ReVival 60

Everything At Stake by David Robidoux

A war of attrition. Sixty minutes in total. The Tower strides forward upon this plane.

In a flash, the bottom. The impossible. ReVival 58. Wilhelm Kael stands with an insurmountable four falls to one lead. FLAMBERGE has left his imprint utterly apparent. There is no getting out of this hole.

From the heavens above, The Champion. His gaze is upon the ring, entranced.

But in a flash, we see the time before. The failures. Championship gold squandered. Submissions. Farthington and FLAMBERGE. Ivan Stanislav. An unceremonious exit in the Murder Rumble. The run of his lifetime crashing out in the semi-finals of the 2023 Almasy. Forever Crownless.

With brutal efficiency, a comeback for the ages washes over the calculated killer that is Wilhelm Kael. The Diamond is forced to grit himself through, imperiled, the shocking underdog. Not only does he make his way through to tie…but in the closing seconds, he caps off one of the most legendary comebacks in the sport of professional wrestling. After thirty minutes, four straight falls.

The run of a lifetime is fermented with championship gold at the expense of a twice Hall of Fame rival. Three defenses later, and Coral Avalon finds himself with a chance to achieve something few but himself can imagine him taking. But he does. He claims his crown. He conquers Jonathan Christopher-Hall. He IS the Universal Champion.

Another thirty minutes. The ReVival Wrestler’s of the Year wage physical war. The brutality. The fight. Near escapes. Uncertainty. But in a flash, with the final seconds ticking, Brandon Youngblood gets what he has sought for so long against a man who, once, helped steal everything from him.

The Crownless is no more. He is more.  Nate Colton. Cancer Jiles, a year to the day of what might have been deemed the end of his road. Fred Dick and the vile Boiler Room Fred. Three successful defenses. Nobody can say the same in this era.

The Tower of Babel climbs the top turnbuckle, finger stabbing to the Heavens…

Toward The King of Conquerors.

Brandon Youngblood.

Coral Avalon.

The date is set.

Colossus.

For the richest prize in all of sports.

But first…

ReVival 60.

https://prime-wrestling.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/11/ReV60-Commercial.mp4

ReVival 60.

Long Beach.

Let’s go.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Signs? Of course there’s signs.

CORALOSSUS IS COMING
ALL COLTONS ARE EVIL VILE PEOPLE. I AM 100 PER-CENT AMERICAN AND YES I BELIEVE THIS I LOVE U.S.A!
SAMMY BROADWAY DID NOTHING WRONG / (“What about using Andrew Lloyd Webber?”) / SAMMY BROADWAY DID ONE THING WRONG
CULTURE SHOCK CAN’T COME SOON ENOUGH
FRED DICK IS ABOUT TO GET BIG COWBOY MURDERED
FRED DICK U NEED 2 CHOP YER DICK OFF
CUT MY DICK INTO PIECES / THIS IS MY FRED RESOOOOORT
THIS FRED DICKLESS GUY LOOKS JUST LIKE PRIME SUPERSTAR FRED DICK!
I SAW THE GHOST OF JOE FONTAINE ON THE QUEEN MARY
FRED DICK’S DICK NEEDS FRED DICK MORE THAN FRED DICK NEEDS FRED DICK’S DICK
FRED DICK WAS THE HEADLESS WHORESMAN ALL ALONG??
HI ROSE! I’M SINGLE
MY OTHER SIGN GOT CHOPPED IN HALF BY ROB WILLIAMS
REMEMBER THIS HOLIDAY SEASON, EVERY KISS BEGINS WITH KAEL
SAVE THOSE TURKEY NECKS FOR FLAMBO! HAPPY NECKSGIVING!

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 smirks as the fans react to him, he doesn’t seem to care if they boo or cheer as he concentrates on the ring he will be competing in tonight. 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.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

A deafening blast of aqua, orange, and white pyrotechnics explode before those oh-so-familiar two words that begin “Song 2” by the English alt. rock band Blur induce a standing ovation from the crowd.

WOO HOO!

The capacity crowd’s cheers are directed at one man who just so happens to be standing at the top of the ramp. The former Flyin’ Hawaiian.

“BRUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Bryan Dawkins.

Vince Howard: Weighing in at two hundred and two pounds, hailing from Hilo, Hawaii…BRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYAN DAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNS!

“BRUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Dawkins flashes the crowd his signature “hang loose” gesture, and soon enough, he’s sauntering down toward the ring, crossing back and forth to throw high fives to random fans. Eventually making it to the ring, he slides in and hops to each of the four turnbuckles, jumping to the top and flashing the “hang loose” sign yet again. Atop the final turnbuckle, he removes his signature aqua and orange sunglasses and tosses them to the frenzied crowd.

After checking both of the competitors for weapons, Jimmy Turnbull signals for the bell.

DING DING

It’s a slow burn in the beginning – neither man rushing in. With their guards up, they circle one another, getting a feel for reaction time and speed. Dawkins strikes first, landing a low kick that catches Harrison behind the calf. Harrison moves enough that he can eat the kick and return a smile.

Richard Parker: Dawkins kicks like a girl.

Nick Stuart: You sure you want to say that after he saved you from Sunny O’Callahan and her group last week?

Richard Parker: I retract my previous statement. Dawkins kicks like a feeble man.

Nick Stuart: They’re locking up now and it’s Harrison taking the lead, wrenching Dawkins into a headlock. After a few shots to the head to soften up Dawkins, the Miracle Man wraps him up for a Side Russian Leg Sweep. Harrison moves with his momentum and pulls Dawkins up by his hair for a BRUTAL Irish whip into the corner. He’s taking his time strolling to the corner now and raising his hands to try and get the fans engaged as he does.

Once at the corner, Harrison levies a forearm chop across the bare chest of the Former Flyin Hawaiin. The arena fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin. Dawkins’ face is painted with increasing agony at every successive shot. Harrison winds his arm up, preparing to throw a final chop, but Dawkins springs to life. He ducks under the shot and wraps Harrison up from behind. Although a bit smaller, Dawkins tosses Harrison behind him overhead with primal strength.

Nick Stuart: A really impressive belly-to-back suplex from Dawkins leaves Harrison lying on the mat trying to figure out what just happened.

Richard Parker: Looking a little less feeble there.

Nick Stuart: The Merch King springs back up to his feet but Dawkins nails a smooth double-leg takedown. There’s a bit of a scuffle as Dawkins follows Harrison down looking for an arm or leg he can wrap up and finds nothing. Good defense from Harrison here. They’re nearly face to face on top of each other.

Richard Parker: They’ve been watching the Flambo/Colton tapes.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins wraps an arm around the back of Harrison’s head and digs his bicep in deep. He’s grabbing ahold of his other arm now and pushing his fist into Harrison’s carotid artery. That one woke Harrison up! They’re twisting and turning now, Dawkins trying to hold on and Harrison trying his best to break free.

They roll one over the other a few times with neither really having a big edge on the other. Somehow Harrison manages to get up to his knees and Dawkins is obliged to follow. Dawkins doesn’t relieve any pressure, choking the life out of Harrