the rhythm he closes his eyes and leans back, kicking a leg out and spiriting between the ropes to more boos as he takes center stage and gives the crowd an eyeful of enlightenment.

Richard Parker: Get a job, hippy!

Nick Stuart: He’s a contracted professional wrestler, Richard..

Richard Parker: A real job, dammit! Learn a trade! Join a union! Start a pension!

Pontiff retreats to the northwest corner as referee Jimmy Turnbull steps forward and motions to both competitors. Snow finally looks up, locking eyes with the official and offering a curt nod while Pontiff grabs the top rope and sags into his corner, giving a quick acknowledgement as he hangs his head and closes his eyes, swaying calmly on his haunches. Satisfied, Turnbull calls for the bell.

DING DING

The crowd holler in anticipation as Snow takes a step forward, fists up and jaw set. Pontiff, however, is still perched in the corner in a trance-like state.

Nick Stuart: The bell has rung and Sage doesn’t appear to be making a move from his corner.

Richard Parker: I can’t tell if he’s high or just being arrogant..what was that smoke pouring out his gimmick?

Snow remains wary but allows Pontiff the space to attune. Turnbull meanwhile eagerly urges the Joshua Tree native into action, and in response Pontiff cooly gazes up past the referee and locks eyes with Snow. In one smooth motion he pops both feet onto the bottom rope and, using his grip on the top rope to propel himself further, launches out of the corner into a forward roll and comes up looking for a jumping corkscrew roundhouse kick.

Nick Stuart: And we’re off! Sage bursts out of the corner! Roundhouse attempt! Snow sidesteps!

Snow rotates in tandem with Pontiff and brings an arm up to block the meat of the kick, stumbling as the blow connects. Pontiff hits the canvas and uses his momentum to spin on his side and strike out with another kick.

Nick Stuart: Sage tries to sweep the leg and catches Snow on the calf, but it’s not enough to bring the Original Villain down!

Richard Parker: He’s coming out the gate like a whirlwind of excrement!

Snow maintains his balance and backs off, giving the afflicted leg a quick shake. Pontiff kips up, striking out with a leaping forearm as Snow lurches forward and throws an elbow of his own. They each find their mark and eat one another’s shot then burst into a flurry of strikes back and forth.

Nick Stuart: It’s looking more like a hockey fight than a bumfight now, Richard!

Richard Parker: Na, this definitely looks like a bumfight.

The sound of smacking flesh riles up the Washington crowd as Pontiff bears down on Snow, pressing him back into the southeast corner and attempting a vicious clothesline. The Original Villain ducks out of the way and uses Pontiff’s own momentum against him to pin him into the corner. Sage’s back hits the turnbuckle and a massive chop from Snow lands across his chest.

Nick Stuart: They heard that one in the nosebleeds! Snow with a headlock takedown on Pontiff now, giving him no time to recover!

Snow takes Sage to the mat and hammers his forehead with knuckles. Pontiff kicks out in distress, unable to get out from under Snow. He scissors Snow’s head with both legs and pulls him to the mat, shaking off the cobwebs and examining the flourishing welts for blood.

Nick Stuart: Sage counters with the headscissors, looks like Snow lit him up with those shots.

Richard Parker: That headscissors is where I tap out.

Snow hammers a fist into Pontiff’s knee and kips up out of the headscissors then turns to deliver a hard kick. Sage ducks it and reaches up, grabbing Snow around the thigh and pulling him into a pin.

Nick Stuart: Snow misses with that kick. Sage goes for the pin!

ONE!

Nick Stuart: Kicks out at one.

Both men scramble to their feet. Snow goes for a clothesline but Pontiff ducks and hits the ropes, springboarding off the middle and rebounding with a crossbody that catches Snow by surprise and sends him crashing to the mat. Sage pops back up and hits the ropes again. Snow rolls onto his belly as Sage rebounds and hops over him. Snow shoots to his feet and leapfrogs Sage.

Nick Stuart: Sage picking up steam here.

Richard Parker: More a fetid waft I’d say.

Pontiff hits the ropes a third time but Snow follows him in and sticks a knee into his gut. Sage flips head over heel and hits the mat.

Nick Stuart: Snow cuts him off! Headlock applied.

Richard Parker: Would it be uncouth of someone to slip a baton into the ring right now?

Snow drives Pontiff’s face into the canvas and cinches in the hold. The Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience flails as he tries to dig his fingers between his face and Snow’s arm to alleviate the pressure.

Nick Stuart: Yes it would, Richard. Who needs weapons when Sage Pontiff wrestles like a human throwing star and Snow hits like a lead pipe?

Richard Parker: Spoken like someone who’s never been hit with a baton.

Sage works his fingers deeper until he has a good grasp of Snow’s arm, only for Snow to pepper him with more shots to the dome causing Sage to cry out and pull his arms free to swat away the punches.

Nick Stuart: Snow not allowing his opponent any wiggle room here.

As the shots continue to rain down, Sage glimpses the ropes nearby and frustratedly works his fingers back around Snow’s forearm. Grabbing on tightly, he tucks his knees and neck and rolls forward, shucking himself free of Snow’s vise-like grip and sliding out of the ring to collect himself.

Richard Parker: Sage powered out of that like Snow’s the one with a B.O. problem.

Snow gets to his feet as Pontiff takes a breather, regarding him from ringside as the fans berate him. Turnbull moves to the ropes to admonish Pontiff, but Snow waves him aside and sits down on the middle rope, holding the top rope up with one hand and beckoning his opponent back into the ring.

Nick Stuart: And that look says he doesn’t appreciate the gesture by Snow.

Visibly offended, Pontiff ambles over to the steel steps in the northwest corner and climbs back up on the apron. He stops at the turnpost and motions for the referee to move Snow away from the ropes. Turnbull acquiesces and escorts Snow away from Sage’s potential entry point. With the referee between him and his opponent, Pontiff seizes the opportunity to vault back into the ring and lunge at Snow with a stiff right.

Nick Stuart: Oh come on, that was underhanded! Using the referee as a distraction to jump his opponent!?

Richard Parker: Like you said Nick, he didn’t appreciate that gesture.

Turnbull gets sandwiched as Pontiff reaches overhead to slam a fist into Snow’s head. He yelps out of the way and turns to see both men going back at it, fighting across the ring with stinging lefts and rights. Snow mashes his elbow into Pontiff’s nose and backs up for a haymaker, but the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience cuts him off with a kick to the gut, doubling him over and leaving him vulnerable to attack.

Nick Stuart: And Sage gets his own back with a headlock driver spiking Snow’s head into the mat! Cover!

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: Kickout at two by Snow and he looks dazed after that one!

Before Snow can gather his senses, Sage pulls him off the ground and shoots him into the ropes, executing a picture perfect dropkick that hits thin air.

Nick Stuart: Snow holds on to the ropes!

Richard Parker: And Sage gets reacquainted with dust once again.

Flat on his back, Pontiff realizes his mistake and instinctively rolls away in time to avoid an elbow drop from Snow. Both men spring back to their feet, Sage fires off a jab and as Snow dodges back he follows up with a crescent kick.

Nick Stuart: Snow traps the leg! Belly-to-belly connects!

Richard Parker: You’re being generous there, Nick.

What Nick calls a belly-to-belly is in fact a botched exploder. As Snow hoists his opponent into the air, Sage jams a hand under his jaw and forces his head back. Fearing a broken neck, Snow fumbles into the belly-to-belly instead, but maintains his grip on the mat. Turnbull slides in to make the count.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Didn’t quite get all of that and Sage kicks out at two.

Richard Parker: That was ugly.

Snow grimaces, holding his back while Sage rolls to the apron. The Original Villain gets to his feet, stalking his opponent as Pontiff pulls himself up using the ropes. Snow reaches over the top rope and grabs a handful of dreads, but the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience goes low and connects with a hook to the kidney. Snow gasps audibly and staggers backwards, giving Sage space to leap over the top rope and catch him with a facebuster.

Nick Stuart: Sage plants Snow with a facebuster and goes for the cover again!

ONE!

TW-NO!

Nick Stuart: Snow once again kicks out.

Sage pushes himself off of Snow and sets his hands on his hips, eyeballing Turnbull. The ref reiterates ‘two’ as Pontiff glances at the southwest corner and gets to his feet, pulling Snow up with him and planting him again with a scoop slam. He steps over the Original Villain and pops up onto the middle ropes, then the top, and flies through the air.

Nick Stuart: Electric Feel! What athleticism from Pontiff!

Richard Parker: ‘Spore Dispersal’ would be a more fitting name.

The arc on the corkscrew moonsault is pristine. The landing? Not so much.

Nick Stuart: Snow gets the knees up!

Sage bounces on impact and clutches his gut. Snow takes advantage, plucking Pontiff off the mat and drilling him with a pulling piledriver.

Nick Stuart: Piledriver by Snow into the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: Pontiff gets the shoulder up before three!

Richard Parker: That piledriver was pretty limp, but it prevented Sage from recovering.

Pontiff rolls onto his stomach but Snow stays on him, applying another headlock. The Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience cries out, pawing futilely at the arm squeezing his skull.

Nick Stuart: And Snow, once again, goes back to the headlock.

Richard Parker: What is this? Jason Snow Unplugged?

Nick Stuart: Certainly a more measured approach.

Sage lets out a yelp and fires left hooks into Snow’s body. The Original Villain maintains his grip, forcing Sage to grab his opponent around the waist and power the both of them up to a vertical base. Snow fights the ascent, stiffening his body and cranking on the neck to no avail. Sage pulls them into the ropes, then pops his hips.

Nick Stuart: Belly-to-back suplex over the top rope! My God!

Snow doesn’t let go of the headlock however, and both men cartwheel out of the ring and hit the floor with a splat. The fans recoil at the impact and burst into cheers, willing on the action.

Richard Parker: That’s one way to get out of a headlock I suppose.

Jimmy Turnbull peers through the ropes to find Sage slowly rolling back and forth cradling his arm while Snow lies face down clutching his back and kicking the mat.

ONE!

Nick Stuart: Referee Jimmy Turnbull starts a count of ten.

TWO!

Sage makes eye contact with the official, while Snow starts pulling himself towards the steel steps.

THREE!

The Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience sits up with a groan, shaking the ache from his arm as Snow pulls himself up to a knee against the steps. Seeing his opponent lined up, Sage springs into action.

Nick Stuart: What’s he got in mind??

FOUR!

THUD!!

Sage flies through the air, knees-first, straight into the steel.

Nick Stuart: Sage miisses with the double knee strike! Snow moves at the last second and narrowly avoids disaster!

FIVE!

Richard Parker: Pontiff’s out his goddamn mind!

Nick Stuart: He’s a risk-taker, Richard!

SIX!

Pontiff folds over the steps like a slinky and thumps against the floor, cradling his knees and cursing under his breath. Snow collects himself and advances on his opponent, dragging him to his feet against his will and forcing him back into the ring.

SEVEN!

Nick Stuart: Snow trying to steer the action back inside the ring. He doesn’t want to take any chances on the outside.

Snow slides back into the ring while Sage pulls himself into the northeast corner and drives a boot into his gut before he can get to his feet. Pontiff gasps as Snow stomps him again and again and again, pummeling him down into the mat. The intensity of the shots evokes roars of approval from the crowd.

Richard Parker: Pontiff’s gonna need a bodhicast after this one.

Snow grabs Pontiff by the hair and yanks him to his feet. He tries to whip him towards the southwest corner but Sage plants his feet and reverses, trying to send Snow back into the northeast corner. The Original Villain reverses again and sends Sage crashing into it instead. He charges in for a shoulder block, but Pontiff manages to pull himself up out of the way. Snow collides with the turnbuckle and the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience drops onto his back and plants him with the Canadian destroyer.

Nick Stuart: SHAMANIC DREAMWEAVER!

ONE!

TWO!!

Richard Parker: Hey! Feet on the ropes! REF!!

Turnbull’s hand freezes above the mat as he notices Sage’s legs propped up in the corner. Snow kicks out anyway and Pontiff collapses to the mat next to him, boldly cussing the ref out as his opponent rolls out of the way.

Nick Stuart: Sage taking liberties here in an attempt to put Snow away early.

Turnbull jabs a finger in Sage’s face, scolding him as he pulls himself up out of the corner. Pontiff waves him off with a sneer, his eyes bugging suddenly as Snow lunges over the ref and grabs him and locks him into a collar and elbow tie-up. Turnbull hurries out of the way yet again as the Original Villain wrestles his opponent away from the corner.

Richard Parker: They’re keepin’ Jimmy on his toes tonight.

Aggravated at Sage’s slight, Snow once again applies the headlock. Pontiff, wise to the move now, counters out of it into a hammerlock. Snow cries out, slaps his shoulder and reaches back, but before he can snapmare Sage he gets rolled backwards into a bridged pin.

Nick Stuart: Sage rolls through into the pin! Tremendous neck strength from the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience!

ONE!

TWO!

Snow springs like a trap before three. Sage flops in the air and suddenly finds himself snared in a sleeper hold, with a bodyscissors added for good measure. The crowd goes wild as the Original Villain starts to constrict like a snake.

Nick Stuart: What a counter by the veteran!

A panicked look comes over Sage’s reddening face, but his breaths remain measured as he rocks from side to side, undeterred, in an attempt to shift the momentum. Snow feels his grip slacken as Pontiff struggles and responds by snatching one of his flailing arms and transitioning into a cobra clutch.

Richard Parker: Pontiff’s got a gremlin on his back!

Sage kicks his legs in a bid to wriggle loose as his eyes start to glaze over. Making zero headway, he plants his feet firmly on the mat and bears his weight down on Snow, pinning his shoulders to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Sage has him pinned!

ONE!

Whether driven by the count or ignorant of it, Snow sinks the hold even deeper and grits his teeth. Pontiff’s eyes go wide, his face turning purple..

TWO!

..and he submits.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: Sage taps out at two!

Richard Parker: Are you kidding me??

Turnbull breaks the count but calls for the bell anyway. Snow casts his opponent aside, every muscle in his body visibly relaxing as he heaves a sigh of relief.

Vince Howard: Your winner by submission…JASONN SSSNNNOOOOOWWWW!!

Richard Parker: Pontiff was one second away from victory!

Nick Stuart: It looked like his head was about to burst Richard! Self-preservation kicked in at the literal last second and Sage Pontiff tapped out to the cobra clutch at the hands of the Original Villain.

Richard Parker: The old man hung that headlock out like bait and Sage bit the big one!

Turnbull raises his hand and motions to Snow, who opts to slide out of the ring rather than be congratulated. The referee turns his attention to Pontiff instead, whose eyes still aren’t quite fully focused. The Original Villain draws a hand to his lower back again and gives a half-hearted fist pump as the fans cheer him out through the curtain.

Nick Stuart: A decisive victory for Snow here, and folks we’ll be right back after this commercial.

A darkened hallway, quiet and tucked away somewhere in the bowels of that infernal beast, the Spokane Arena.

There’s cobwebs in the corners. The camera moves slow on unsteady, cautious feet. A ghostly theremin plays from somewhere unseen. A wolf howls against a full moon’s glow. Somewhere, a bat screeches in the night, a clarion call of the one and only thing that we all know to be true: It’s spooky season, bitches. Get’cha dicks out.

Speakin’ of dicks…

The camera continues its slow approach down the hall until it arrives outside of a blood red door. Fake webs and plastic spiders surround the door frame. A bull’s skull is nailed to the door, hung with care, horns like a demon’s crown reaching out from its bone bleached head. There’s a flickering light coming out from the bottom of the door, all Halloween orange and red like wine. A sign hangs like an omen:

𝕋ℍ𝔼 ℍ𝕆𝕌𝕊𝔼 𝕆𝔽 𝔸𝕊𝕊𝕀𝔾ℕ𝔸𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ

“𝒜𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒, 𝓎𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒.”

Trembling fingers reach out from behind the camera.

They slowly turn the door handle.

The door creaks with hideous delight as it opens wide…

…and inside we find an inexplicable, roaring campfire built right atop the concrete floor. Shadows loom at the corners of the room as Fred Dick, STRONK Godson, Rob Williams, and a drunkenly comatose Harley Walker sit languidly around the fire. They don’t even look up as the cameraman steps in, closing the door behind them.

You see, they’re too busy.

They’re telling spooky stories.

Fred Dick: She was runnin’, I’m talgin’ haulin’ straight ace through the forest. But no matter how fast she rurned? The dark entity was right behind her… Long story short? Bitch fell, bumped ‘er head, died, spazzin’ out, seizurin’ all over the mossy, forest floor.

You hear that sound?

That’s a pin dropping.

Fred Dick: YESSUH, yessuh. They say the last thing anybody heard in that forest? Was a fard what machine gun fired out of her butthoe. BababababababaBAH. Just like that. Cheeks flappin’. She was the one who heard it. No one else did. She sniffed the air. “Kinda smells like corn,” she said to herself. Then? Splat. Mudpied her pant. Yup. She filled her PANT with SHID and DIED.

STRONK slow claps as though he’s been told the greatest story he’s ever heard.

STRONK: THE SEIZURES FORCED GAS OUT OF THE FRAIL HUMAN WOMAN’S ANUS, MAMA DICK, AND THEN POOPY AS WELL.

Fred Dick: And let that be a lesson to you, STRONKY.

Rob Williams: Well, this is better than being crucified I guess.. What about you, Harley? You got any spooky stories?

No movement from the Lightning Kid. Given the events earlier in the evening, Rob is really fucking over stuntmen as a general group of people. He thinks, for a moment, of pushing the invalid stuntman into the fire. A cocky smirk comes across his face and he laughs to himself, picturing the lurid screams of Walker as he is horribly disfigured from the flames. And what a fucking gas it would be to watch the shock on everyone’s face.

STRONK: WHAT IS FUNNY, ROBIN WILLIAMS?

A visible shake of the head and Rob lets the thoughts dissipate like the smoke dancing off the top of the flames. What is this fire made out of anyways? What’s the accelerant? They’re probably all getting carbon monoxide poisoning.

Rob Williams: Nothing. Telling stories ain’t ever been my thing.  You got any good ones, Daytona?

The camera pans towards the shadows where the cherry of a cigarette burns. A cloud of smoke comes pouring out of the darkness, the faintest shimmer and sheen of rhinestones playing off the fire’s glow.

Daytona Diamonds: Do I got any good ones…?

His voice is more measured than usual, slow and easy as he steps forth into the light. There’s no smile on his face, just a snarled lip and narrowed eyes before he takes one more draw off his cigarette, flicking the butt into the flames.

Daytona Diamonds: You boys ever heard of… The Headless Whoresman?

Rob Williams: Fucking everyone has heard of the Headless Horseman. It’s a classic.

Daytona Diamonds: Not The Headless Horesemen, you sonuvabitch! I’m talkin’ ‘bout… The Headless Whooooooresman…

The thunder rolls and the lightning strikes. There are no windows in The Whorehouse, but there is a copy of Garth Brooks’ Greatest Hits around there somewhere, so that’s close enough. The Rhinestone Cowboy approaches the fire, hands outstretched as if he’s there to gather warmth even though the thermostat is set as a frankly wonderful 70° fahrenheit. A slow smile curls across Daytona’s face as he kneels down, the orange glow turning the shadows on his face into a grotesque mask.

Daytona Diamonds: ‘Twas a dark and stormy night in the small town of Whorey Hollow… The gamblers were gamblin’ and the workin’ girls were workin’ down at The Rotgut Saloon, all tousle-turnt with toil and trouble. A young, dumb, and full-a cum teacher named Itchyballs Crane was walkin’ ‘tween an alleyway havin’ just got his hog cranked by this gal named Katrina Van Tittytassel. And then… he heard the noise.

Slowly, Daytona starts to rap his knuckles against a nearby log that’s obviously also in The Whorehouse because, y’know, you can’t have a campfire without logs to sit on. Just go with it.

Daytona Diamonds: Clippity-clop. Clippity-clop. Clip and clop and clip and clop. Fuckin’ horse hooves, man. A rider in the night. Itchyballs, cumdrunk and dizzy from the squirtin’, he looked ‘round tryna see where the horsie was comin’ from as the rain pissed down on his peckerwood head… and then he saw it! By god, he fuckin’ saw it!

Daytona claps his hands together, wide-eyed as he leans in close, the fire reflecting off his eyes, twin flames dancing in tandem.

Daytona Diamonds: …The Headless Whoresman. Seven foot two. Three hundred and seventy fuckin’ pounds. Ridin’ on the back of a goddang mare straight from the bowels of Hell. He was carryin’ ‘round a jack-o-lantern with John fuckin’ Daley’s face carved into it and, y’know, he ain’t had no head or nothin’ neither, so that was fuckin’ wild. Itchyballs, he started runnin’ with his dick wavin’ in the breeze, but ain’t no two feet on this here Earth that can outrun The Headless Whoresman’s pony. Not a goddang chance. That pony, he was gainin’ on ol’ Itchyballs fast and Itchyballs, he was screamin’ like a damn banshee before… WHAM! Pow!

Another clap, just for emphasis.

Daytona Diamonds: The Headless Whoresman walloped his big ol’ schlong ‘cross the back of Itchyballs’ head and knocked him out cold. Poor fucker ain’t even seen it comin’. All he heard was The Headless Whoresman screamin’ into the night, voice echoin’ in the wind as he galloped away… “SERVES YOU RIGHT, YOU DICK LICKIN’ SHIT FOR BRAINS!”

Daytona lets out a long sigh as the story nears its end, shaking his head as his eyes pass across the other Whoresmen.

Daytona Diamonds: …and now they say, every October ‘round this time, The Headless Whoresman puts his boots back in the stirrups, gets his dick nice and hard, and goes out ridin’, just lookin’ for peckerwoods who ain’t got no fuckin’ sense. Story’s fuckin’ true, too. I’ve seen him, boys. I’ve seen him with my own two eyes.

The rest of The Whoresmen (except Harley because that boy’s eyes are closed as fuck) look at Daytona like he’s lost his mind before, one by one, they burst out laughing.

Fred Dick: You ain’t seent SHID, ‘Tona!

STRONK: YES. DAYTONA’S EYES HAVE NOT LAID UPON THIS HEADLESS HUMAN MALE OF CONCUBINES.

Daytona Diamonds: He weren’t no goddang man! He was a goddang haint, boys! A fuckin’ spirit of Whoresmen past!

Rob Williams: And I got a twelve inch pecker. Don’t believe everything you hear, ‘Tone.

Daytona starts grumbling to himself, shaking his head and muttering about ‘peckerwoods’ and ‘dicknoses’ as he is want to do… when suddenly, there’s a noise. It’s distant at first. Skritch, skritch, skritch. It sounds like shuffling in the ceiling, like something is crawling around in the ceiling tiles. All of The Whoresmen look up before silence takes over the room… right before all hell breaks loose.

One of the ceiling tiles suddenly falls to the floor.. This noise is followed by the sound of a pair of heavy boots falling on the concrete.

Just as quickly, Rob Williams grabs a nearby flashlight and shines it towards the corner where the tile fell.

And there, standing with a pumpkin for a head and a massive cape swirling around his equally massive body… is none other than…

Harley Walker: IT’S THE HEADLESS WHORESMAN! RUN, BOYS! RUN!

Harley’s suddenly wide awake and to his feet, skedaddling out of the room as fast as he can before the rest of the shellshocked Whoresmen waste no time following after him, a whole cacophony of shouts and curse words echoing on their way out the door and down the hall. Daytona’s voice echoes from somewhere in the distance.

Daytona Diamonds: See?! See?! I fuckin’ told y’all he was real!

Back in the room, the camera begins to tremble as The Headless Whoresman steps forward. The cameraman starts to turn around to leave, but as he does, one of The Headless Whoresman’s gloved hands reaches out and grabs him. The camera falls sideways to the floor as the cameraman’s screams fill the room and the fire still burns.

Fade to black.

Nick Stuart: Up next we have FLAMBERGE taking on Fred Dick, coming off big matches for both men at UltraViolence!

Richard Parker: Fred Dick is a winner coming out of that weekend, even with no tag title to show for it…but he’s gonna have to keep a close eye out for a man looking for a neck after FLAMBO came up just shy of a victory!

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first…

“We built this city! We built this city on rock and roll! Built this city! We built this city on rooooock and rooooooll!”

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring from Chicken City, Georgia…weighing in at 305 pounds…he calls himself the Street Cat and the King of Wrong Style…FREEED DIIIIICK!

The drums and lame synthesizers of Starship’s “We Built this City” hit the speakers, and Fred Dick steps out from gorilla onto the entrance ramp. He does some shadow slap-boxing, gets a tad out of breath, and strolls to the ring. He rolls under the ropes, stands in the middle of the ring and — you guessed it, shadow slap-boxes some more. Sweaty and gassed, he moves to his corner and awaits the bell.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

♫…

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…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

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring from Strasbourg, France, weighing in at 206 pounds, he is…FLAAAAAMBERRRRRRGE!

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

PRIME WRESTLER OF THE YEAR 2023

THE BEARDED DRAGON

THE LIZARD KING

THE ACE

LE PROTAGONISTE

LE COURONNE TRIPLE

THE NECK COLLECTOR

F L A M B E R G E

The Frenchman soaks in the loud reception from the crowd and confidently takes a lap around the ring before stomping up the ring steps and stepping through the ropes.

DING DING

The bell rings as Dick charges toward FLAMBERGE…who narrowly evades the so-called Street Cat’s grip before laying in a flurry of kicks to keep Fred at bay. Dick shoves the Neck Collector away to create some space, catching him by surprise with a clothesline out of the corner before Fred lays in some stomps for good measure. He brings FLAMBO up to his feet, mocking him with a slap in the face followed by a knife-edged chop to the chest.

Fred stays on the attack with a palm strike…but when that doesn’t put FLAMBERGE down, Dick decides a thumb to the eye will do just the trick! Nixon admonishes him for the act as the French Phenom gets back to his feet, rushing at Dick with a flurry of kicks sending him to the corner.

Nixon intervenes to force a rope break, which FLAMBERGE reluctantly obliges…until Dick flips him the bird, just to rile him up some more! FLAMBO rushes at him once more, but Fred catches him with an eye rake this time…and then rakes the back as FLAMBERGE turns away! This gives the King of Wrong Style the opening to pummel the Neck Collector with clubbing forearms, forcing him down to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Fred Dick finding a way to keep FLAMBERGE down after that early volley from the former Universal Champion!

Richard Parker: Volley!? Oh, Nick, sounds to me like we’re gonna need to have a talk about what sport this is…

Dick starts stomping away at FLAMBO, wearing him down before landing a knee drop to the back of the head much to the chagrin of the crowd. Fred pays them no mind in the moment as he brings the Neck Collector back to his feet, mocking him before landing a karate chop! And another! And…FLAMBERGE ducks out of the third attempt, landing a set of kicks to bring Dick down to size before trapping his arm for a headbutt! Fred drops down as FLAMBERGE goes for the cover.

ONE!

T–NO!

Dick kicks out, shoving the Lizard King away before rolling out of the ring, catching a breather on the floor outside before FLAMBERGE exits the ring. Fred is back on his feet already, however, giving FLAMBO a nice “love tap” to the groin that’s just out of Nixon’s line of sight to double the Bearded Dragon over in pain. Nixon starts the count, looking to get both men back in the ring.

ONE…

Dick grabs the Neck Collector, sending him toward the steel steps…but FLAMBERGE manages to stop himself, rushing back at the so-called Street Cat with a forearm.

TWO…

This takes Dick down to a knee, allowing FLAMBO to land a nasty-looking roundhouse kick!

THREE…

FLAMBERGE stays on the attack, wearing Fred down with some more kicks until he drops to the floor…where he grabs the King of Wrong Style by the arm, laying in a series of stomps to the head of Dick!

FOUR…

FIVE…

SIX…

FLAMBO finally breaks the grip, rolling back into the ring as Fred seems to be struggling to move.

SEVEN…

FLAMBERGE still seems riled up, however, as he rolls out of the ring to effectively break the ref’s count before going back after Dick…who catches him with a cheap shot to the gut!

Nick Stuart: Fred Dick managing to catch FLAMBERGE with a ruse after a beatdown from the Lizard King!

Richard Parker: Sometimes the best route is to work smart, not hard Nick!

Fred is in control here as he wallops FLAMBERGE with some lefts and rights before finally sending the Lizard King into the steel steps!

THUD!

FLAMBO crashes down to the floor as Dick rolls back into the ring, encouraging Nixon to start the count back up!

Nick Stuart: There’s that “working smart” strategy you were talking about, Richard.

Richard Parker: Damn right, Nick. A count out victory is still a victory!

ONE…

TWO…

FLAMBERGE is slowly starting to stir, as Fred shouts at Nixon to count faster. The ref admonishes him for this before continuing the count.

THREE…

FOUR…

By this point, the Lizard King is finally getting to a vertical base. This is frustrating for Dick, who rolls out of the ring to go back on the attack with some right hands…only for FLAMBERGE to fight back with a headbutt that doubles Dick over! Grabbing him by the hair, FLAMBO manages to send Fred into the barricade as an act of revenge for earlier!

THUD!

Fred is propped up against the barricade as FLAMBERGE lays in some more kicks.

ONE…

The threat of the ref’s count is short-lived, however, as Dick fights back with some more right hands…before hoisting the Lizard King up to slam him against the ring apron!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE just took a nasty hit onto the hardest part of the ring!

Richard Parker: He’s gonna start calling himself the Back Collector, the way he may need one or two to recover from that!

Dick brings FLAMBO back into the ring, but the Neck Collector is recovered enough to catch him with another headbutt to the gut before surprising the big man with a leg sweep of sorts, sending him crashing to the mat! Dick manages to get back to his feet, absorbing the pain of a new series of kicks before catching FLAMBERGE off guard with a bell clap that disorients him…and then rolls him up! Nixon drops down for the count.

ONE!

TW–NO!

Dick has had about enough of this as he cinches in a rear naked choke…which is transitioned to a straight-up choke, causing the ref to start a count to threaten him with disqualification. Dick finally lets go of the hold, shouting abuse at Nixon as he gets back to his feet. So too does FLAMBERGE, who blindsides Fred to send him to the corner before launching a set of knee strikes at the head of the so-called Street Cat. Fred is struggling to fight back before the ref intervenes with a count to force the break…but the opening this creates allows Dick to hit the Lizard King with another thumb to the eye!

Nick Stuart: Oh come on, there’s no need for that!

Richard Parker: There’s always a need for that, Nick…what do you think this is, chess? No, this is pro wrestling! This…is…PRIME!

Fred flips the crowd off before screaming “BLOODMODE!” as he charges toward FLAMBERGE, catching the Neck Collector with a lariat into a Bas Rutten palm strike…but just as the strike connects, FLAMBO captures his arm, pulling Dick down the mat as he looks for an armbar! Fred does all he can to quickly scramble to the ropes, forcing a break much to the disapproval of the fans…but the Lizard King isn’t done yet, as he goes right back to a set of kicks to Fred’s head to keep him at bay.

He grabs the King of Wrong Style by the head now, landing some hard knee strikes over and over for added damage, before looking for a triangle choke…but Fred manages to punch his way out of it, keeping FLAMBERGE down in the process.

Nick Stuart: Fred Dick managing to stay just one step ahead of FLAMBERGE here.

Richard Parker: I’d almost say he’s two steps ahe–y’know what, never mind.

He grabs the King of Wrong Style by the head now, landing some hard knee strikes over and over for added damage, before looking for a triangle choke…but Fred manages to punch his way out of it, keeping FLAMBERGE down in the process. Dick’s frustration leads him to start going after the face once more, trying to gouge FLAMBO’s eyes out until Nixon once again intervenes. Dick rises to his feet, arguing with the ref who reminds him that he is the official here…but Fred doesn’t care, raising a fist up toward him instead!

This gives FLAMBERGE enough time to get back up, catching Dick with a chop block to bring him back down to earth…before going after his arm once more, this time cinching in a juji gatame!

Nick Stuart: Fred Dick is trapped in that cross arm breaker!

Richard Parker: Don’t be a fool, Dick! Save yourself, you’ll want that arm in one piece later!

Fred is trying as hard as possible to keep the Lizard King from keeping a firm grip on the hold as he squirms as much as he can, slowly making his way to the ropes to force a break. The ref begins the count, reaching four as FLAMBO finally lets go. Nixon admonishes him for failing to follow instruction swiftly, to which the French Phenom just quietly nods in acknowledgement.

Fred uses the ropes to get back to his feet, but is immediately caught with another onslaught of kicks and knee strikes from FLAMBERGE until Nixon tries to pull him away from the corner. FLAMBO pushes the ref away, but this gives Dick another opening for what can best be described as a “ball check” as he taps the Lizard King squarely in his little FLAMBOs.

Nick Stuart: Oh, that’s quite enough of that!

Richard Parker: Nick, you know as well as I do that this is Fred Dick’s wheelhouse, and his meal ticket. I’d dare call it his mealhouse, and everything’s coming up Fred Dick right now!

Dick brings him toward the corner before climbing up top, looking to see if the Neck Collector is feeling up to Slap Box With God…but as he comes dropping down on FLAMBO, the Lizard King slithers away! This brings Dick crashing down hard to the canvas, and as the King of Wrong Style starts to get to a knee he’s brought right back down with an axe kick from FLAMBERGE!

The crowd is electric as FLAMBO looks to make good on his promise to collect a neck…as he cinches in a guillotine choke!

Nick Stuart: He’s got Marie Antoninette locked in, Richard! This might be it for Fred Dick!

Richard Parker: Let that man eat cake…and let him make it out of this hold!

Fred starts trying to punch his way out of the hold, but FLAMBERGE keeps a tight grip on Dick. This causes the so-called Street Cat to use his street smarts as he tries clawing his way out…but the Lizard King will not budge! Dick tries to get to his feet from here, even hoisting the smaller man up…but a grip like FLAMBO’S proves to be too much, as Fred barely manages to get closer to the ropes as a result.

Nixon begins the count, waiting for the Neck Collector to break the hold…but as he reaches three, it becomes apparent that FLAMBO has had enough of Dick, and he won’t let go of the hold!

Nick Stuart: Wait, what’s going on here? You gotta let go of that hold, FLAMBERGE!

Richard Parker: He’s out to collect, Nick…and I think he’s gonna have what he wants by any means necessary here!

Reluctantly, Nixon begins the count anew just to make sure FLAMBERGE understands the severity of this…even counting once in English and then in French, just in case…before reaching the count of five! The ref has no choice but to call for the bell here!

DING DING DING

The crowd start booing as they realize what’s happened here, while Vince Howard steps in to make the official announcement.

Vince Howard: The winner of this match…by way of disqualification…FREEEEED DIIIIIICK!

The crowd continues to boo as FLAMBERGE continues to keep the chokehold on Dick. This brings out a number of officials to ringside, finally managing to get the Lizard King to break the grip. Officials divvy up their time and effort between checking on Fred Dick and keeping FLAMBERGE away.

Nick Stuart: Absolute chaos to end things here, Richard! FLAMBERGE had that Marie Antoinette locked in tight, but his eagerness to take out Fred Dick ended up costing him!

Richard Parker: I did say work smart not hard, Nick! FLAMBO let the need to collect a neck get the better of him here, and the ref’s word is law here in PRIME!

And we go elsewhere.

The show feed cuts away from Dirty Dicks and Stinky Pits to backstage, and inside the Principal’s Office. There, sitting with his arms crossed, his feet firmly on the ground, and his suit jacket collar non-popped, is the one and only Salt Shoes himself. Across from him, the person who he superkicked at UltraViolence. No, not Coral, but the one time Bandit, the Queen of the Ring, Lindsay Troy.

And she is laughing.

In fact, she’s been laughing for awhile, and she’ll probably continue to keep on laughing.

Lindsay Troy: Coral wasn’t kidding, that blazer does look pretty cool on you. HA!

More one sided laughter ensues.

Cancer Jiles: Go on, get your fill, Mother Hen.

Lindsay Troy: Oh, believe me, I’m gonna, Mr. Night Two. Mr. “I don’t show up for the pre-show.” NOT ANYMORE! HA!

She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye and grins at her pouting “child.”

Lindsay Troy: Hey, remember when I told you I was going to set you up for success just to see you fail? And also when I told you I was going to have the best seat in the house when your life leaves your body? Turns out, I was right!

Lady Troy goes back to laughing. Jiles, being a good sport because medicine is taken and not given, sits there like a man, taking it on the chin, much like Lady Troy did at UltraViolence.

Cancer Jiles: Sorry to interrupt your hilarious time, Mother Dear, but while I’m here and before I forget, I want to apologize for the kick. Cross my heart, it definitely wasn’t intentional or anything like that.

Her Majesty slowly stops with the chuckles and her eyes begin to roll.

Cancer Jiles: Serious. If you broke a nail grabbing at your face, or my salted foot caused your mascara to run, well, just know I am sorry and it will never happen again.

Lindsay Troy: Is that so?

Cancer Jiles: It is. I mean it. Well, obviously never say never, but as long as you stay out of the ring and back here in your office where an eGGsecutive like yourself belongs, then no, I can’t foresee me kicking you in the face ever again.

Before Lindsay can retort, Jiles slips in one last barb for the sake of clarity.

Cancer Jiles: Just stay out of the ring when I’m in it is all, and you and your jaw will be just fine.

There is a long silence. You might call it an awkward silence since nobody’s smiling, and no one is laughing. Once the Queen does speak again, her tone is steely.

Lindsay Troy: Good. That’s very good. It might not look like it because we’re so close in proximity, but that makes me very happy.

Jiles nods appreciatively. Well, probably more so graciously.

Lindsay Troy: Another thing that makes me very happy is thinking about what’s next for you. I mean, we both know it’s certainly not KEWLOSSUS, that’s for sure. And it’s definitely not the MAIN EVENT of NIGHT TWO.

More medicine for the sick and lowly as Jiles tries to hide his pouty frown.

Lindsay Troy: I mean, I don’t even know if you’ll wind up on Night Two, let alone make the card at all now. And that’d be…what, two years in a row you wouldn’t be on the show? Shame. Just a shame. Oh well. Better luck next year, right? Maybe the shambling corpse of Scottywood needs an opponent for ICONIC. HA!

The laughter returns. Lindsay gets up from behind her desk and moseys over to stand in front of Jiles. She makes him look up at her courtesy of an index finger under his chin.

Lindsay Troy: Make no mistake though, my little Pizmo…all of this? And I do mean all of this, you brought on yourself. And should you and I ever find ourselves together again in my ring, and that little salt shoe of yours feels the need to shake itself a little, I promise you…

She leans forward and sneers.

Lindsay Troy: …you will regret it for the rest of your miserable life. So, about eight seconds, give or take, before you meet your end.

Having made her point, the Queen leans away from Jiles, but not before booping him on the nose for good measure.

Lindsay Troy: You’re dismissed.

The Maestro slowly stands, boiling hot behind his T-Shades. He stares at the Once (and Future?) eGG Queen before buttoning his blazer and taking his leave.

Not before punting a trash can on his way out the door, though.

Crumb.

Fans in Spokane cheer when the PRIMEview comes alive with Coral Avalon walking through a hallway in the upper deck of the Spokane Arena, on his way back to the Throne Room.

That’s the name of his skybox perch that he’d positioned himself in since winning the Universal Championship back in June. It’s a great place. It has a literal throne in it, hence the name, because if anyone is going to be pretentious enough to sit in a throne in a professional wrestling company without being the boss, it’s Coral Avalon.

With the Universal championship at hand, Avalon can’t help but smile at the crowd reaction as he strides up to the door of his skybox and enters.

And he discovers, soon after, that his Throne Room is now a den of monsters.

He’d seen Lord Kurosame-sama, Rory Hayes, and a particularly murderous bicycle earlier in the night during the State of the Bandits address, but didn’t think much of it other than it’s weird that someone actually got the Crimson Miracle Bloody-Blood Death Homicycle on a plane without the plane going down in flames.

But then there’s the bevy of mysterious birdmen.

Coral sighs. He knows who’s here.

Coral Avalon: Garry, I’d ask why you’re here, but… Well, you do have a talent for showing up when you’re least expected.

Coral is quickly surrounded by the gaggle of mysterious birdmen, that means that there should be at least between five and seven entire mysterious birdmen. But, in this setting, it means approximately 3 groups of 3, you know, for reasons that clearly probably involve Dale Earnhardt. Coral holds his hands in the air, clearly a prisoner in his own throne room.

Coral Avalon: Uh, Garry? Please tell me I didn’t just walk in on some sort of birdman cultural thing that I don’t know anything about.

The Birdmen begin to dissipate. And depending how you handle an entire gaggle of birdmen moving in a swift and heavy ruffle of feathers to the side. They snap to attention as The Generalissimo slowly, and methodically steps forward. His steel tipped heel and toe clacking on the tile. He steps forward, his red M Bison look alike costume, with a whole host of Dale Earnhardt pins and black and red ribbons adorning his chest.

Tanuki Phil: I PRESENT THE LORD OF ALL MONSTERS, THE PROTECTORATE OF ALL MONSTROUS BEINGS, THE GREAT LORD MONSTER, LEADER OF ALL BIRDMEN, THE GUARDIAN OF [REDACTED]LAND, THE KEEPER OF THE GREAT SPORTS ILLUSTRATED, THE SHEPHERD WHO LEADS THE FLOCK INTO THE LIGHT, HIS INTIMIDATORNESS!!!!!

Coral Avalon has no idea who Tanuki Phil is, or why he’s saying all these words, but boy he sure is yelling awfully loudly, and the looming specter of The Generalissimo finally clicks its way in front of Coral.

Tanuki Phil: THE GENERALISSIMO!

Garry steps forward and Tanuki Phil gives him a salute and immediately falls into line with the rest of the Menagerie.

The Generalissimo: Mr. Avalon.

Coral Avalon: Hey, Garry.

He looks the Generalissimo up and down, barely comprehending the Shadaloo-adjacent military getup he’s got going on right now.

Coral Avalon: Uh, you’ve changed a lot since the last time I was face-to-face with you. Nice, uh… nice hat. Yeah.

Coral casts a glance towards Lord Kurosame-sama and Rory Hayes. He knows them, of course. Well, he doesn’t really know why Lord Kurosame-sama is wearing a full-blown military uniform or why Hayes seems to be in full Fidel Castro cosplay, but with a hippo mask for a hat. It has a beard.

Coral Avalon: …Huh. Am I dreaming?

The Generalissimo: No.

The Generalissimo takes a shocking step towards Coral Avalon and places a hand around his shoulders while turning towards The Menagerie.

The Generalissimo: MENAGERIE!

The army of bird people and Monster turn to face The Generalissimo as loudly as humanly possible, just like real soldiers and everything. They even stomp their little clawed toes.

Coral Avalon: …Okay, that’s kinda neat. I really gotta get the Bandits to do that some time. They kinda just do whatever.

The Generalissimo continues on, ignoring the segment’s word count and everything else.

The Generalissimo: Menagerie, this is a man only told of in fables. The before times.

Shock, awe, and almost horror.

The Generalissimo: I saved this man once, from a terrible, evil, vile place.

More awe, more horror, many disgusts.

Coral Avalon: I was fi…

The Generalissimo: I SAVED THIS MAN ONCE, from a terrible, evil, vile place…

The dramatic pause, because your scroll bar should probably fall apart too.

The Generalissimo: Cleveland.

The horror, the total absolute horror. Even the crowd reacts in horror, you know, everyone being lemmings in all. Coral himself, well, he kind of feels horrified just because so many people are, but you know, Cleveland isn’t that bad. Allegedly.

The Generalissimo: I saved Mr. Avalon from Cleveland in a daring 48 hour escape, and sacrificed myself to the vicious persecution of the Cleveland Police department in Mr. Avalon’s name.

Oh no, not the Cleveland police department. Coral, still tries but…

Coral Avalon: I posted the bail, I was fi…

Ultimately fails.

The Generalissimo: Mr. Avalon did not turn his back on me. He did not betray me. Mr. Avalon is our friend, a friend of monsters, a friend of The Generalissimo, and a friend of [REDACTED]LAND.

Coral Avalon: Well that’s a relief, I guess…

The Generalissimo: And now my Menagerie. And now.

Coral looks like a man who got sent upstream without a paddle and is adrift without a map that tells him where in the fuck he is. He could mentally be somewhere in the South Pacific right now, we don’t know.

The Generalissimo: Now…

This is like one of those speeches that are really important, maybe, so buckle up buckaroo. We’re talking Bill Pullman in Independence Day here.

The Generalissimo: Now, we prepare for war. In Mr. Avalon’s name.

Coral Avalon: Woah! Hey!

The Generalissimo: PRIME is the land of deceit, of betrayers, of charlatans and cut throats. Murders, they killed a man here just a few weeks ago. A good man, a man who’s bun we once protected at all costs.

Coral Avalon: You know, that “good man” definitely planned…

The Generalissimo: Men are paralyzed here by devils and demons, evil is at work here. I’ve even heard rumors that someone in the back is a fan of…

The gasp, the shock, this is the worst.

The Generalissimo: Jeff Gordon.

The crowd begins booing, we’re unsure if it’s because Garry won’t shut the fuck up, or if they all hate Jeff Gordon. Garry’s really sure it’s the last one.

The Generalissimo: Jeff Gordon.

He says it again, really, just to find out. They boo again, it doesn’t really tell him much and he continues on anyway.

The Generalissimo: But I hear our kind screaming for help and assistance, I hear them calling out into the night, in fear of the demon that lurks at their door. I hear my children calling me home, their little mlems and cries.

Coral Avalon: Garry, what in the hell…

The Generalissimo glares at Mr. Avalon.

The Generalissimo: WE GO TO TALK TO SECRETARY GENERAL TROY! WE WILL GO TO WAR! WE WILL FIGHT THE CIGAR SMELLING, OLD SPICE SPRAY ON DEODORANT WEARIN’, WAX ON, WAX OFF, MISTER CLEAN LOOKIN’ MOTHER FUCKER! ONWARDS! ONWARDS MY MONSTERS! FORWARD!

Everyone storms out of the Throne room past Coral Avalon. Somehow the Crimson Miracle Bloody-Blood Death Homicycle has already left and is outside the door, leading the charge as the birdmen and The Generalissimo begin marching out of the box. Lord Kurosame-sama turns back towards Coral Avalon.

Lord Kurosame-sama: 🦈

Coral Avalon: Oh. Yeah, she’s doing alright, I guess. Are you guys going to kill Harrison or something?

Lord Kurosame-sama: 🦈

Coral Avalon: And don’t sit upon my own throne because he wants it back?

Coral, finally alone for a second, stops to collect his thoughts. After a short pause… The Beautiful Man from Honalee walks into the room, Tony is carrying a bucket filled with lunch meat beside him as Bobby does the Jabba the Hutt hand into it, dropping some cold cut down his gullet.

Bobby Dean: Hey Coral, we’re going to kill Brandon Youngblood?

Coral Avalon: What?

Tony Gamble: Oh yeah, those crazy guys were running down the hallway screaming they were going to kill Brandon Youngblood for you.

Coral Avalon: …For me? 

Doozer: Yeah.

Where the fuck did Doozer come from? Who knows? Who cares?

We have more ReVival to worry about, anyway!

The lights in Spokane Arena dim, the screen goes black and a crack of lightning fires “None The Wiser” by Caned by Nod hits the speakers as the word “BEHEMOTH” bursts onto the screen in blue font and the camera jerks to the concourse of the first deck at Albertson’s Stadium. The Monster from Plainview storms down the walkway and through the aisle out into the crowd and a single white spotlight.

Vince Howard: This match is set for one fall and has a sixty minute time limit. Introducing first…, standing six-feet seven inches tall, and weighing 295 pounds, representing Vae Victus…hailing from West Plainview, Texas…CLAAAAAAAY! BYYYYYYYYRD!

Nick Stuart: The first of three main event matches tonight. This one was scheduled to take place at UltraViolence, but had to be delayed due to travel issues.

Richard Parker: A stay of execution.

Clay thrusts his arms into the air, horns up, the crowd roars and The Behemoth stomps his way down the aisle. He slaps hands with a few fans and steps up onto the apron. He wipes both feet, before stepping through the ropes and into the ring.

The arena once again slowly darkens as the opening moments of “Choke” by I Don’t Know How But They Found Me begin to slowly reverberate. As the riff reaches its peak, the whole crowd is awakened with bright lights shining down upon them as out from backstage steps Lord Cecilworth Farthington.

RAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!

The camera quickly zooms into the self-assured glare that’s plastered upon the face of The Fiancier as he grimly walks down to the right, both arms inserted into the pockets of a plain black hoodie. The blank stare on the face of Farthington does match his purposeful march to the ring, his shoulders swaying to the tune of “Choke”.

Vince Howard: His opponent…  weighing in at 197 pounds, from Buckinghamshire, England…the former 5 Star Champion…representing The Glueminati…CECILWOOOOOOOOORTH! FAAAAAAARTHINGTOOOOOOOOOON!

His hands never leave the pockets as he slowly rolls under the bottom rope and leaps up into the ring. He slowly raises his left arm up into the sky before unzipping his hoodie and handing it to a ring technician.

DING DING

From the very jump, it’s Farthington, dipping, sliding on one knee, going to pick the leg of the Behemoth. A dangerous proposition for most. Most men don’t have vise grips doubling as hands. Clay Byrd knows what they are capable of. He pedals away, but Farthington is relentless, drawing in close, grabbing hold of the tree trunk before him, his grip fit to Byrd’s thigh. Instinct brings the point of Clay’s elbow into the spine of The Financier of The Glue Factory, of the Conga Crushing Captain of The Glueminati’s Champion War Games team, and despite this, despite the heaviness of the blow, the Cowboy Colossus is dancing on one foot, distance gained, and with a wild swing, he goes for the head of Cecilworth. No dice. Elbow to the knee, right above the cap. Before Byrd has a chance to even register the pain, he’s brought back in a fierce display, the lithe, spindled features of his opponent bringing him crashing to the canvas with a dragon screw leg whip.

As the lactic acid begins to slowly fill the Behemoth’s knee joint, Farthington stretches the leg out before him, one hand on his opponent’s ankle, the other right above the knee cap. A headstand? No. His own knees come crashing down with precision against Clay’s upper fibula. No hesitation. Cecilworth wrenches with his hands, clamped on the ankle of Byrd, torquing outward, his legs grapevining around the trunk.

Nick Stuart: CLAY BYRD…CLAY BYRD…THAT LEG–

Richard Parker: IT’S GOING TO GO SNAP CRACKLE AND POPPITY POP! EXPLODING TENDONS ALL OVER THE PLACE! THANK HOYT I HAVE A SPLASH GUARD! THIS IS GOING TO BE MESSY!

Nick Stuart: BYRD…WRITHING IN PAIN, AND THERE IS NO DELAY! FULL ON–

Richard Parker: HE’S SQUEALING LIKE A STUCK PIG! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE LIL PIGGY! WEEEEEEEEE FOR YOUR LORD!

This isn’t a typical pro wrestling submission hold where a question of endurance is posited. No. Cecilworth Farthington, known for claiming arms and a bouquet of necks, is looking to add a leg to his collection. And this one is special. You don’t cover this one in ketchup. Don’t even request it. Because their old haunt…well…

Mustard.

Clay rolls like a gator. Like a prairie dog caught in a nasty trap. And Farthington? He’s the vise. There is no letting go. Byrd roars. His fingertips reach for the nearby rope. It’s not enough.

Not until that final lunge.

Massive hands grab the bottom rope as Barlow begins the count for Farthington to break the hold. Is there any rush? No. The bend he is forcing is painful enough as it is. He waits for the count of four. Then he breaks.

But not before violently jerking outward with the ankle and releasing, slithering away, fingers and palms against the canvas, coiling to dash forward.

Nick Stuart: And a near submission, early, and–

That delay, as Clay Byrd reaches for his own leg, it very well likely strained, at the very least, is an opportunity. The Cowboy Colossus braces against the ropes. The starting gun. BLAM! Kitchen sink style running knee strike, crashing right into Clay’s face, like a meteor deep into the heart of Plainview. He crumbles away, but not before Farthington drives downward at the back of Byrd’s head.

Richard Parker: MALICE IN WONDERLAND!

Nick Stuart: Oh MY WORD!

Richard Parker: If I was Byrd, I’d have done anything, and I mean ANYTHING, to delay Lord Farthington’s flight tonight.

Nick Stuart: Well weather concerns–

Richard Parker: Provided this lil cowboy here a stay of execution.

The back of Clay’s head is right there. Is it soft? Is it where the Economics Meat is stored? Is it still delicious and succulent? Let’s see!

Double stomp.

And another, this time using the top ring rope to spring up and then down, like a springy boy. Farthington kicks Clay over using his boot against the Behemoth’s underbelly.

Nick Stuart: COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

THR–NO!

The kickout happens with guttural rage, but the Monster from Plainview is groggy as he tries to get up from a knee. Farthington steps backward for a moment, and then, with an open palm, slaps Clay right across the face. AND AGAIN!

Richard Parker: WAIT!

Not again.

Because Clay punches at the coming hand, and the shock of the blow wrings Farthington’s arm out awkwardly. A wince from the former 5 Star Champion. Byrd, up on his feet, wraps his paws around the head of his opponent. There is no grace to this. Just pure malice.

Nick Stuart: Farthington BIELED across the ring!

Richard Parker: CONTAIN THE BEAST–

Nick Stuart: CHARGING BOOT FROM BYRD! BYRD GRABS HOLD OF CECILWORTH–

Richard Parker: NOOOO!

Nick Stuart: DRIVING BACK SUPLEX! DRIVING BACK SUPLEX!

Richard Parker: He dropped him right on his good boy noggin!

Nick Stuart: And Clay Byrd isn’t stopping!

Richard Parker: LET A LORD BREATHE!

There is very little Farthington can do; Clay Byrd is on top of him, bracing The Financier’s arms to the canvas underneath his knees. Byrd peppers him with slaps. Over and over. Palms. Backhands. There’s no taunting. Just a snarling, spitting rage. Visions of the past? Ghosts to be slain? He pushes himself downward, driving his forearm into the face of Farthington, then begins to grind the arm right into the teeth and then the bridge of Cecilworth’s nose.

Barlow tries to get him to stop.

There is no stopping.

She reaches out to him.

Phantom sensation. It’s enough for the arm to relent for a moment, a glower shot in the direction of the young official.

A momentary reprieve.

Never provide it to a fucking Terminator.

Grab at the wrist with one hand. Bell clap the ear with the other. Discombobulate. Get this pile of beef and hat and beard off of him just enough. Let the hands do the talking. Then the legs. The quickness in which what transpires is alarming. Practiced. And Clay Byrd knows it. He damn well knows it. He feels the nervousness rush into his stomach. He knows THESE feelings about the happen within his arm and the bones within his flesh.

Article 51.

And there is survivalist disdain in the face of the former 5 Star Champion. This WILL be another snappy snap. This son of a bitch NEEDS to have this done to him because…Lord Farthington just wants to do it. Let his little friends nurse the dipshit beast back to health.

Richard Parker: TAP OR SNIP SNAP!

Clay is FUCKED! He sees it as he goes down. With how the canvas feels with how he slams into it. It’s not supposed to be like this. This man is too small. This is no man. He’s an almost mythological killer. The ring isn’t a destruction derby for him; it’s an operating suite. And he will get another procedure done juuuuuuuuuuust right.

Nick Stuart: ARTICLE 51–

Farthington pushes down with his hands around Clay’s wrist.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

ONE

TWO

THREE

Wait.

What?

Ashley Barlow: COME ON, BREAK IT UP!

Farthington hears her over the roar of the Spokane crowd, his eyes darting in her direction.

Clay Byrd roars, he bellows, he struggles and tries to contort.

FOUR

Cecilworth releases. Perplexed for a moment. But as a ring general, it doesn’t take him long to make a full accounting of where he is, and, more importantly, where The Behemoth is.

Near the ropes.

Replays show that, in absolute desperation, Clay’s middle finger catches the rope. It’s so small. But Barlow was in perfect position. She caught. Grabbing his arm, Clay Byrd has survived.

This…

Is unacceptable.

Farthington storms forward, throwing heavy boots at the arm of Clay Byrd. Over and over. Driving his knee into the limb. He grabs it by the wrist, jerking it away, and slams it into the canvas. And as Clay tries to guard himself, more stomps. Forearm. Bicep. Wrist. Fingers. Fuck that fucking arm. All his homies HATE that fucking arm! Not only that, Cecilworth takes to driving his knee into the shoulder joint. Turn the whole thing to mush. Crinkle paper. Will crinkle paper snap? We shall see!

Reach out for the arm and–

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOSH!

Richard Parker: GOOD GOLLY GOOD BISCUITS AND DAMN GRAVY FROM THE COWPOKE!

Nick Stuart: THAT SLAP STRAIGHTENED FARTHINGTON OUT COMPLETELY! IT SOUNDED LIKE A THUNDERCLAP!

Richard Parker: WHEN THE THUNDER STRIKES–

Nick Stuart: AND BYRD THRUSTS HIS BOOT RIGHT INTO THE CHEST OF FARTHINGTON!

Guarding his wounded arm, Clay Byrd’s eyes, crazed, did exactly that, getting up and absolutely starching the absolute piss out of Farthington. The impact point doesn’t matter. The ferocity does. Farthington rolls ass over teakettle and back heels it to the corner, where a bunch of Grade A Texas beef comes roaring at him, smashing into him in full, all before jerking him around, grabbing him as best as he can around the waist, and–

Nick Stuart: BACKDROP! DRIVER!

There is no commentary from Richard. Why would there be? He just saw Cecilworth Farthington driven into the canvas near the top of his freaking head with a backdrop driver from Clay Byrd. The Behemoth’s arm pisses him off. He yells at himself, punching the damn thing, and then, he grabs the near leg.

ONE

TWO

THR–NO

Nick Stuart: SO CLOSE! SO CLOSE!

Richard Parker: I just…oh my lord.

Nick Stuart: Farthington’s eyes, glazed over. Clay Byrd grabbing at his own arm. Two men throwing literal weapons of mass destruction in their arsenal at one another. And they’re both gingerly pulling themselves up.

Richard Parker: This is just…

Nick Stuart: We know the history goes back. We know there’s resentment in the very fabric of this contest. A broken arm. A stolen dream. A scattershot seven man tournament of infamy.

Richard Parker: Farthington is back up!

Nick Stuart: Farthington is looking toward Clay Byrd right now and he charges…no…he takes a step but his foot NEARLY gives out!

Richard Parker: Come on!

Nick Stuart: A year ago, Farthington started his climb to the finals of the 2023 Almasy Invitational.

Richard Parker: The Angelo Luchador. Brandon Youngblood. Hayes Hanlon. Coral Avalon.

Nick Stuart: And Clay Byrd is up and he beckons Farthington on! He wants this! After beating Youngblood, after beating Hanlon, he wants THIS! And you know why, ladies and gentleman? Because THIS is EVERYTHING to him! This is THE BIGGEST match of Clay Byrd’s life. And he wants to go out swinging–

Richard Parker: Farthington is going to give him his wish!

Cecilworth has enough of his bearings to be able to flick out a kick towards the arm of Byrd. He gathers himself just in case. Yep. Still a little woozy, but he’s got this. Clay narrowly avoids the blow, swinging with a big paw at the head of Farthington, who feints away.

Oh yeah.

Lord Farthington is feeling it.

Slap to the arm of Clay.

The Behemoth winces.

Kick the arm. Kick it!

Richard Parker: It’s just a matter of time…

Clay Byrd, massive as he is, works to retreat, but Farthington, he isn’t going to let this man get away. Not until he gets what he came for. A massive kick to the arm, and the fans in attendance are wincing. The next shot might just be debilitating. Another blow. Like a snapping kickpad, except there is none to be found. Farthington grabs hold of the wrist, drives his head right into the bicep of the Behemoth.

Time for another Article–

The close proximity gives Clay a chance to lash out with his free arm. His elbow smashes right into the face of his opponent as he’s beginning to rise.

A stagger.

The Monster from Plainview sloppily spins.

Discus elbow to the face!

Nick Stuart: BYRD–

Richard Parker: LORD FARTHINGTON–

The blow straightens Farthington up ramrod straight.

Clay Byrd grabs him around the throat…

And proceeds to SLAM DUNK his motherfucking ass into the canvas with a HELLACIOUS chokeslam!

Richard Parker: HOLY HOYT–

Farthington crashes into the canvas violently. Shockingly, he’s standing again.

Big.

Fucking.

Mistake.

Nick Stuart: TEXAS! LARIAT!

Clay Byrd connects so violently, he might’ve just broken HIS GOOD ARM. Farthington crumbles. Byrd drops on top of him, meekly grabbing the near leg with his now busted clobbering arm.

ONE

Farthington kicks his legs.

TWO

There’s not enough behind them.

THREE!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner! And CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY! BYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYRD!

Richard Parker: THIS CAN’T BE!

Nick Stuart: CLAY BYRD DID IT! He took on one of his greatest foes and FINALLY…FINALLY…managed to prevail!

Clay Byrd has rolled off of Farthington, who, again, just before the three, tried to kick out, but couldn’t do it. The former 5 Star Champion reaches with his hands to his own head, his face covered. Byrd looks up at the lights, both his arms on fire, before getting to his knees.

Rocking back and forth, he tries to muster the willpower to pull himself up. Without his arms, he manages to do so. And as he does? The Spokane crowd goes mental.

Two of the best just went at it, throwing bombs and haymakers.

Nick Stuart: What an INCREDIBLE win for Clay Byrd, and one he might just claim as the most important to him, personally, in his entire career.

Richard Parker: This Behemoth…he’s three and oh. And you look at that list. And Lord Farthington…I mean…

Nick Stuart: Has nothing to be ashamed of.

Richard Parker: But this Clay Byrd…he’s not gonna be a problem. He IS a problem!

Clay would pump his fist skyward, but he can’t. His eyes look towards his old rival.

Is there a notion of forgiveness?

Is there a nod?

We go elsewhere.

ReVival comes back from commercial to find the ring draped in red velvet with a cornucopia of color.  A large balloon archway with magenta and teal balloons, a three tiered cake with little figures on top of Zapp and The Anglo Luchador wearing tuxedos. There is a large orchid wreath in the corner that reads “R.I.P. AL.” There is even an animatronic clown in the opposite corner waving blankly to no one.

In the center of all this hoopla stands an unlikely figure, PRIME President and CEO Lindsay Troy. Yes, friends, she looks absolutely thrilled to be there.

Nick Stuart: Rich, it looks like our boss looks thrilled to be here, whatever is planned.

Richard Parker: Why do I get a sense of deja vu hearing you say that, especially the word thrilled?

Troy rolls her eyes and looks around at the clearly confused crowd in Spokane before finally lifting the microphone to her mouth.

Lindsay Troy: Two weeks ago at UltraViolence, PRIME’s inaugural Tag League concluded with the crowning of new Tag Champs after the division’s nearly year and a half-long hiatus. This time was requested by the champions for a celebration of their achievement, with a (air quotes) “special request” that I emcee the proceedings as a former two-time PRIME tag team champion.

The Queen looks around at her surroundings again and sighs. Loudly.

Lindsay Troy: So let’s get on with….whatever is going to happen here, God help us. Introducing first: Zapp Scatino.

“Nothing’s Gonna Stop Me Now” by David Pomeranz, better known to Gen-X and Elder Millennials as the theme song to the sitcom Perfect Strangers, hits on the PA and Scatino pops through the curtain, arms splayed and outstretched.  He looks behind him and waves his arm, urging whomever is back there to come out.

Emerging from the curtain are the Zapp Scatino Dancers (as indicated in their tight fitting shirts that say “The Zapp Scatino Dancers”).  They are a motley bunch.  Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Some have gargantuan knockers, others have sizable bulges.  They march out in perfect, stoic unison from the curtain being led by the PRIME Tag Team Champion.  The two dancers bringing up the rear carry a large package (no, that is not a euphemism for Todd’s, the short dancer’s, enormous wang).

Zapp Scatino enters the ring with a pep in his step and slyness to his smirk. He gives Lindsay a wink before helping the dancers bring the package into the ring.  Zapp looks at Lindsay, nay ogles, nay stares creepily in her chestal region, nay, just rating Lindsay Troy’s boobage real objective-like. 6.75/10. That is a full point higher than Bobby Dean.  Zapp takes a mic as the music fades.

Zapp Scatino: I know what you’re thinkin’. Zapp Scatino and The Anglo Luchador, tag team champs, that’s preposthumous! And yet, here I stand. Former Alias and Current Tag Team Champion.  But I didn’t do it alone. This here ain’t a celebration of Zapp Scatino, the man who ate shit from Tony Gamble for all them months only to ditch that fuckin’ jerk off for some greener pastors. See Tony? Look at me now you sad little fuckin’ twerp piece of shit.  A champion!  But this ain’t about Tony Gamble.  This ain’t even about Kohime Mori, whom has not initiated any sorta congratulatory contact even though she should know my number has not changed. This ain’t even about Kenny Fuckin’ Fuckpants or Ivan Stanislav and the other Commie Cumrags or how many times Lindsay Troy’s been a PRIME Tag Team loser. This here’s about ME!!! And by extensions my sibling from a different vagina, my partner, my fraternizinal twin, my fellow Tag Team Champion….put your hands together for Tommy B-Tags!!!  The Anglo Luchador!!!!!

Once again, the theme to Perfect Strangers hits on the PA, and the other half of the new reigning, defending Tag Team Champions, sheepishly steps out from Argyle onto the top of the ramp. His eyes are wide. His shirt, a custom number as he’s wont to wear, reads “Fuck the Red Army, but Not Red October (Go Phils).” He looks… exasperated as he walks down to the ornately decorated ring.

Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador looks… exasperated.

Richard Parker: Stop doing that!

Nick Stuart: Doing what?

Richard Parker: Giving me deja vu! I feel like I’m hearing what you’re saying before you say it.

Nick audibly facepalms.

Meanwhile, the Luchador climbs into the ring and looks around at the wreath, the cake, at his boss, who gives him a stink-eye to end all stink-eyes. The Last Son of Tenochtitlan shrugs as Zapp enthusiastically hands him a microphone. Troy once again sighs before she starts on the mic again.

Lindsay Troy: Tom. Seriously. What the fuck.

The Luchador shakes his head.

TAL: I’m just as clueless as you are, I…

Zapp butts in between The Luchador and the Lady of the Hour.

Zapp Scatino: Whoa whoa whoa, allow me to exacerbate here….

Troy pinches the bridge of her nose and wishes for the sweet embrace of death.

Zapp Scatino: Tonight is all about showin’ some appreciation. I ate a raw goat heart, lightly salted, for you. We’re the PRIME Tag Team Champions because of that. You mighta thought it was just some superstitious Hogwarts, but it fuckin’ worked, didn’t it?  So here we stand, surrounded by cake and balloons and shit, champions. No more of this distrustin’ bullshit. Tonight, we get on the same turnin’ page for the new leaf we are incidentally turnin’ on that page of which will be imminently turned.

The Luchador laughs in a way that explicitly shows he’s not laughing naturally or unironically.

TAL: Okay, well, let’s pretend that the last arc wasn’t an exercise in me showing that I did in fact trust you even though, well, you what, that’s unimportant right now. But let’s just pretend, okay? Your imagination isn’t completely shot yet, right? Okay, good.

The Luchador turns around to the wreath.

TAL: What am I supposed to read from THAT?

He gestures at the wreath with the sash that reads “RIP AL” in the corner.

TAL: I mean, if you’re going for subtlety here, well, it makes CS Lewis look like Nostra-fucking-damus. Seriously Zapp, am I being whacked? Is Tyler Rayne hiding under the ring with an army of ninjas???

You could forgive most longtime viewers of PRIME for expecting Lindsay Troy to have an aneurysm at the mention of her ex-husband. She does not collapse from a rupture of a blood vessel in her brain. Instead, she looks as if she’s plotting to do to Tom Battaglia what she did to Craig Maloof at COLOSSUS ‘22.

Zapp Scatino: It’s pronounced Notre-Damus. And you think I wanna whack ya? As if! I like ya, Tommy, in spite of these misappropriations of words and your little inside comments, like I’m supposed to know who the fuck Taylor Rayne is. Like I give a shit. See, I’m givin’ you a choice, bro. We fuckin’ dominated the tag division! No one came close. We could be somethin’, you an’ me. Choice is yours bro. We either come together, like the spirituistical brothers I know we are or we continue this broken whatever it is relationship we got and hope we survive one more night, one more match as champions, without fallin’ apart like the Jacksonville Jaguars against, well, anyone right now.  What’s it gonna be?

The Luchador pulls the collar on his t-shirt and shakes his head.

TAL: How is it you want to show that we’re brothers or whatever the hell it is you’re talking about?

Zapp’s lip twitched slightly and instead of addressing his tag team partner, he turns his attention towards Lindsay Troy.

Zapp Scatino: Ya know what, bosslady? I’m startin’ to feel, whaddyacallit, slighted here. Disrespected. I sign us up for the Tag Team Championship Tournament which we fuckin’ win, and there ain’t one Iococca of gratitude here. I set this whole thing up for that prick….

Zapp, without looking at him, points an admonishing finger at Tommy.

Zapp Scatino: ….and instead of a “thank you”, he acts like a used fuckin’ tampon. What else can I do? Tell me! What else can I do???

The Luchador interrupts before the Queen can say anything, although it feels like she wasn’t ever going to say anything. Because she would rather be on the USS Octane during chili night with Bobby Dean than be in the ring right now.

TAL: What can YOU do? I have no idea how I’m supposed to fuckin’ react here! It’s all about what you wanted out of all this, and everything I’ve done, outside of actually winning the match that got us our titles after getting the shit-encrusted life kicked out of me, has been a slap in the face. You’re worse than what the douchebros at the bar pretend women are like right now!

The Luchador waits a beat as Zapp scrunches his nose and curls his lip a bit. Troy, well, she hasn’t stopped rolling her eyes since this whole clownshow of a segment began.

TAL: So what I’m saying is, if you want me to treat you like I treat one out of my four actual brothers, like I treat Nate Colton, like I treat Ti…

Lindsay Troy snaps out of her boredom-induced catatonia to shoot the biggest daggers out of her eyes at the Luchador.

TAL: …Tim Duncan, yeah, me and Timmy are good friends, we share dad jokes and shop at the New Balance outlet together.

Troy rolls her eyes again.

TAL: But anyway, if you want me to open up to you, you gotta do the same for me. Tell me what the fuck it is you want. Please.

Zapp Scatino: Nate Colton? That walkin’ colonoscopy bag? You hold that shitbag in higher, uhhh, esteem than—-

Zapp stops himself and takes a deep breath.

Zapp Scatino: That’s fine. Everything’s honky dory. Brothers, twins, family….they don’t get along all the time.  It’s fine. I’m fine. “Zapp Scatino Dancers!” Present.

Two very muscular, very sullen “dancers,” one male, one female, both goth, enter the ring carrying the large box and place it down at the feet of The Anglo Luchador.

Zapp Scatino: Happy Anniversary! Birthday! Baseball Postseason! Whatever the fuck! For you!

The Luchador walks gingerly to the box as Todd hands him a crowbar. Surprisingly, he wasn’t storing it in his pants. He really is that hung and that shameless about not hiding it. The Last Son takes the item, and with some effort, he pries the front-facing wall of the crate off from the rest of it. The box’s shoddy construction gives way, and the other three side walls collapse with the top wall hitting the thing the container was transporting.

Zapp Scatino: OHHHH! Easy! I paid $49.99 for that! And that was after the coupon!

As the tumult clears and the dust settles, the contents of the box are revealed. Fans in the front row catch a glimpse of it first, and they gasp collectively. Lindsay Troy’s jaw is agape as she facepalms so hard they can hear her on Vancouver Island. The broadcast team is uneasily silent for a beat.

Nick Stuart: Oh. My. God.

Richard Parker: There’s a reason we were uneasily silent there for a beat… OH GOD NOW I’M DOING IT.

Zapp outstretches his arms at the contents, nodding as if he’s the proudest he’s been in his life. The Anglo Luchador’s eyes are wide, but his body is so still one could mistake him for a wax likeness at Madame Tussaud’s. Why is he like this, you might ask?

Because standing in front of him is a three-legged goat, dead but standing on his tripod, mouth open, several teeth missing, some of his fur matted and stained with blood where an incision is still visible where his heart was formerly located.

Yes friends, it’s Old Max. Given the taxidermist’s treatment.

Zapp Scatino:  Welllllllllll? How do you like it, ol’ Twinsy?

It takes a minute for the Luchador even to move a muscle, but after a few seconds, his jaw begins to open slightly.

TAL: I… I…

Zapp looks at him as if to say “spit it out,” but before he can, The Luchador looks as if he’s had an epiphany. He turns around to Zapp with the biggest, cheesiest smile on his face.

TAL: I love it, brother! Thank you! Thank you so much!

The crowd doesn’t know whether to remain silent at the abomination standing in the ring among the other chinsey party favors and hastily thrown-together decorations or to cheer because The Anglo Luchador seems to be happy and friendship has reigned supreme again. So there’s a half-hearted cheer to which the Lady of the Hour groans.

TAL: Bring it in, Zapp! Let’s hug it out!

Zapp puts his hand on his chest and mouths “who, me?” before going in for the hug. The camera catches The Luchador’s smile fade away as his head peers over his partner’s shoulder, closed eyelids and a deep sigh following it, but he soon puts the happy face back on as the two break their embrace.

TAL: Okay, why don’t we go take this celebration somewhere else? Like, I don’t know…

Zapp Scatino: Applebees?

Lindsay Troy’s laser eyes return.

TAL: Anywhere but there! Jesus. I’ll think of something, let’s go.

Zapp Scatino: What about Old Max?

TAL: (laughing nervously) Heh, I’ll have my people send for him.

Zapp nods as the Zapp Scatino Dancers! are the first to file out of the ring, followed by Zapp, followed finally by The Anglo Luchador. Lindsay Troy shakes her head and puts the mic back to her mouth.

Lindsay Troy: Hey! Dipshits! Who’s cleaning this up? I’m not! I’m definitely not touching any of this.

She looks at the goat.

Lindsay Troy: And I’m definitely not touching that!

The crowd is restless as the camera cuts to Matt Mills, standing by with one of the partisans in the main event tonight.

Backstage.

Specifically, one of the dressing rooms. Either it’s a private room, or everyone is giving its occupant a very wide berth.

Everyone except Matt Mills, that is.

Matt Mills: Folks, I’m about to get a few words with one of the men in tonight’s main event, Nate Colton.

The reporter steps closer to the New Diamond, who seems to be ignoring the world around him. Instead, he focuses on the last of his pre-match preparations–in this case, making sure his hands are properly taped.

Matt Mills: Nate, you’re about to face Ivan Stanislav in the first I Quit Match of the ReVival Era.

Colton doesn’t say anything. Instead, he picks up a marker from the bench he’s sitting on and starts writing on the fist tape. It’s slow going, because like another famous revenge-seeker, he is not left-handed.

Meanwhile, Mills is starting to lose his patience a little bit.

Matt Mills: Is there anything you’d like to say to the fans before your match?

He still doesn’t look up…but finally, he speaks.

Nate Colton: Don’t watch.

Matt Mills’ professional smile twitches a bit, and he glances at the camera like “can you believe this guy? He lets out a nervous chuckle just before following up.

Matt Mills: Nate, there’s a lot of people tuned in. Try and be serious.

Nate Colton: I am.

At last, the young man looks up…but not at Mills. Instead, he stares directly into the camera.

Nate Colton: Stop watching, right now. Leave the arena. Change the channel. If you’re a fan of mine, or the way I do things…if you got kids with you…for the love of God, turn off your television. You do not want to see this.

He pauses, then looks back to his hand, where he starts to scrawl another mark.

Nate Colton: I’ve always tried to carry myself with honor, especially when I’m in that ring. But what I’m about to do…there ain’t no honor in it. I don’t even want to…but Ivan Stanislav made it necessary. The things he’s done, the way he treats people…he’s gonna kill this place stone dead, if nobody stops him. And if this is what it takes…so be it.

Matt Mills: Do you really think you’ve got what it takes to make Ivan Stanislav quit?

Nate Colton: No idea. To be honest…I don’t even care.

He switches the marker to his dominant hand, and begins marking the tape on the other side.

Nate Colton: Ivan is gonna pay for what he did to my baby brother. In blood and bone, he will pay. If he’s as tough as he says, maybe he’ll last long enough to settle that debt…but if he backs out even one second before, I’m gonna make sure it follows him forever. Between his stamina and his ego, I want him to last long enough that he realizes there’s only two ways this ends. One, he goes back to Russia a failure. Two, he goes back to Russia in a box.

If this were a traditional wrestling promo, the words would be delivered with the usual bombast; shouting and wild gestures and big expressions.

Instead, they are spoken evenly, as if reading off a list of statistics. Emotionless. Cold.

And all through gritted teeth, so you can tell…

Nate Colton: I could very well damn my soul for what’s about to happen. If that’s the case, then I will walk through the gates of hell with a smile on my face, knowin’ I sent him there first.

His work complete, Nate sets the marker down on the bench, then finally looks up at his interviewer.

Nate Colton: Any more questions?

Matt Mills: …

Matt’s looking very uncomfortable right now. Can’t imagine why.

Matt Mills: No…I think we’re good. Nick, Richard…back to you.

The camera cuts back to the announce table, where Nick Stuart is looking just as concerned as Mills.

Nick Stuart: Harrowing words from the New Diamond there, and you’ve got to feel like this has gone too far.

Richard Parker: I think it’s gone just far enough, Nick! This fight is going to be fantastic!

Nick Stuart: How can you say that? He basically told Ivan “quit or I’ll kill you!”

Richard only shrugs, which does nothing to address the inaccuracy of Nick’s assessment.

Yes, Nate Colton said the match could end with Ivan’s submission. Yes, he said it could end with Ivan’s death.

You know what he didn’t say?

“Or.”

ReVival goes elsewhere.

“The Best” by AWOLNATION kicks up over the Spokane Arena’s sound system. It plays for a moment…

“I JUST WANNA BE THE… BEST”

Jonathan-Christopher Hall slowly makes his way out from the backstage area. He pauses at the top of the ramp, taking in the crowd. He begins his walk down to the ring, face a stone wall of determination.

Nick Stuart: You notice something, Rich?

Richard Parker: How could I not?! No Reed Young?! No Vickie Hall?! Not even a DJ Tristy-Crispy! What the hell is JCH thinking?!

Hall continues his determined march to the ring to a mixed reaction. He climbs between the ropes, his person radiating cold focus.

Vince Howard: From Folsom, Louisiana! Weighing in at 220 pounds… THIS IS THE FOREVER MAN, JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALL!

JCH takes a spot in a neutral corner. He allows referee Jimmy Turnbull to check his gear, his steely gaze completely focused on the entrance. Distorted guitar heralds a black hole emerging on the PRIME*View, dangerously close to the screen; hanging in the void among planets and nebulas.

Sirens accompany as the screen shakes, pulling us in violently, until the lyrics scream throughout the PA system.

“WHEN MY BACK’S TO THE WAAALLLL!!!”

And huge, white block letters fill the screen:

I!!!

WILL!!!

CON!!!

QUER!!!

The speakers and amplifiers hold on for dear life as “Daggers” by We Came as Romans absolutely bludgeon the eardrums. And speaking of explosions, those planets and stars on the PRIME*View do just that, bursting into blinding eruptions of violent light. It carries into the arena, rumbling flashbulbs explode in various points throughout the building; in the ceiling, in the stands, one after another.

Nick Stuart: This match has simmered for a bit now. I’m sure we’re going to see quite the explosion.

Richard Parker: Ya know, I get why JCH is mad. But maybe he should blame himself for his problems instead of displacing that anger onto Hayes Hanlon?

And then, from the ramp, The Event Horizon. He marches forward, those dark eyes focused, ‘stache on point. The eruption of lights and noise makes the building feel like a mosh pit. If the fans are booing, you’d never know.

Vince Howard: FROM WEST LINN, OREGON! STANDING SIX FEET, THREE INCHES AND WEIGHING IN AT TWO-HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE POUNDS!!

Hayes climbs the apron, steps through the ropes, and b-lines for the turnbuckle.

Vince Howard: The Event Horizoonnnnnnn…HAAAAAYESSSS!! HAAANNNLLOOOONNNNN!!!

Up one rope, then the second, chest and jaw jutting out, and a thumb across his neck.

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!
CUT OUT THE PAIN! TO FIND THE POWER!”

He hops down, making way to the next post to repeat the process one more time.

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!
CUT OUT THE PAIN!”

He remains on the ropes, and in timing with the song, beats his chest four times while roaring out the crescendo.

I!!!

WILL!!!

CON!!!

QUER!!!

The Comeback Kid stays for a moment, eyes scanning the arena, allowing the music to reach its breakdown. He hops to the mat and takes his place in his corner, ready to go.

DING DING

JCH storms forward, eyes full of fire, raining forearms and blows down on the unprepared Hanlon! The Event Horizon tries shoving Hall off, only for Jonathan-Christopher to rapidly charge back in and continue the assault. The hurricane of blows backs Hanlon into the corner. JCH stops for just a moment to glance over at the empty corner he had started in. His gaze doesn’t linger for too long, making his way to a shell shocked Hanlon.

The Forever Man whips Hayes to the opposite corner with as much force as he can muster. Hanlon smacks into the turnbuckles and bounces out. JCH follows up and again, sends Home Run Hayes careening back towards the original corner. Second verse, same as the first as Hanlon stumbles out of the corner much like before. Encore? Yep, flying back to the corner Hayes goes. This time, though, he finally sticks and slumps down. Hall glances out to the crowd before charging into the corner…

Nick Stuart: Oh man! Hall just smashed into the turnbuckles!

Richard Parker: What a brilliant dodge by Hayes Hanlon!

Nick Stuart: Brilliant? It looked like he just collapsed! Seems pretty lucky to me, Rich.

Richard Parker: Gotta be good to be lucky, Nick.

Hanlon struggles to his feet, blasting JCH with a sloppy but effective clothesline. Though both men are now grounded, Hayes sits up with a chuckle. He slowly climbs to his feet before jumping up and landing on a vulnerable Hall with a leg drop. Back to his feet, Hammerin’ Hanlon stomps away at the Vow of Virtue. Jimmy Turnbull steps in to back Halon off. He complies, turning to gloat to the crowd while the referee checks on the downed JCH.

Hayes comes back and scoops Hall up by the hair. He doesn’t give Turnbull time to admonish him, lifting JCH up for a body slam. He keeps the slam held for a moment before ceremoniously depositing Hall onto the mat with a vicious flourish. The Forever Man’s face contorts in pain while arching his back in agony. Hanlon pushes at Hall’s head with a disrespectful boot, smirk on his face as he does.

Nick Stuart: You know, I understand Hayes is a bit of a showman. I’m not sure showing such arrogance is a good idea.

Richard Parker: Well let me ask you this, Nick? If you’re great, and you know you’re great, is it really arrogant to acknowledge it?

Nick Stuart: I don’t see how Hanlon’s actions here are an acknowledgement of his talent.

Richard Parker: Of course YOU don’t see it, Nick. You’re a goody-goody!

By now, Hanlon has JCH back up and shoved into a corner. And then…

CRACK!

A thunderous knife edge chop to the chest of JCH rings out across the Spokane Arena. Hayes isn’t done. Another one has Hall ready to fall out of the corner, but Hanlon shoves him right back in. He holds a finger out to the crowd, signaling there’s at least one more coming. The crowd silences slightly. When the chop comes, it’s the loudest, and most likely most painful, blow to connect with JCH’s chest.

Hayes backs off slightly, that cocky grin still on his face. Hall throws an off-kilter punch that probably won’t cause much damage. It doesn’t really matter if it would have, since Hanlon easily fucked under and now has JCH in a waistlock. He spins the two of them around and launches Hall with an impressive German suplex!

Nick Stuart: Oh jeez! He really folded Jonathan-Christopher Hall up with that suplex!

Richard Parker: Did he ever! You think JCH regrets not having anyone out there with him now?

Nick Stuart: With the kind of offensive pressure Hayes has on him, I’m not sure having Vickie’s incessant screaming would help much.

Richard Parker: Yeah? You sure she’d be screaming for Hall?

Hanlon saunters over to the prone Alpha Male Love Boat and lackadaisically uses a foot to roll him onto his stomach. He places a boot onto the chest of Hall. Jimmy Turnbull hesitates for a moment, but drops down to count the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

The Event Horizon gives Turnbull a disapproving shake of the head before going back on the attack. He pulls JCH back up off the mat and whips him into the ropes. On the rebound, Hanlon plants Hall right back onto the mat with a beautiful spinebuster! He forgoes a cover, tugging a worn out Hall back to his feet. He’s not there long as Home Run Hayes tosses Hall yet again, this time with a snap belly to belly suplex.

Again, Hayes decides he’s not ready to end things yet. He positions himself at the feet of The Vow of Virtue, looking like he’s going to apply a Boston Crab. Instead, using his immense strength, Hanlon pulls up on JCH’s legs and into powerbomb position. Though groggy, Hall is still there enough to know he’s in trouble. He tries to pummel Hanlon’s head, but the blows have little effect. JCH goes crashing down into a violent powerbomb!

Nick Stuart: My word! I don’t know how much more punishment JCH can take!

Richard Parker: Can’t say for sure, but I bet Hayes is gonna try to find out.

With Hall showing little movement, Hayes waltzes over to the corner and ascends to the top. He holds his hands out to his sides, playing to the crowd. He comes flying off the top with a great looking elbow drop! He smashes into JCH, who flops around like he’s been hit with a bolt of lightning. Hayes lays back, placing the elbow he just crushed Hall with over top of the prone man. Turnbull makes the count!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: You know, if Hanlon actually bothered hooking a leg, he might have won this already.

Richard Parker: Is it really worth winning if you can’t win in style?

Nick Stuart: Yes?

Richard Parker: Hammerin’ Hanlon might disagree with that.

Back into the corner Jonathan-Christopher Hall goes. You remember those murderous chops Hanlon cracked Hall with earlier? Well here’s another. Hayes isn’t done yet, though. How about another sternum shattering blow? Good things come in threes. JCH would probably disagree with that sentiment as a third chop barrels into his chest. Hanlon steps back and plays to the crowd.

BOOOOOOOO!

Hayes approaches JCH and… suddenly, he’s thrown into the corner himself! Hall starts hitting Home Run Hayes with his own knife edge chops. They’re not as heavy, nor are they executed as well. But they’re coming in rapid fashion. After about six of these frantic blows, JCH backs up and lets out a roar, with some in the crowd even reacting positively.

Richard Parker: Hold on, are some of these plebs actually cheering for JCH?!

Nick Stuart: He’s fighting hard, Rich. Some people respect not giving up.

Richard Parker: Oh great, he’s a determined loser!

Hanlon shoves Hall off. The two move close to the middle of the ring. Hall smacks Hanlon with an elbow! Hayes fires back with a targeted punch! Hall responds with another elbow! Hanlon with another punch! Elbow! Punch! The crowd starts to really get behind JCH and the fire he’s showing. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help much when a powerhouse is hitting you in the mouth. Hammerin’ Hanlon starts to outstrike Hall, driving him back towards the ropes. With JCH ostensibly trapped, Hayes keeps the punches coming. He slings a loopy Jonathan-Christopher Hall to the opposite ropes and throws a clothesline with deadly intent.

Unfortunately for Hayes, the Forever Man manages to duck under the lariat. Coming back off the ropes, Hall blasts Hanlon with a spinning heel kick! Hayes wobbles to his feet and gets put right back down with a big DDT! Though sore and struggling, JCH makes his way over to the corner. He climbs as fast as his weary body will allow him. He turns around and comes flying off the top…

Nick Stuart: He’s All That!

Richard Parker: No! He missed! The moonsault missed!

Indeed, the pool is empty as Hanlon managed to roll away at the last second. JCH jerks up to his knees and clutches his ribs before falling back over. Both men are down and Jimmy Turnbull starts the count. At the count of three, Hayes starts to stir. By six, he’s back to his feet. Hall had also began to move by this point. He doesn’t give him time to recover, raining down stomps onto the downed JCH. He backs up into the corner. Though slow, the Forever Man starts to labor to his feet. At the same time, Hanlon jogs in place in the corner…

As Hall finally gets upright, Hayes charges forward. The lariat he unleashes sends JCH toppling over like a rag doll. Unlike earlier, Hanlon isn’t in the mood to showboat. He quickly ascends on Hall, grabbing the arm of the almost lifeless JCH. He turns the Vow of Virtue over, twisting the arm and grabbing a leg. He sits back and locks his hands.

Nick Stuart: The Northwest Necktie! Hall is really in trouble here!

Richard Parker: You got that right, Nick! I don’t think JCH is gonna be able to power out here!

Jonathan-Christopher Hall screams out in pain as Hayes leans back further. Jimmy Turnbull gets into position to check for a submission. JCH initially answers back no, leading Hanlon to continue wrenching on the hold. Hall tries to scoot the pair to the ropes. No such luck. He tries to power out. Like Richard said, not gonna happen. The Alpha Male Love Boat might be on the verge of sinking! Hayes rears back yet again… and topples over when a desperate JCH yanks one of his legs out! Though the hold has been broken, Hayes still has momentum on his side. He stalks JCH. As Hall strains to get on his feet, Hanlon flips him off and…

Nick Stuart: FLASH POINT! FLASH POINT!

Richard Parker: That has to be it!

Hanlon quickly covers after the jumping jawbreaker!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-KICKOUT!

The Forever Man just barely gets a shoulder up at the last minute. Hanlon turns his gaze over to Turnbull, slapping his hands together in frustration over the count cadence. Hammerin’ Hayes places a snug boot into the ribs of JCH, the earlier smirk replaced with a cold grimace. Another big leg is dropped on Hall, who withers around in pain. Hanlon drags Hall over near a corner, climbing the ropes. He settles on the second, turning around. He jumps off and back, crushing the Vow of Virtue with a splash!

No cover here, but Hanlon stays on guard. He waits. When JCH finally found a way to his feet, he gets put down with a big body slam. Up Hall goes, and back down again with another body slam. A third. A four. No reprieve, no rest. Seven. Eight. Nine. And finally, a tenth, body bruising slam puts JCH back onto the mat. Though a sliver of the crowd applauds the endurance and strength shown by Hayes, a big portion boos the excessive use of force.

Nick Stuart: I’m not sure he needed to do ten body slams.

Richard Parker: It was a Scoop Slam Party, Nick! And JCH was the guest of honor!

Nick Stuart: It’s a show of arrogance!

Richard Parker: Feel free to ask JCH if it just seemed like posturing.

Indeed, Hall seems out for the count. Once more, Hayes doesn’t cover. He points out to the top row of the Spokane Arena. He kicks the “dirt”. He adjusts his non-existent batting gloves. He readies his batting stance. There’s the leg kick. He swings… and catches a brutal palm strike from JCH right to the nose! Hanlon dramatically stumbles backward, spinning around and checking his nose. He doesn’t have long to assess any damage as JCH rolls Hayes up with a school boy, putting as much of his weight into the pin as he can!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE! KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: No! The kickout came too late!

Richard Parker: This is garbage! Hayes Hanlon was robbed!

DING DING DING

A furious Hanlon gets into Jimmy Turnbull’s face, still checking his nose while berating the official. On the outside of the ring, a battered but victorious Jonathan-Christopher Hall weakly raises his arms to growing cheers.

Vince Howard: The winner by pinfall… THE FOREVER MAN, JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALL!

Nick Stuart: A big victory for Jonathan-Christopher Hall! I think I might even hear a few cheers out there for him!

Richard Parker: Oh yeah, the idiots want to suddenly cheer for him when he made the dumb decision to ditch the best management he could have?! Can’t account for poor taste, I guess.

And the show moves on.

The video screen flickers to life, revealing Agent Zarya, the infamous enforcer of the Soviet Bloc. She sits regally in her chair, her long black ushanka hat casting a shadow over her sharp features. Her body is clad in a tight red top with the letters ‘USSR’ emblazoned across the chest, accentuating her curves in all the right places. A black fishnet material adorns her arms, giving off a dangerous and seductive aura.

Richard Parker: ZARYA!

Nick Stuart:  Wait a minute.  What is she doing here?

Richard Parker: Have you seen her latest pin-up picture?

Richard leans down to pull the picture out- Nick puts his hand on his arm to stop him.

Nick Stuart: That’s not necessary.

Zarya’s eyes gleam with malice and power, her words dripping with venom.

Agent Zarya: Jonathan-Christopher, your dear wife has been quite busy behind your back.

As if on cue, another video appears on the screen, this time showing Jonathan’s wife Vickie in bed with another man. Blonde hair tousled around her face, she seems blissfully unaware of the camera capturing her betrayal. Jonathan’s jaws tighten at the sight before him, his hands clenching into fists as anger bubbles inside him.

Nick Stuart: Oh no…

The video cuts back to Zarya, who wears a smug smirk as she revels in his pain and Jonathan-Christopher can only watch helplessly as she toys with him like a cat playing with its prey.

Agent Zarya: Ah yes, Mr. Hall… she’s been very busy.

Zarya’s voice is taunting, laced with malice. She smirks and the screen goes black leaving a boiling and shattered Jonathan-Christopher Hall behind.

Hall’s chest rises and falls rapidly as he struggles to contain his sorrow. Eventually, he walks over to the ropes and asks for a microphone. Falling on his knees, tears roll down his eyes.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: New footage. Where did you get that? Who are you? What’s going on!?

He sobs openly throughout the sentences, one hand trembles to hold the mic, the other tries to run through his ratty unkempt hair.

Suddenly, his head starts twitching. Tears stop rolling down his face. His hands aren’t shaking. Instead, they are holding the microphone as tightly as possible. Almost crushing it within his palms.

Richard Parker: I have never seen someone so unstable before. Moving through emotions seamlessly.

Nick Stuart: You… haven’t?

Richard Parker: I like it!

The tension mounts. The crowd holds its collective breath at the extremely uncomfortable situation.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: I DEMAND TO KNOW WHO DID THIS!

Nick Stuart: I thought Jonathan-Christopher believed it was Hayes Hanlon.

Richard Parker: I literally just said Jonathan-Christopher is unstable.

Nick Stuart: Fair.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: I WANT TO KNOW WHO DID THIS, BECAUSE I AM GOING TO TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB FOR RUINING MY LIFE! WHO DID IT!? WHO!? WHO!? WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!?

He falls over, chest-first on the mat, microphone rolling away from him.

And then two words cut through the arena like a knife.

Voice: I did.

There’s gasps in the crowd when Adam Ellis appears on the stage. Jonathan-Christopher’s eyes widen in disbelief… his face twisted in a mask of shock and betrayal.

Adam Ellis: It was me.

Richard Parker: ADAM!? ELLIS!?

Nick Stuart: Oh no…

Richard Parker: Hell, I didn’t think the kid had it in him! Bravo, champ!

Adam Ellis: I’m not going to hide from it.  I’m not going to deny it.  That was me… I messed up and I’m going to own what I did… no matter what the consequences are.

As Jonathan-Christopher stands frozen in the ring, his mouth agape, Adam takes a deep breath. His heart is pounding in his chest. His voice is barely a whisper.  The weight of thousands of eyes bear down upon him inside the arena.  Adam steels himself to explain to the world just how he made the biggest mistake of his young life.

Adam Ellis: It was after a PRIME show.  I went to a bar and I was… I was in a dark place. The losses, becoming a father… the pressure… it built up to the point that…

He pauses, swallowing hard. Meanwhile, Jonathan-Christopher’s eyes are so wide, his body shakes once again…

Adam Ellis: …I drank and drank at the bar and I was drunk, more drunk than I’ve ever been.  Sometime, late in the evening… a blonde woman approached and promised me a night I’d never forget.

Dead silence inside the arena.

Adam Ellis: And she was right… I haven’t forgotten that night. I’ve relived every second, every minute… of what happened that night every day since.  I… I made a terrible mistake.

The crowd murmurs, some boos, others watch in shocked silence as Adam makes his admission, voice heavy with remorse and shame.

Adam Ellis: After Vickie came on to me, we went back to a hotel… I didn’t realize who she was until… until she said something about you, Jonathan-Christopher. That’s when it hit me.

Adam’s eyes meet Jonathan-Christopher’s and sees the pain and betrayal in every line of his face.

Adam Ellis: Jonathan-Christopher, I’m so sorry.  There’s no excuse for what I did. I betrayed you and worst of all…

He pauses, the weight of the next words he’s about to say threatening to crush him.

Adam Ellis: … I betrayed the love of my life…

The arena falls silent once more. Adam stands there, exposed and vulnerable, awaiting the consequences of his actions.

…But Jonathan-Christopher does nothing.

Nick Stuart: I am stunned by this turn of events. Of all people to do something like this… Adam Ellis?

Richard Parker: Knowing Ginny, she’s right now accumulating an arsenal to take her husband out.

Ellis continues to stand at the entrance way, head down, looking very remorseful. Jonathan-Christopher, on the other hand, just falls on his knees in the middle of the squared circle. He said he was going to hurt the man who did this, tear him limb from limb, in fact. But hasn’t made a move.

Barely even moved.

Ellis heads to the back, head remains lowered and the crowd continues to be silent.

Nick Stuart: I… I have to feel for all parties involved.

Richard Parker: Even Vickie?

Nick Stuart: No, I misspoke.

Richard Parker: Oh. Well, I feel for Vickie.

Jonathan-Christopher rolls out of the ring and lowers his head as well. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath…

And runs underneath the rampway, into the darkness and completely out of sight.

…

…

Meanwhile… halfway across the country in Warrensburg, Missouri.

The glow of the television flickers across Ginny Van Lear’s face… eyes wide and unblinking… the remote control slips out of her hands and clatters onto the floor.

She knows things haven’t been right for a while.

She knows all about the increase in Adam’s drinking in the past few weeks and how much it bothered her… especially when he brought beer home over her objections.

But, despite her firm beliefs, she’d tried really hard to be understanding… to be the good wife… to be the good Christian wife who unconditionally supports her husband and unconditionally loves him… even when things aren’t going well.

But now… her eyes glaze over after watching her life unravel right before her.

After the segment ends, Ginny sits motionless in the chair for what seems to her like an eternity, her chest barely rising with each shallow breath.

No emotion.

No expression.

No words.

Just numbness.

Finally, Ginny reaches down to pick up the remote and point it at the television to shut it off.  Then she stands up from the chair and takes a deep breath.

Quietly, she walks back to Abbigail’s room.  The sleeping infant lays peacefully in her crib.

Ginny gently lifts Abbigail and cradles her close.

Ginny Van Lear: Come on, baby girl.

Placing Abbigail in her carrier, Ginny takes her to the kitchen and sets her down on the kitchen table.

Her movements are deliberate and calm.  She places a kiss on her young daughter’s forehead.

Ginny Van Lear: It’s time to go home.

Then she goes to the closet and pulls out the suitcases as ReVival moves on.

We return from commercial to the ringside area.

Nick Stuart: Well folks, here we go! The UItraViolence Night 1 Main Event here at ReVival 56!

Richard Parker: And it’s not your normal match. It’s an “I Quit” match. I can’t imagine Ivan Stanislav ever uttering those words!

Nick Stuart: What about Nate Colton?

Parker responds immediately.

Richard Parker: In a heartbeat!

Nick Stuart: Well I certainly can’t, and this sell out Spokane crowd certainly can’t! Let’s take it over to Vince Howard!

Vince Howard: Ladies and Gentlemen! This is the ReVival 56 Main Event! It is an “I Quit” match! Introducing first…

Cue the crimson lights…

Vince Howard: …from Arkhangelsk, Russia…

…the PRIMEtron shifts to a CGI red flag with yellow hammer, sickle, and star…

Vince Howard: …he stands 7’1” tall and weighs 400 lbs…

…and then the fanfare from “The Soviet National Anthem” from the Russian Red Army Choir means only one thing. One man. One Bear.

Vince Howard: IIIIIVAAAAANNNNN STAAAAAANISSSLAVVVVV!!!

Explosions erupt from the entryway, terminating in mini-mushroom clouds as The Russian Bear, Ivan Stanislav, storms out from backstage. He’s alone as he stomps purposefully down towards the ring. Spokane already had to deal with him once, and once was enough. A chorus of boos pour down upon The Russian Bear like acid rain, and he is unfazed.

Nick Stuart: This match is a long time coming. Colton and Stanislav have had a tenuous relationship since Ivan returned to PRIME in 2022. But it didn’t hit a flashpoint until after Tropical Turmoil.

Richard Parker: Yeah, this should have been for the Universal Title, but nooooo, Nate Colton had to fight fair and lose to the Bandits.

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton is one of the pure hearts here in PRIME. That’s why he’s The New Diamond. That’s why he is universally respected in wrestling circles. His family has a long history of doing what is right! Which is more than I can say for Ivan Stanislav!

Stanislav grips the top rope and steps up onto the apron and then effortlessly steps over said top rope and into the ring. He roars defiantly and turns his attention to Elvis Nixon, pointing and then browbeating him.

Nick Stuart: An I Quit match! In his long, illustrious career, no one has had the courage to challenge someone as powerful as Ivan Stanislav to an I Quit match! He’s beaten Hall of Famers. Legends. Young. Old. You name it. He’s the Russian tank that just won’t quit, regardless of the decade!

Richard Parker: Yeah, Nate Colton is REALLY dumb!

Nick Stuart: No, he’s not. Colton was pushed to this. Stanislav didn’t have to menace his girlfriend, Kohime Mori. Stanislav didn’t have to brutalize his brother and send him to the hospital. He didn’t have to terrorize his hometown. He wanted to. And he got what he deserved. This match. Right now. Spokane, Washington!

Ivan finishes with Nixon and bounces his back against the ropes and thunders across the ring in a rare show of pre-match activity, thundering to the opposite side of the ring, he lays deep into the ropes and stretches them, and bounces off. He hops a few times, his combat boots registering on the Richter scale as seismic vibrations bounce through the canvas.

Nick Stuart: But still, Ivan was right earlier. Over two decades worth of a career. Two decades of injuring people, using his Red Army as a cudgel against anyone he deemed “the other.” Two decades of that laugh and the terror that came with it. This could be it. There’s no one with him. Just The Bear. This may be the last stand for Ivan Stanislav and folks am I so happy to share this moment with you, regardless of how it turns out!

Richard Parker: That’s right Nick, it could easily go the other way too. This might be the end of Nate Colton. It might have been a trap. He may have played directly into Stanislav’s hand for all we know. There’s a reason no bonehead has challenged Ivan to such a match. It’s inconceivable to think he could ever say those words. Now Nate Colton? He has quitter written all over him!

Nick Stuart: WHAT?!

Richard Parker: Hey, this is my analysis! Colton is a, well, pretty good wrestler I guess…

Nick Stuart: Pretty good?!?!

Richard Parker: I mean Nate Colton, he’s okay. Yeah. He’s okay. But could Ivan stop his career before it ever really started?! I sure hope so!

The Russian Red Army Choice ceases its singing as the lights return to normal and The Russian Bear, the grizzled, overpowering veteran of decades past, stands alone in the ring. He rolls his shoulders, stretches his suspenders and lets then SNAP against his barrel chest. A defiant, challenging roar erupts from his mouth as he tries to drown out the crowd. He turns to the entryway and squares his shoulders and his back, standing tall and stoic.

He lets out one more defiant roar and motions for Nate Colton to meet his destiny.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

RRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!

Lately we’ve come to expect a little more pizzazz from this man’s entrance. Fireworks, laser shows, long and detailed videos on the PRIMEView.

Not tonight.

The PRIMEView screen turns white, showing three words in bright blue:

THE

NEW

DIAMOND

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

NATE

COLTON

Just enough to let his opponent know what’s coming.

Then, the music. Eagles, “Tryin’.”

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!

A man walks out, reigniting the cheering from the crowd. If he hears them, he doesn’t show it.

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton is all business tonight, folks!

Richard Parker: I know I’ve ragged on the kid for not showing more meanness. Looks like he finally listened.

Nate Colton walks down the entrance ramp, never taking his eyes off of his opponent. His attire is a little different tonight; the signature ring jacket left behind in favor of a purple University of Evansville t-shirt. Nate has also left his gloves behind, in favor of taped fists, each with the same three letters scrawled across the back of the hand.

“BWC.” His brother’s initials.

He makes no effort to grab at the outstretched hands of the audience, or even acknowledge their presence. He just keeps marching forward, every step taking him closer to what might very well be the end.

Colton forgoes his usual lap-around-the-ring, instead going straight for the ring steps. He climbs to the apron, wipes his feet, and steps through the ropes. He peels off his t-shirt and tosses it aside.

Go ahead, Vince. He can’t hear you anyway.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Evasnville, Indiana! Standing at six feet and four inches tall, weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds. He is the New Diamond! He is… NAAAAAAAAAAAAATE! COLTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The New Diamond moves to the center of the ring, ignoring Elvis Nixon’s pre-match instructions as he stares down Ivan Stanislav–not easy to do with a man almost a foot taller, but here we are.

Nick Stuart: Fans, we are mere seconds away from settling one of the biggest grudges in PRIME history.

Richard Parker: This is bad blood by the bucket, and it’s about to spill!

Nick Stuart: Our more sensitive viewers…may want to consider Colton’s advice from earlier tonight.

Richard Parker: And the ones who aren’t wimps are gonna want to see every second of this!

Over the last few shows, we’ve gotten used to a certain look in Nate Colton’s eyes. A look of hate, harder than diamond, colder than Siberia. That look is quickly fading away, replaced by something wholly different.

The ice has served its purpose. Now it’s time for the fire.

Let it burn.

Nixon gives his final set of instructions. We don’t need more commentary. We don’t need more fanfare.

We need fists.

DING DING

The fans inside of the Spokane Arena come alive with anticipation for their main event match while Stanislav and Colton circle one another — eyes locked upon their opponent. The tension is palpable — the air charged like electricity — before Colton explodes from his stance and moves like lightning to close the distance between him and Stanislav. He unleashes a barrage of forearm strikes, each blow radiating intensity and determination. The crowd approves, chanting Colton’s name as he fearlessly takes the fight to the Russian giant. Stanislav, caught off guard by Colton’s aggression, stumbles back, his face a mask of surprise and growing anger.

Nick Stuart: And Colton has come out of the gates, weeks upon weeks of anger and frustration having built up in his body and he is unloading upon Stanislav!

Richard Parker: This is a horrible game plan! You do not want to go toe to toe with Stanislav! Nate is letting his anger get the best of him and it’s going to end up with him being the fly to Stanislav’s windshield.

Nick Stuart: You should give Colton more credit than that.

Richard Parker: No. No, I don’t think I will.

Seizing the momentum, Colton dives for Stanislav’s tree-trunk legs, attempting a single-leg takedown. His hands clasp around Stanislav’s calf, muscles straining as he tries to topple the behemoth. But Stanislav’s stability is unmatched. He simply shoves Colton away with a contemptuous sneer, sending him sprawling across the canvas. The ease of Stanislav’s defense draws boos from the crowd while Colton quickly scrambles to his feet, undeterred. His eyes narrow, recalculating his strategy against the immovable object before him.

Richard Parker: A single leg takedown?! He might have done that against FLAMBERGE, but you’re dealing with a Russian Bear! Who strategizied with this man? Was it you Nick?

Nick Stuart: I did not, but I think Nate is on the right track. Take it to Stanislav, catch him off guard, and then try to take his vertical base away from him.

Richard Parker: I could’ve gotten a better strategy from a hooker on the corner with three minutes to spare.

Nick Stuart: And what strategy would that have been?

Richard Parker: Give me twenty bucks and I’ll go find out.

Enraged by Colton’s audacity, Stanislav charges forward like a freight train, his massive arm cocked back for a clothesline that could decapitate a lesser man. The crowd gasps collectively, fearing for Colton’s safety. But Colton’s reflexes are razor-sharp. At the last possible second, he ducks under Stanislav’s swinging arm, the whoosh of air above his head a stark reminder of the bullet dodged. Stanislav’s momentum carries him into the ropes as Colton spins around, the fans cheering on his agility and quick thinking.

Colton immediately seizes Ivan’s momentary imbalance — firing off a series of rapid-fire kicks to the Russian Bear’s legs. Each shot is precise and relentless, as he targets the knee joints and thick thighs of the former Universal Champion. Echoing throughout the arena is the sound of Colton’s boot smacking against the flesh of Stanisalv, punctuated by the crowd’s approving shouts. Surprise and pain come out as grunts from the Russian Bear, his face contorting as he tries to shield himself from the onslaught. Colton’s strategy is clear – he’s trying to chop down the giant, one kick at a time.

Nick Stuart: The educated feet of Nate Colton are on full display!

Richard Parker: Educated? I don’t think Nate Colton’s brain is educated, his feet are probably dumber than a box of rocks.

Nick Stuart: Do you hate this strategy as well?

Richard Parker: No, just your commentary.

Stanislav’s patience snaps. As Colton winds up for another kick, the Russian Bear’s hand shoots out, snatching Colton’s ankle in a vice-like grip. Stanislav yanks Colton towards him with a roar that silences the arena, simultaneously swinging his free arm in a devastating clothesline. The impact is sickening, Colton’s body going limp as the force nearly decapitates him. But Stanislav isn’t done. He hoists Colton’s motionless form off the mat, his muscles bulging, and whips him into the corner with bone-crushing force. The crowd winces collectively as Colton crashes into the turnbuckles.

Richard Parker: It must feel like getting ran over by a train when Ivan does something like that.

Nick Stuart: Judging by the look on Colton’s face, I would have to say not.

Richard Parker: And Stanislav is getting ready to collide about four hundred pounds of mass into the body of Colton. That can’t be a good thought running through your head.

Nick Stuart: I wouldn’t imagine that it is.

Stanislav charges towards the corner where Colton hangs limply like a predator, closing in for the kill. The Russian’s massive frame blots out the lights as he launches into a crushing corner splash. His total weight and momentum slam into Colton, compressing him against the turnbuckles. The entire ring shakes from the impact — the gathered fans look on with pained expressions. They watch as Nate’s body is folded like an accordion, with all the air driven from his lungs and the pained expression on his face. Ivan steps back with a grin, sadistic in nature, spreading across his face as he looks at the pained body of his opponent.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, that looks almost as bad as it must have felt.

Richard Parker: You want to get in the ring with Ivan and let him do that to you? You think Nate would rather be watching it or on the receiving end of it?

Nick Stuart: I’m going to imagine Nate wishes he could kick Ivan’s skull off his shoulders.

Richard Parker: Many have tried, none have been that successful at it.

Nick Stuart: And Ivan looking to do it again! He’s got Colton in his sights!

In a display of incredible instinct and resilience, Colton somehow finds the wherewithal to move at the last possible second. The sound of a bomb exploding echoes throughout the arena as Stanislav crashes into the turnbuckle. His chest collides with the corner — his body unable to stall the momentum he was carrying into it. Cheers blanket Colton as he begins to seize the chance he’s created, adrenaline pumping his body to march on. He lunges at Stanislav, attempting to lock in a dragon sleeper. His arms wrap around the Russian’s thick neck, straining to secure the hold. But Stanislav’s sheer size proves problematic, and Colton can’t fully cinch in the submission.

Nick Stuart: Colton — not a small man by any stretch of the imagination — trying to lock in a Dragon Sleeper on Ivan!

Richard Parker: Yeah, good luck with that. Ivan can’t find clothes that fit him in the weather. Why do you think he wears suspenders? His pants are those that died and he stitched them together. Or I guess Arina did.

Nick Stuart: I think they make him pants.

Richard Parker: Yeah, but you’re not certain, are you?

Infuriated by Colton’s persistence, Stanislav straightens up, backing Colton into the opposite corner. The Russian’s massive frame dwarfs Colton, crushing him against the turnbuckles with sheer body mass. Colton gasps for air, his ribcage compressed by the immense pressure.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Meanwhile, Nate’s face turns red, helpless as he fights against Ivan’s massive bulk.

Richard Parker: If you die during an I Quit match, does that mean you quit? Or does the match go on?

Nick Stuart: I don’t think anyone is going to die in the ring, Richard.

Richard Parker: Try telling that to Nate right now! Stanislav is going to crush the life out of him!

With oxygen running low and desperation setting in, Colton summons a burst of energy. He begins driving short, sharp elbow strikes into Stanislav’s face, each blow fueled by survival instinct.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The impacts echo through the arena, drawing cheers of encouragement from the fans. Stanislav’s head snaps back with each hit, his grip on Colton loosening incrementally. Blood trickles from the Russian’s nose, further incensing him. Nixon hovers nearby, ready to play his part if the situation intensifies.

Out of nowhere, Stanislav retaliates against Colton — in a way that terrifies those in the front row who have to witness it. Ivan’s head cocks back, and he drives his forehead into Colton’s skull with a headbutt. A deafening silence comes over the crowd as Colton stumbles backward, pain evident on his face. Colton’s eyes glaze over, his body going slack as he slumps against the turnbuckle. Stanislav steps back, allowing Colton to crumple to the canvas in a heap. The Russian Bear towers over his fallen opponent, a look of cruel satisfaction on his face as Nixon checks on the dazed Colton.

Nick Stuart: Colton’s face might have been shattered there! His orbital bones —

Richard Parker: Oh, that’s ground into dust. You’d have better luck with an actual bear slapping his paw at your face than going head-to-head with Stanislav! How Coltons is still alive is a question to me.

Nick Stuart: Colton is made of stronger stuff than that.

Richard Parker: He’s still made of bones and right now, he’s got one less.

Stanislav, his face twisted in a sadistic grin, hoists Colton high into the air for a vertical suplex. But instead of completing the move, he holds Colton aloft, the younger wrestler’s body parallel to the mat. Horrified looks paint the crowd’s faces as the seconds tick by. Ivan’s muscles tighten and bulge with the effort — while Colton’s face reddens from the blood rushing to his head while dangling helplessly — but Stanislav shows no sign of fatigue. Ten seconds… twenty seconds… nearly thirty seconds pass before Stanislav finally crashes backward, driving Colton into the canvas with bone-jarring force. The impact of his body landing on the canvas echoes through the arena, drawing gasps from the stunned audience.

Richard Parker: Stanislav in full control of this match. There is nothing Nate can do to slow down Ivan!

Nick Stuart: If you’re Colton, you have to be re-evaluating your game plan.

Richard Parker: Re-evaluating it? Throw it out! Start from scratch! This is going horrible!

Nick Stuart: Oh, it’s not that ba— oh my goodness!

However, in a display of incredible resilience, Colton somehow manages to land on his feet as Stanislav releases him. Quickly, Colton seizes the Russian’s leg, flips him over, and drops to the mat before smartly locking in a single-leg crab. A roar of approval comes over the crowd at the sight. Colton wrenches back on Stanislav’s leg, his face a mask of determination as he puts all his weight into the hold. Stanislav’s eyes widen in surprise and pain, his free leg thrashing as he tries to find leverage. Nixon leans in, watching closely for any sign of submission from the Russian behemoth.

Nick Stuart: What a turn of events! I’m not certain how Colton managed to find his feet off that stalling suplex!

Richard Parker: Clearly he put a metal sheet under the ring canvas and put magnets in his shoes.

Nick Stuart: I have no way of knowing if you’re being serious or joking.

Richard Parker: Who would joke about such a thing?

As he realizes his predicament, Ivan’s face twists with rage. He immediately summons every ounce of his considerable strength before letting out a roar that drowns out the crowd’s support of Nate. In one explosive motion, he powers out of the hold, his leg shooting upward with such force that Colton is tumbling head over heels. The Next Diamond crashes to the mat several feet away, momentarily dazed by the sudden reversal. Stanislav lumbers to his feet, favoring his leg slightly but as intimidating as ever.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: And just like that, Stanislav has swatted Colton away like he’s an annoying gnat!

Nick Stuart: Keeping Ivan down takes everything in your bag of tricks to pull off. That’s why only a few have managed to do it. Hayes Hanlon. FLAMBERGE. Cancer Jiles.

Richard Parker: Why would you even utter that name in my presence?!

Nick Stuart: I mean, he lost at UltraViolence if that helps at all.

Richard Parker: …it does.

Stanislav charges forward — eager to capitalize on Colton being disoriented — with an eye on connecting with the Iron Curtain on The Next Diamond. His massive hand reaches for Colton’s throat, but The Next Diamond has other plans. At the last possible second, Colton moves around Stanislav’s grasp, spinning behind the Russian giant. In one fluid motion, he hooks Stanislav’s head and drops backward, driving the Russian Bear’s skull into the canvas with a thunderous DDT. The impact shakes the entire ring, and the crowd erupts in cheers. Stanislav lies motionless while Colton rolls away, gasping for breath but looking determined.

Nick Stuart: And Colton keeps fighting back! What a moment there! Hitting that DDT is giving him a lifeline.

Richard Parker: The problem remains — Colton is simply reacting to the situation around him, surviving. You can’t hope to win an I Quit Match if you’re simply just trying to surive. He’s not taking anything to Stanislav, not doing what it takes to put the Russian Bear on his back.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, but if you go in the other direction, than Colton is out of this match and the Russian Bear is victorious.

Richard Parker: Yeah, Colton might be better off quitting now.

Nick Stuart: Do you think that’s likely to happen?

Richard Parker: Well, I guess not.

Colton springs into action, realizing he has another opportunity to be with Stanislav on the ground. Colton unleashes a barrage of kicks and stomps, targeting the Russian Bear’s left knee with precision and malice—the sound of Stanislav’s grunts of pain and the sickening thud of boot meeting flesh fill the arena.

COLT-ON! COLT-ON! COLT-ON!

Agony is painted across Ivan’s face while his hands try to protect his leg from the onslaught. The Russian Bear looks vulnerable for the first time in the match, and Colton is determined to press his advantage.

Nick Stuart: And the fans here continue to feed life into Colton!

Richard Parker: Once again, what good is that going to do when Ivan hits him with three Red Scares? When Ivan has hit paws wrapped around Colton’s skull? Nothing.

Nick Stuart: It’s not nothing, Richard.

Richard Parker: Well, it’s definitely not something!

As it seems Colton might have Stanislav in real trouble, the tide turns violently. As Colton winds up for another kick, Stanislav’s arm shoots out with surprising speed. His massive hand engulfs Colton’s ankle, halting the attack. Before Colton can react, Stanislav surges to his feet, simultaneously yanking Colton off balance and swinging his other arm in a devastating lariat. The impact is immediately and sickening as Nate’s body flips through the air before it crashes to the mat — punctuated by gasps from the crowd. Colton lies motionless, his chest heaving as he struggles to breathe. Stanislav towers over him, a look of cruel satisfaction on his face.

Nick Stuart: Colton is in serious trouble here, Richard. Stanislav has been relentless, and I’m not sure how much more punishment Nate can take.

Richard Parker: I told you, Nick! Stanislav is a force of nature. Colton’s determination is admirable, but at what cost? He might not walk out of this arena under his own power if this continues.

Nick Stuart: Colton needs to figure out something because Ivan is just picking up momentum.

Richard Parker: This is Ivan’s playbook, time and time again. He doesn’t need anyone in his corner. He doesn’t need underhanded tactics. He will simply smother you until you have nothing left to give.

Sensing victory within his grasp, Stanislav pounces on the dazed Colton. He maneuvers behind The Next Diamond, wrapping one arm around Colton’s throat while his other hand clamps down on Colton’s shoulder. The shoulder claw is locked tightly, Stanislav’s fingers digging into the soft tissue brutally. Colton’s face contorts in pain, a strangled cry escaping his lips as Stanislav applies pressure to both his neck and shoulder. Elvis hovers close, asking Colton if he wants to quit.

COLT-ON! COLT-ON! COLT-ON!

The strength from the crowd helps him push through the pain, with Colton refusing to submit. That strength leads to him fighting against Stanislav’s hold, his elbow driving repeatedly into the Russian’s ribs. Each strike weakens Stanislav’s grip gradually until Colton finally breaks free. In one fluid motion, Colton spins around and launches a desperate superkick. His boot connects solidly with Stanislav’s knee, the same one he’d been targeting earlier. The impact echoes through the arena, and Stanislav roars in pain, stumbling backward.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Richard Parker: Well, that’s the start of something. What that is, I couldn’t possibly tell you.

Nick Stuart: Colton has continued to fight tooth and nail throughout this match, fueled by the fans, driven by the memories of what Ivan did to Blake.

Richard Parker: Look, I’m not Ivan apologists, but Blake had no business being in the ring.

Nick Stuart: So he was asking for it? Want to apply that line of thought anywhere else?

Richard Parker: …no.

Determined to press his advantage, Colton darts forward, aiming to capitalize on Stanislav’s compromised knee. He grasps the Russian’s leg, preparing to execute a dragon screw leg whip. The crowd leans forward in anticipation, sensing a potential turning point in the match. Colton twists, using all his strength to wrench Stanislav’s massive frame off balance. For a moment, it seems like the move might succeed, the Russian teetering precariously. But Stanislav’s size proves too much to overcome fully, and while Colton manages to wrench the leg, Stanislav remains on his feet.

Nick Stuart: Both men are somehow still fighting! This match has been a war of attrition, and neither seems willing to give an inch.

Richard Parker: Colton’s putting up more of a fight than I expected, I’ll give him that. But Stanislav is still the immovable object here. It’s going to take more than a partially connected leg whip to bring down the Russian Bear.

Nick Stuart: You’re right about that, Richard. Colton needs to find a way to capitalize on these openings if he wants to turn the tide of this match.

Richard Parker: Easier said than done when you’re facing a monster like Stanislav. Look at him, he’s barely fazed!

A mask of fury comes over Stanislav’s face due to Colton’s continued defiance. He lunges forward and connects with a massive fist across Colton’s jaw, the impact echoing through the Spokane Arena. Colton’s head snaps back while their eyes glaze over from the shot. Stanislav isn’t done. He hoists the stunned Colton into the air with one fluid motion and holds him there as the crowd watches, unsure what the Russian Bear will do next. A roar of triumph precedes Stanisalv, bringing Coltn crashing down with a devastating powerbomb. The ring shudders from the impact while the fans gasp at the intensity of it all. Nate lies there, motionless, while Stanislav looms over him with a sinister smile.

Nick Stuart: Colton is in serious trouble here, Richard. That powerbomb from Stanislav was absolutely devastating. Nate may be at the max in terms of punishment he can take.

Richard Parker: I would tell you that I hate telling you I told you so, but you know that’s not my style. I told you so! Stanislav is simply on another level. Colton’s determination is admirable, but at this point, it might be foolish. He needs to consider his long-term health here.

Nick Stuart: You’re right about the severity of the situation, but let’s not count Colton out just yet. He’s shown incredible resilience throughout this match.

Richard Parker: Resilience is one thing, but there comes a point where it’s just stubbornness. Stanislav looks ready to end this, and I’m not sure Colton has anything left to give.

With a sadistic grin spreading across his face, the Russian Bear haunts Colton’s broken body. He gestures for Elvis to approach, his eyes never leaving his fallen opponent.

“Ask him!” Stanislav bellows, his thick Russian accent echoing through the arena. Nixon leans in, quietly asking Colton if he wants to quit. The crowd holds its collective breath, fearing the worst.

Colton is a mess. He’s mostly limp. He’s so weak right now, he can’t even lift his head.

You know what he can lift?

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

A finger.

The Spokane Arena erupts in cheers, Colton’s resilience inspiring the fans. Stanislav’s grin transforms into a scowl of frustration and rage.

Nick Stuart: Unbelievable! Just when we thought Colton was down and out, he refuses to quit. The heart on display here is truly remarkable.

Richard Parker: Heart doesn’t win matches, Nick. Stanislav looks ready to tear Colton limb from limb now. This defiance might cost Colton more than just the match.

Nick Stuart: You can’t deny the impact it’s having on the crowd, though. They’re fully behind Colton now.

Richard Parker: Sure, but will that matter when Stanislav inevitably crushes him? Sometimes, knowing when to quit is the smarter move.

Rage courses through Stanislav’s body at Colton’s refusal to quit. He quickly yanks The Next Diamond to this feet. He wraps his massive arms around Colton’s torso in one fluid motion, lifting him off the ground in a vicious bearhug. Pain wracks Colton’s body — evident by the look on his face — as Stanislav squeezes, the Russian’s muscles constricting around Colton’s body like a snake. Colton struggles for breath — alarming to his family who is watching — as his ribs groan under the colossal pressure. Stanislav’s eyes are wild with cruel determination, intent on forcing this nuisance to quit. Colton’s arms flail weakly, his face turning an alarming shade of red. Nixon hovers nearby, ready to call the match if Colton loses consciousness.

Nick Stuart: Colton is in serious trouble here! Stanislav’s bearhug is crushing the life out of him. I’m not sure how much longer he can hold on!

Richard Parker: This might be it, Nick. Stanislav’s strength is just too much. Colton’s stubbornness is admirable, but at what cost? He needs to think about his long-term health here.

Deep down, Colton summons a final burst of energy. His eyes snap open, filled with renewed determination.

Nick Stuart: Wait a minute! Colton’s not done yet! Look at that fire in his eyes!

Richard Parker: I’ll be damned. The kid’s got more fight in him than I thought. But is it enough to overcome the Russian Bear?

He begins driving his elbow into Stanislav’s temple, each strike fueled by desperation and survival instinct. The first blow rocks Stanislav, and the second causes him to loosen his grip slightly. Colton continues the assault, the dull thud of elbow meeting the massive skull of Stanislav echoes with a sickening crunch. The crowd wills Colton on, cheering on their hero. Slowly, but eventually, Ivan’s arms fall away after seemingly an eternity. Colton drops to the mat, gulping in as much air as he can.

Nick Stuart: I can’t believe it! Colton has somehow broken free from Stanislav’s devastating bearhug! The resilience of this young man is truly astounding!

Richard Parker: I’ll give credit where it’s due, Nick. Colton’s showing some serious guts here, however let’s not put the cart before the horse. Stanislav looks more angry than hurt, and that’s a dangerous combination.

Nick Stuart: You’re right, Richard, but this might be the opening Colton needs. If he can capitalize on this moment, we could see a major shift in this match!

Knowing this is the moment to do something, Colton launches into action. He uses the ropes to pull himself up, his legs unsteady, but his eyes remain focused. As Stanislav turns, still dazed from the elbow strikes, Colton launches himself into the air. His foot connects with the side of Stanislav’s head in a picture-perfect enzuigiri.

CRACK!

For the first time in the match, the Russian giant falters, dropping to one knee. Sensing a turning point, the fans begin to allow themselves to feel excited once again. Colton stumbles back, equally shocked and elated at having brought the behemoth down.

Nick Stuart: Unbelievable! Colton has turned the tables on Stanislav! That enzuigiri was picture-perfect, and for the first time in this match, we’re seeing the Russian Bear show signs of vulnerability!

Richard Parker: That was a hell of a kick from Colton. But, there’s still more match to come. Stanislav’s taken worse and kept coming. This match is far from over.

Nick Stuart: You’re right, Richard, but you can’t deny the shift in momentum. The crowd is alive, and Colton looks rejuvenated. This could be the turning point for him.

Richard Parker: It could be, Nick, but Colton needs to capitalize on this opportunity fast. Stanislav won’t stay down for long, and if Colton hesitates, he might lose his only chance to end this match on his terms.

Colton watches the vulnerable Stanislav, knowing he has a real chance now. Ignoring the pain wracking his body, he charges forward, channeling every ounce of strength into a running knee strike. His knee connects squarely with Stanislav’s face, a collective wince shared amongst the fans in the front few rows of the Spokane Arena. Stanislav’s head snaps back, a spray of sweat flying through the air. The Russian sways, his massive frame like a tree in a storm, threatening to fall at any moment. The gathered fans are on its feet, cheers reaching a deafening crescendo as they will Colton to finish the job.

COLT-ON! COLT-ON! COLT-ON!

Nick Stuart: This is unbelievable! The Spokane Arena has erupted! Colton has Stanislav reeling, and the fans can sense a potential upset in the making!

Richard Parker: Hold your horses, Nick. I’ve seen Stanislav weather worse storms than this. Colton is bringing the fight to Ivan, but The Russian Bear isn’t going down without one hell of a fight.

Nick Stuart: These fans though can sense it, the vibe in the Spokane Arena is different right now. This crowd believes in Colton, and that belief might just be the extra push he needs to overcome the odds!

Richard Parker: Belief doesn’t win matches, Nick. Raw power and experience do. And in both those departments, Stanislav’s got Colton beat. But I’ll admit, the kid’s making this more interesting than I expected.

But Stanislav’s inhuman resilience comes to the fore. Despite the devastating knee strike, he refuses to go down. His eyes, glazed momentarily, suddenly clear with rage. As Colton moves in, thinking to follow up, Stanislav’s arm shoots up in a massive uppercut. His forearm catches Colton flush on the chin, lifting the New Diamond clean off his feet. A groan of dismay comes over the crowd as Colton crashes to the mat, the momentum swinging wildly once again. Stanislav stumbles but remains upright, his face a mask of pain and fury.

Nick Stuart: Just when we thought Colton had turned the tide, Stanislav reminds us why he’s such a formidable opponent. That uppercut came out of nowhere!

Richard Parker: I think the uppercut came from Stanislav’s arm — just saying. You can’t count Ivan out — just like you don’t count your chickens before they hatc. Or in this case, don’t count out a Russian Bear before he’s down for the count.

Nick Stuart: You’re right, Richard. This match has been like a pendulum shifting from one side to the other — and anyone could still walk away from this.

Richard Parker: A rollercoaster? More like a demolition derby. These two men hate each other and are battering each other with everything they have. If they don’t immediately go to the hospital after this match, it would be a miracle.

Stanislav wastes no time grabbing the dazed Colton and hoisting him high overhead in a military press. The Russian Bear holds him up seemingly effortlessly, but his face shows grim determination. The crowd watches in horror as Stanislav turns towards the corner. With a roar of exertion, he launches Colton through the air. Colton’s forehead connects sickeningly with the top turnbuckle, his body folding around the corner post before slumping to the mat.

CRACK!

Gasps of shock slip through the lips of the spectators. Stanislav stands in the center of the ring, chest heaving, a look of cruel satisfaction on his face.

Nick Stuart: Good God! The impact of that throw was sickening. Call Ivan Allen Iverson because he just dribbled Colton’s head off the turnbuckle like a basketball. You have to be concerned about Colton’s well being.

Richard Parker: Yeah, write him off from winning and you may have to take the odds on him not ever wrestling again. . If he had any sense left, he’d stay down. But knowing him, he’ll probably try to get up and end up looking like a newborn giraffe on ice.

Nick Stuart: Your analogies aside, Richard, we can’t underestimate Colton’s resilience. He’s shown incredible heart throughout this match. But you’re right, that impact was brutal. We might be witnessing the turning point of this grueling contest.

Richard Parker: Heart doesn’t stop internal bleeding, Nick. Stanislav is unrelenting and he’s going to continue to apply pressure to Colton — Colton would do well to just fold his hand and go home for another day.

Colton stirs weakly, and as he does, the extent of the damage becomes clear. A deep gash has opened above his left eye, blood streaming down his face and matting in his hair. The crimson mask presents a stark image of the brutality of the match. Nixon approaches cautiously, asking Colton if he can continue. Through the haze of pain, Colton nods, his determination undiminished despite the horrific injury.

Seeing Colton’s weakened state, Stanislav moves in for what he believes to be the finishing touch. He drags Colton to his feet and positions him against the ropes. He executes his feared Stalin’s Sickle maneuver with practiced ease, driving Colton’s throat across the top rope. Colton’s already-battered neck takes the brunt of the impact, his airway constricting painfully.

Nick Stuart: This is getting dangerous, folks! Stanislav’s relentless assault on Colton’s neck could have serious consequences. Nixon needs to keep a close eye on this situation!

Richard Parker: Oh, come on, Nick. Colton knew what he was signing up for. If he can’t handle the pressure, he should’ve stayed out of the ring. He wanted this battle.

Nick Stuart: And for good reason! He’s standing up to Ivan! Someone has to do it.

Richard Parker: Sure, but don’t be surprised if you’re roadkill on the side of the road for trying to do it.

Despite the jeers from the crowd, Stanislav maintains the hold, content to squeeze every ounce of life out of The Next Diamond. Colton’s face darkens — almost purple — while his legs kicking weakly as he fights for breath.

Just as it seems Colton might finally submit, he makes one last, desperate move. Summoning strength from some hidden reserve, he suddenly pushes off the ropes. Using Stanislav’s own grip against him, Colton twists in mid-air, transforming the hold into a tornado DDT. The sudden reversal catches everyone by surprise, not least Stanislav himself. Unable to brace for the impact, the Russian Bear’s head is driven hard into the mat. The impact results in a crash that shakes the ring, and the sound of rattling metal washes over the crowd. They lie motionless in the center of the ring, the toll of the brutal match evident in their stillness.

Richard Parker: And somehow both men are down! I think that means they both quit.

Nick Stuart: That’s not what that means at all, but whomever gets to their feet first is going to have a significant advantage and could put this match away.

Richard Parker: If it’s Colton, he better get ready to batter Ivan’s legs so he can’t stand or else he’s going to end up losing this thing.

The Spokane Arena holds its collective breath as both Stanislav and Colton lie motionless in the center of the ring. Seconds tick by — an eternity for the gathered crowd. Slowly, agonizingly, both men begin to stir. Rolling onto his stomach, Stanislav starts to push himself up, his arms trunk-like arms shaking as he does so. Colton does the same, though he uses the ropes to get to his knees while his face wears a mask of pain and determination. Hovering nearby is Elvis, ready to call the match if either man cannot continue forward. Yet both wrestlers stubbornly fight their way up, each drawing on deep reserves of willpower. The crowd’s murmurs grow into cheers of encouragement for Colton and reluctant respect for Stanislav’s toughness.

Nick Stuart: Incredible! Both men are back on their feet after that devastating exchange. The sheer willpower on display here is astounding!

Richard Parker: Willpower doesn’t heal bruises, Nick. These two are running on fumes and spite at this point. It’s like watching two punch-drunk boxers trying to remember which corner is theirs.

Nick Stuart: You have to admire their tenacity, though. Neither Colton nor Stanislav is willing to stay down, despite the punishment they’ve endured.

Richard Parker: Admire it? Sure. Question their sanity? Absolutely. I’m certain by the end of this match they will both need full-body casts. Though, I’m sure these fans are happy to get their money’s worth.

As both men regain their vertical base, Colton seizes the initiative. He charges at Stanislav, unleashing a flurry of forearm strikes and chops. Each blow lands with a resounding smack that echoes through the arena. The Next Diamond’s face is drenched in intensity — eyes burning with heart and focus while pouring every ounce of strength into his assault. Each strike is highlighted by cheers from those in Spokane. Stanislav stumbles under the onslaught, his head snapping back with each hit. For a moment, it seems the Russian giant might fall, his legs unsteady as he absorbs punishment from the reinvigorated Colton.

Richard Parker: Well, would you look at that? Colton’s flailing his arms like he’s trying to swat a swarm of angry bees. I’m sure Stanislav is terrified of those love taps.

Nick Stuart: Don’t be so quick to dismiss Colton’s offense, Richard. Those strikes are clearly having an effect. Stanislav is on wobbly legs!

Richard Parker: Wobbly legs? Please. That’s just Stanislav doing his best impression of a punching bag. He’s probably letting Colton tire himself out before he decides to end this little charade.

Nick Stuart: I wouldn’t be so sure. Colton’s showing incredible heart and determination. This could be just what he needs!

But Stanislav’s inhuman resilience comes to the fore once again. He weathers Colton’s storm of strikes, his face contorting into a grimace of rage rather than pain. As Colton winds up for another blow, Stanislav suddenly springs into action. The Russian Bear’s arm shoots out and wraps itself around Colton. Before Colton can react, Ivan lifts The Next Diamond into the air, swings him around, and drives him into the canvas with a devastating sidewalk slam. The ring shakes from the impact as the fans groan from the pain they feel Colton must be experiencing. Colton lies motionless, the wind driven from his lungs, while Stanislav looms over him, chest heaving but a cruel smile playing on his lips.

Nick Stuart: What a seesaw battle! Every time one gains the upper hand, the other claws their way back. This is PRIME wrestling at its finest, folks!

Richard Parker: Seesaw? More like a wrecking ball contest. These two are treating each other like human piñatas. I’m half expecting candy to fall out at this point.

Nick Stuart: You have to admire their fortitude, Richard. Lesser athletes would have thrown in the towel long ago.

Richard Parker: Fortitude, insanity… potato, potahto. I’m starting to think they both forgot this is an ‘I Quit’ match, not a ‘Last Man Standing’ marathon.

Sensing victory within his grasp, Stanislav decides to end the match with his dreaded finishing move, The Red Scare. He grabs Colton’s limp form and hoists him into position for the vertical suplex. The crowd holds its breath, knowing the devastating impact that’s coming. But as Stanislav begins the lift, disaster strikes – his knee, weakened by Colton’s earlier attacks, suddenly buckles. Shock and pain flash across The Russian Bear’s face while he stumbles, nearly dropping The Next Diamond. Gasps and cheers explode throughout the arena as Colton is given a new lease on life.

Richard Parker: Well, well, well. Looks like the Russian Bear’s knees have decided to go on strike. I guess even Stanislav’s body is tired of this endless match. It’s like watching a lumberjack try to chop down a rubber tree – eventually, something’s gotta give.

Nick Stuart: You can’t deny the significance of this moment, Richard! Colton has weathered an absolute storm, and now he’s got a golden opportunity to turn things around. This could be the pivotal moment of the match!

Richard Parker: Oh, come on, Nick. Don’t start planning Colton’s victory parade just yet. Stanislav’s probably just taking a breather. You know, letting Colton think he’s got a chance before crushing his dreams like a soda can.

Nick Stuart: I wouldn’t be so sure, Richard. We’ve seen Colton pull off the impossible before. This match is far from over, and with Stanislav showing signs of weakness, anything could happen!

Colton, operating on pure instinct, recognizes his opportunity. As Stanislav struggles to regain his balance, Colton slips behind him. In a move that draws amazed cheers from the crowd, he manages to take the bigger man down, swiftly locking in a figure-four leglock. Stanislav roars in agony as Colton cranks up the pressure on his injured knee. The Russian’s face contorts in pain, his massive fists pounding the mat in frustration. Nixon drops down, asking Stanislav if he wants to quit. The crowd is on its feet, willing Colton to maintain the hold and end the match. Stanislav grits his teeth, stubbornly shaking his head despite the obvious agony.

Nick Stuart: The resilience on display here is nothing short of extraordinary! That figure-four leglock is locked in and Stanislav is feeling the effects of it. Is he going to be able to withstand this?

Richard Parker: Oh, please. Stanislav’s probably just giving Colton false hope before he inevitably crushes him. It’s like watching a cat play with its food before the main course.

Nick Stuart: I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss Colton’s chances, Richard. He’s shown incredible heart throughout this match, and Stanislav’s knee has to be screaming right now.

Richard Parker: Heart doesn’t win matches, Nick. Last time I checked, it’s not “I feel really strongly about quitting.” But hey, if Colton wants to keep playing pretzel with the Russian Bear, who am I to stop him?

With a bellow of rage and a surge of his immense strength, Stanislav begins to turn over in the figure-four, threatening to reverse the pressure back onto Colton. But Colton, showing remarkable presence of mind, releases the hold at the last second. In one fluid motion, he transitions, locking in a punishing STF. Cries of muffled pain emit from the Russian Bear while Colton uses his strength to yank back on the head and neck area, keeping his pressure on the injured knee. Cheers rip through the crowd — urging Colton on — while Nixon checks to see if Stanislav wants to continue or not.

Except Colton stops him.

Nate Colton: DON’T YOU FUCKIN’ DARE! I’M NOT DONE!

Richard Parker: What is going on in his mind?! Why would you do that?!

Nick Stuart: Colton may look back at this moment as either a crowning victory or the biggest mistake he could have made. Still, both men are pushing themselves to their absolute limits.

Richard Parker: Limits? I think they blew past those about ten minutes ago. At this point, it’s less about wrestling and more about who’s got the most stubborn pain receptors.

Nick Stuart: That may be true, but it’s this kind of heart and grit that defines PRIME. Neither man is willing to give an inch, and the fans are getting an unforgettable match because of it.

Inch by agonizing inch, Stanislav drags himself and Colton towards the ropes. Each movement is a battle against pain and exhaustion, but the Russian’s face is grimly determined. Colton tries to maintain the hold, but Stanislav’s raw power is too much to contain. After what seems like an eternity, Stanislav’s hand finally grasps the bottom rope. Nixon calls for the break, and Colton reluctantly releases the hold. Stanislav pulls himself up using the ropes, his leg visibly shaking. The crowd’s reaction is mixed – disappointment that Colton couldn’t secure the submission but amazement at the sheer toughness on display.

Nick Stuart: The resilience of these two athletes is simply astounding! Everytime I think one of them is down for the count they fight through their pain and agony. This is what PRIME is all about!

Richard Parker: Oh, spare me the motivational speech, Nick. These two are paid a lot of money and have far too much pride to simply roll over and die. They left their common sense at home though. Lindsay Troy better have medics ready in the back unless these two are cyborgs or something.

Nick Stuart: Cyborg or not, Richard, you can’t deny the sheer willpower on display here. Both Colton and Stanislav are pushing themselves to limits we rarely see in professional wrestling.

Richard Parker: Limits? They passed those about an hour ago. These two are driven purely by pride and ego right now. They’re playing chicken with one another and this is the most painful version of it. This is going to have to get drastic at some point.

Seeing Stanislav struggling to stand, Colton decides to press his advantage. He backs up to the opposite corner, then charges full speed across the ring. But Stanislav, despite his injury, shows why he’s one of the most dangerous wrestlers in PRIME. At the last possible second, he sidesteps Colton’s charge and catches him mid-air. The crowd gasps as Stanislav hoists Colton, then drives him down onto the ring apron with a thunderous Kurchatov’s Bomb. The sickening impact echoes through the arena, Colton’s body folding around the hardest part of the ring. Fans in the front row recoil in horror at the brutality while others watch in morbid fascination.

Richard Parker: Well, folks, it looks like Stanislav’s decided to use Colton as a human wrecking ball. I think these two forgot this is a wrestling match and not an audition to be part of a death-defying troupe.

Nick Stuart: You have to admire the sheer power behind that move, Richard. But I’m concerned about Colton’s well-being after such a devastating impact.

Richard Parker: Admire it? I think I felt my own spine compress just watching it. At this rate, we might need to check if either of these guys still has a skeleton left by the end of this match.

Nick Stuart: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Richard. Both men have shown incredible resilience throughout this contest. It’s a testament to their conditioning and willpower.

Richard Parker: Willpower, sure. But at what cost, Nick? These two are in a battle of wills — give it time and they’ll be asking for barbed wire and starting pistols.

Capitalizing on Colton’s dazed state, Stanislav drags him to the outside of the ring. The Russian giant seems reinvigorated by his successful counter, ignoring the pain in his knee as he manhandles Colton. With a roar of exertion, Stanislav whips Colton full-force into the ring post. The clang of flesh and bone meeting steel makes the crowd wince collectively. Crumpling to the ground, Colton clutches his shoulder in agony. Ivan stalks over him, sadistic pleasure painted across his face while he watches The Next Diamond in agony and pain.

Nick Stuart: Unbelievable! Just when you think Stanislav has Colton on the ropes, The Next Diamond finds a way to keep fighting. This level of determination is inspiring.

Richard Parker: Determination? I’d call it stubborn foolishness at this point. These two are like a pair of rams butting heads until one of them sees stars. Though I have to admit, it’s making for one hell of a show.

Nick Stuart: You can’t deny the heart on display here, Richard. This match is pushing both men to their absolute limits.

Richard Parker: Limits? Ha! I think we left those in the dust about half an hour ago. At this rate, we might need to check if either of them remember this isn’t just a street fight between two bums and an actual wrestling match.

Just as it seems Stanislav has regained full control, Colton shows why he’s earned a reputation for incredible resilience. Summoning strength from some hidden reserve, he suddenly springs to life. As Stanislav reaches down to grab him, Colton executes a perfectly timed drop-toe hold. The Russian giant stumbles forward, his injured knee slamming into the unforgiving steel steps with a sickening thud. The impact echoes through the arena, immediately followed by Stanislav’s bellow of pain. The crowd erupts in cheers as the tables turn once again. Both men are down on the outside, the toll of this brutal match evident in their labored breathing and battered bodies.

Richard Parker: Unbelievable! These two are like human boomerangs – you think they’re down for the count, and bam! They’re back up swinging. I’m starting to suspect they’ve got some sort of secret wrestler regeneration powers.

Nick Stuart: It’s truly a testament to their conditioning and willpower, Richard. We’re witnessing something special here tonight!

Richard Parker: Well, let’s pump the brakes there, Nick. These two might be brain damaged as well and are just operating as zombies. It’s really hard to tell.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think they’re zombies.

Richard Parker: Okay, Doctor Stuart.

The brawl spills into the crowd, Stanislav and Colton locked in a desperate struggle that knows no boundaries. They crash through the barricade, startling nearby fans who scramble to clear a path. Fists fly with reckless abandon, each blow echoing with the sound of raw brutality. Stanislav’s massive hands engulf Colton’s head, driving it into a nearby seat. Colton retaliates with a series of sharp elbows to Stanislav’s ribs, each strike punctuated by a grunt of exertion. The crowd parts like a sea around them, a mix of fear and excitement electrifying the air. Security guards hover uncertainly, unsure whether to intervene in this uncontrolled chaos.

Nick Stuart: The sheer intensity of this match is off the charts! We’re seeing a level of physicality that’s pushing the boundaries of what’s possible in professional wrestling.

Richard Parker: These are boundaries? I think the Spokane Arena has become their own personal battlefield. I’m half expecting them to start using fans as human shields at this point.

Nick Stuart: That seems like a bit much.

Richard Parker: I vote they use the loser in the front row wearing a Coolosus shirt. He doesn’t deserve to live any longer.

The tide of battle flows back towards ringside, neither man willing to cede an inch. Stanislav, seizing a moment of advantage, grabs Colton by the throat and hair. With a roar of effort, he attempts to launch Colton into another barricade. The crowd gasps collectively, anticipating a devastating impact. But Colton, showcasing his own raw strength, plants his feet before wrapping his hand around the back of the Russian Bear’s neck and heaves him into the barricade instead.

Richard Parker: Well, well, well. Looks like our Russian Bear just got a taste of his own medicine. I bet he’s regretting all those borscht-fueled workouts right about now.

Nick Stuart: You’re right, Richard. Colton’s display of raw power was truly impressive. It’s a testament to his training and determination that he could turn the tables so dramatically.

Richard Parker: Oh, come on, Nick. Let’s not start polishing Colton’s trophy just yet. This match has more twists and turns than a pretzel factory. I wouldn’t be surprised if Stanislav pops up with a Russian folk dance any second now.

Nick Stuart: I think a folk dance might be a bit much, Richard, but you’re right about the unpredictability. Both men have shown incredible resilience tonight.

The sound of hulking body slamming against metal echoes throughout the arena. Stanislav lies on the arena floor, grimacing in pain, while Colton plants his boot repeatedly into the chest of the Russian Bear. Colton looks around before hopping onto the ring apron and sizes up his opponent. He leaps off the apron and drops his knee across Stanislav’s face and throat. Ivan thrashes around, pain wracking his body as Colton gets to his feet and drags Ivan away from the dented barricade.

Seizing the opportunity, Colton manages to lock in his signature Colton Clutch ’24. The hold is brutal on its own, but on the exposed concrete of the arena floor, it’s potentially match-ending. Colton wrenches back with every ounce of strength he has left, the tendons in his arms standing out like steel cables. Stanislav thrashes wildly, his face contorted in agony. Nixon leans close, repeatedly asking if the Russian wants to quit. The crowd is on its feet, a loud chant filling the air.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

Nick Stuart: The tenacity of these two competitors is simply unbelievable! Stanislav’s refusal to quit in the face of such torment speaks volumes about his fortitude.

Richard Parker: More like sheer pig-headedness if you ask me. At this point, I’m starting to wonder if Stanislav’s pain receptors are on vacation. Maybe he left them back in Mother Russia.

Nick Stuart: You have to admire the mental strength it takes to endure such punishment, Richard. This is a prime example of the warrior spirit in professional wrestling.

Richard Parker: Oh, spare me the romanticizing, Nick. What we’re witnessing here is two men with more pride than common sense. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see them trying to headbutt each other into submission next.

Nick Stuart: Don’t give them any ideas.

But Stanislav’s inhuman resilience comes to the fore once again. Ignoring the excruciating pain and his dangerous position, the Russian refuses to utter those fateful words. Which leads to his face becoming more and more the same shade of a grape and veins bulging against his neck. Still, he fights against the hold. A roar erupts from his chest that is felt in the bones of every fan in the arena as he begins to push himself up. Colton, clinging to the hold, is lifted off the ground. In a display of raw power that defies belief, Stanislav staggers to his feet, Colton still attached to his back.

Richard Parker: Holy smokes! I’ve seen less impressive feats of strength in strongman competitions. Stanislav just turned into a human forklift!

Nick Stuart: It’s an astounding display of raw power, Richard. Just when we thought Stanislav was on the ropes, he pulls this out of his playbook.

Richard Parker: I think he pulled out a physics-defying magic trick. I half expected Colton to disappear in a puff of smoke.

Nick Stuart: No smoke and mirrors here, just pure athleticism and determination from both competitors.

Back in the relative safety of the ring, Stanislav’s second wind takes full effect. As Colton charges in, thinking to recapture his momentum, Stanislav catches him with a perfectly timed Communist Crunch. The impact is sickening, Colton’s head snapping back as he crumples to the canvas. The crowd groans in sympathetic pain, many covering their eyes at the brutality. Stanislav stands over his fallen opponent, chest heaving, a mix of pain and cruel satisfaction on his face. Nixon checks on Colton, who lies motionless, but the Next Diamond manages a weak wave, signaling he can continue.

Richard Parker: Well, I’ve seen wrecking balls do less damage than that Communist Crunch. Colton’s head just got a one-way ticket to Concussion City!

Nick Stuart: It was indeed a devastating move by Stanislav. Colton went down hard, and for a moment there, it looked like he might not get up.

Richard Parker: I’m surprised Nixon didn’t start looking for Colton’s teeth scattered around the ring. Talk about dental nightmares!

Nick Stuart: Fortunately, Colton was able to signal he can continue, but he’s certainly worse for wear after that brutal impact.

Sensing victory within his grasp, Stanislav sets up for his devastating finisher, The Red Scare. He hoists Colton’s limp form high into the air, holding him there as the crowd watches in horrified anticipation. Then, with a roar of exertion, Stanislav launches Colton skyward. Seemingly, Colton’s body hangs in the air for an eternity until gravity does it’s part and brings Colton back down. Plummeting down, Colton crashes into the canvas with a significant impact. Gasps are heard from the crowd as Stanislav looks on with satisfaction on his face. Stanislav drops to his knees, from sheer exhaustion, glaring at Colton’s motionless form.

Nick Stuart: Incredible! Stanislav with The Red Scare. The impact of Colton hitting the canvas was palpable even from here.

Richard Parker: I’d say it was less of a ‘Red Scare’ and more of a ‘Red Nightmare.’ I haven’t seen someone fall that hard since the Soviet Union collapsed!

Nick Stuart: Colton is completely motionless. This could very well be the end of the match, folks.

Richard Parker: If Colton gets up from that, I’ll eat my hat. And Nick’s too. Hell, I’ll eat the entire wardrobe department if he so much as twitches.

Nick Stuart: Stanislav seems confident it’s over. He’s just glaring at Colton with a cocky smile on his face.

Richard Parker: Can you blame him? After that move, I’m surprised Colton hasn’t left an imprint of himself in the canvas like a cartoon character. Someone check if we can see him from the other side of the ring!

In a display of willpower that borders on the superhuman, Colton stirs. Nixon, who had been poised to stop the match, pulls back in amazement. The Russian Bear can’t believe what he sees- his eyes widening in disbelief- while Colton painfully pushes himself to his feet. Immediately, renewed hope surges through the crowd as they rise.

COLT-ON! COLT-ON! COLT-ON!

The sound swells with each passing second until the entire arena is on its feet, chanting on The Next Diamond. Colton, one his knees, then finds the strength to get to one foot — with the assistance of the ropes. Standing on shaky legs, he feels the pain over every inch of his body, but his face is set in determination. Stanislav shows a flicker of doubt on his face for the first time.

Richard Parker: I can’t begin to understand what I’m seeing! Colton’s actually getting up! I think I just saw a pig fly past the commentator’s booth!

Nick Stuart: Colton is being driven by his family, by purpose, and he refuses to give up. The crowd is absolutely electric, Richard!

Richard Parker: Electric? This place is a full-on power plant right now! I haven’t seen a comeback this dramatic since… well, ever! Colton must be part rubber band, because he just bounced back from the impossible!

Nick Stuart: The chants for Colton are deafening. It’s clear the crowd is fully behind him now.

Desperation etches itself across Stanislav’s features. He’s thrown everything he has at Colton, and still the young wrestler refuses to break. In a move born of frustration and fear, Stanislav attempts the unthinkable – The HurricanRussia. The sight of the massive Russian leaving his feet draws gasps of shock from the crowd. For a brief moment, it seems the laws of physics have been suspended. But reality quickly reasserts itself. Stanislav’s injured knees, pushed beyond their limit, give out mid-move. The Russian Bear crashes to the mat, pain and rage roaring from his throat as he lies in a heap.

Nick Stuart: I can’t believe my eyes! Stanislav just attempted the HurricanRussia! It’s a move we’ve rarely seen from him, but it’s more surprising he tried it considering how battered his knees are!

Richard Parker: Well, Nick, I guess desperate times call for desperate measures. Or in this case, desperate measures call for a desperate splat on the mat!

Nick Stuart: Unfortunately for Stanislav, his injured knees couldn’t handle the strain. That landing looked incredibly painful.

Richard Parker: Painful? That was like watching a redwood try to do a somersault! I think the ring just filed for worker’s comp after that impact.

As Stanislav lies on the mat from his ill-fated HurricanRussia attempt, Colton summons his last reserves of strength. With a surge of adrenaline, he pounces on the fallen giant, his arms snaking around Stanislav’s head and neck to lock in a desperate Colton Clutch. The crowd roars as Colton wrenches back with all his might, his face a mask of grim determination. Stanislav’s eyes bulge, his massive frame thrashing wildly as he fights against the hold. Elvis hovers close, watching for any sign of submission. For a moment, it seems the match might end right there in the center of the ring, with David finally slaying Goliath. But Stanislav’s inhuman resilience once again comes to the fore, his face purpling as he stubbornly refuses to quit.

Richard Parker: Holy moly, would you look at that! Colton’s gone and slapped on the Colton Clutch like he’s trying to pop Stanislav’s head clean off! Talk about turning the tables – this is like watching a chihuahua trying to choke out a grizzly bear!

Nick Stuart: It’s an incredible turn of events, Richard. Colton’s capitalizing on Stanislav’s mistake with everything he’s got.

Richard Parker: Everything he’s got? Nick, I think he’s using everything he’s got, everything his mama’s got, and a few things he’s borrowing from the audience! I haven’t seen someone squeeze that hard since my great aunt Mildred at the family reunion!

A roar from the belly of the Russian Bear is felt amongst the fans in Spokane as Stanislav finds strength — buried deep — that surprises many in the arena, including Colton. Pushing himself to his feet, he finds Colton still on his back, refusing to cede an inch. Cheers turn to groans as Stanislav charges back first into the corner, launching himself into the turnbuckles and driving them into the back of the Next Diamond. With bone-crushing force, the impact echoes throughout the arena while the fans grimace at the sight of the pained body of Colton just pressed between a rock and a hard place. With the grip broken, Ivan inches away from his opponent while Colton slumps to the mat, gasping for air. The Russian Bear turns, though, chest heaving, with a look of defiance as he looks down at The Next Diamond.

Nick Stuart: Unbelievable! Just when we thought Stanislav was finished, he’s found a second wind! Or maybe it’s his third or fourth at this point!

Richard Parker: Second wind? More like he’s found a whole hurricane, Nick! I think Stanislav just broke physics, the ropes, and probably a few of Colton’s ribs while he was at it!

Nick Stuart: The impact of that corner charge was devastating. You could feel it all the way up here in the broadcast booth.

Richard Parker: Feel it? I think my fillings just rattled loose! Colton just got turned into a Colton sandwich, with a side of turnbuckle!

Yet, Colton’s spirit remains unbroken, even as Stanislav reaches down and grabs him — the sight of the massive paw unnerving for many wrestlers. Yet, Colton fires back with a thunderous knife-edge chop — sounding like a gunshot across the barrel-like chest of the Russian Bear. Colton, though, fires off another — to cheers from the crowd — before connecting with a third. Each strike leaves a red welt — angry in nature — on his opponent’s chest. While Ivan is a beast, Colton is no slouch as he forces the Russian Bear back, step by step. The see-saw teeters towards another momentum shift as Colton fires off more knife-edge chops, putting everything he has into it. Intensity is etched into Colton’s face while Stanislav is rocked by each shot — rattled by the endless fountain of resilience Colton seems to be drawing from — until he is pressed into the ropes.

Richard Parker: Colton’s back up swinging like he’s trying to chop down the Russian Bear! Those aren’t chops, they’re sonic booms with fingers!

Nick Stuart: It’s an incredible display of heart from Colton. Colton is reaching down deep and giving everything he’s got!

Richard Parker: Everything he’s got? Nick, I think he’s found a secret stash of ‘everything’ we didn’t know about! Colton’s chopping Stanislav like he’s auditioning for a lumberjack position!

Nick Stuart: Those chops are leaving quite a mark. Stanislav’s chest is turning an alarming shade of red.

Just as it seems Colton may have the upper hand, the Russian Bear reminds everyone why he’s one of the most dangerous people on the planet. Colton winds up for another knife-edge chop but is stopped when Stanislav’s hand shoots out and catches it mid-arm. In one swift move, Stanislav switches spots with Colton and connects with a short-arm clothesline that threatens to remove Colton’s head from his shoulders. The impact drives Colton over the top rope, as it does Stanislav whose momentum (still holding Colton’s arm) sends him over as well, with both men crashing against the ring apron before on the arena floor.

Nick Stuart: Incredible turnabout by Stanislav! Just when Colton seemed to have control, the Russian Bear demonstrates why he’s such a formidable opponent.

Richard Parker: Nick, that was like watching a grizzly swat a fly! Except the fly is built like a brick house and the grizzly just invented a new form of physics!

Nick Stuart: That clothesline was devastating. For a moment there, I thought we might need to check if Colton’s head was still attached.

Driven by a primal need to destroy each other, both men somehow find the strength to continue. They stagger to their feet, trading wild haymakers as they stumble up the entrance ramp. Blood flows freely from cuts reopened in the fall, painting gruesome masks on both their faces. Stanislav drives a knee into Colton’s midsection, then follows with a headbutt that rocks the Next Diamond. Colton retaliates by grabbing a handful of Stanislav’s hair and driving his face into a nearby LED board. Sparks fly as the screen cracks, adding to the chaotic scene. Security guards and officials hover uncertainly at the edges, unsure whether to intervene in this uncontrolled brawl.

Richard Parker: We’ve gone from wrestling match to street fight faster than you can say ‘vodka and diamonds’! These two are trading shots like they’re trying to redecorate each other’s faces!

Nick Stuart: It’s an absolutely brutal exchange, Richard. I’m not sure where either of them are getting any of this to fight on!

As they reach the stage, Stanislav makes a pivotal move. He hoists Colton up, preparing to powerbomb him off the edge to the concrete floor below. The crowd holds its collective breath, sensing a potentially match-ending moment. But Colton, suspended in the air and facing certain doom, refuses to go quietly. With desperation lending him strength, he begins raining down fists on Stanislav’s head. Each punch lands with a sickening thud, snapping Stanislav’s head back. The Russian’s grip starts to weaken, his knees buckling under the assault. Colton continues — with the fans firmly behind him in the process — knowing that his survival hinges upon it.

Nick Stuart: Colton is raining down fist after fist! He’s turning the tables on Stanislav in a way I never thought possible!

Richard Parker: Well, Nick, it looks like David’s not just slinging stones anymore – he’s upgraded to sledgehammers! Stanislav’s head must be ringing like a church bell on Sunday morning!

Colton wriggles free from Stanislav’s grasp, seizing the moment and landing behind him. Stanislav, meanwhile, drops to one knee from the shots he’s taken. Colton wastes no time as he charges forward and drives his knee across the skull of the Russian Bear with every ounce of strength left in his body.

CRACK!

Stanislav’s head snaps back from the shot, swaying on the edge of the stage like a tree in a storm. Time seems to stand still for a moment while everyone watches, wondering if the Russian Bear will fall. The thought even crosses Ivan’s mind as he windmills his arms to keep his balance.

Richard Parker: Are these two going to fall off this stage and nearly die? I could see Lindsay telling them she wants a winner.

Nick Stuart: After everything these two have been through, I think we deserve a winner, don’t you think?

Richard Parker: I’m just wondering what my nighttime snack is going to be in all honesty.

But Stanislav’s recovery is as shocking as it is swift. His eyes are clear, burning with renewed fury. With a roar that drowns out the crowd’s cheers, he lunges forward, snatching Colton up as if he weighs nothing. Stanislav hoists Colton high overhead in one fluid motion, setting up for his devastating finisher, The Red Scare. The crowd gasps in horror, realizing Stanislav’s intent to launch Colton off the stage. Colton thrashes wildly, desperation evident in every movement as he tries to break free. Stanislav stands at the edge, savoring the moment, a cruel smile playing on his lips. Nixon shouts frantically, warning of the danger, but Stanislav pays no heed. It’s clear in this moment that he’s not looking for a submission anymore – he’s out to end Colton’s career once and for all.

Nick Stuart: Stanislav might just end Colton right here!

Richard Parker: I mean, it’s Ivan, are you surprised by that?

Nick Stuart: I guess not.

Richard Parker: Good.

In a display of agility that defies his battered state, Colton drives his knee into the face of Stanislav and manages to wriggle free at the last second. He lands in front of Stanislav, barely keeping his footing on the edge of the stage. Colton seizes the moment as he unleashes a flurry of haymakers — each punch fueled by determination and hatred of the man before him. The impacts echo through the arena, drawing gasps and cheers from the crowd. Stanislav staggers under the assault, his back now to the edge of the stage. Colton’s face is a mask of grim determination, his eyes burning with an intensity that speaks of a man pushed to his absolute limit. Each punch could be the one that ends this brutal contest, and Colton throws them with everything he has left, knowing that failure means certain defeat.

Richard Parker: I’m surprised Ivan hasn’t just choked the life out of Colton by this point!

Nick Stuart: I think he tried to do that earlier.

Richard Parker: He did? Damn. I forgot all about that.

Nick Stuart: Your brain might be erasing moments simply to just surive.

A moment of clarity comes over Colton and when it does, he notices a steel chair out of the corner of his eye. Without hesitation, he lunges for it, his fingers closing around the cold metal. Time seems to slow as he turns back to Stanislav, weapon in hand. The crowd’s roar fades to a dull hum in Colton’s ears as he steps forward, raising the chair high. What follows is a furious assault, each chair shot punctuated by Colton’s primal scream of defiance.

THWACK!

THWACK!

THWACK!

The sounds of metal meeting flesh echo through the arena. Stanislav, the immovable object, finally begins to crumble under the onslaught. The Russian Bear teeters on the edge as his legs begin to give out on him. With one last, desperate swing, Colton connects solidly, and for a heart-stopping moment, Stanislav tries to find his footing, but is in inevitable as he is driven off the edge of the stage by one final chair shot that lays him out and he plummets to the concrete floor beneath him.

THUD!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Richard Parker: HE IS DEAD!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think so, but I don’t think he’s getting up from that! How many chair shots did he take? He fell five or six feet there to boot. Colton has gone to a place that I’m not certain he can return from!

Richard Parker: Good. Come to the dark side!

NIXON immediately begins a ten-count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Nate Colton: QUIT! SAY IT! SAY YOU QUIT!

The screams of Nate Colton are heard as he yells down at the unconscious body of Ivan Stanislav.

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

It’s clear the Russian giant isn’t getting up. Bloodied and battered, Colton stands atop the stage, screaming at his fallen foe to quit as the crowd erupts in a deafening roar of triumph.

Nate Colton: SAY IT! SAY YOU QUIT, YOU BASTARD!

Nick Stuart: Colton just screaming at Ivan at this point.

Richard Parker: He might have better luck leaving him a handwritten note for Ivan to read when he wakes up. And then getting the hell out of Spokane because Ivan is going to be on a murder spree after this.

Nick Stuart: Elvis is at nine on his count, I think this match is over.

Richard Parker: And Colton is still yelling at him!

Yet, Nixon finishes his count and there’s nothing from Ivan. There’s no movement. There’s no stirring. There’s no words giving Colton what he desires.

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Your winner by failing to answer the referee’s count… NATE! THE NEW DIAMOND! COLTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

For the fans, they don’t care about the brutality they just saw. In their eyes, Ivan is owed this and so much more. Except, for Nate, as he looks down at Ivan, he feels nothing satisfying. He looks down at him and then at Nixon who wants to raise his arm and he brushes him off as he starts walking to the backstage area.

Nick Stuart: A victory that is unsatisfying?

Richard Parker: I’m sure he’s satisfied. He just needs a Snickers.

Nick Stuart: An absolutely brutal main event here tonight.

Colton pauses and looks back, his hands on his hips as he went to a place he never thought possible.

And there’s no evidence on his face how he feels one way or another.

Nick Stuart: For Richard Parker, I’m Nick Stuart! Thank you for joining us at ReVival 56! We’ll see you in two weeks time.

Richard Parker: I hope the buffet is still open.

FADE.

TO.

BLACK.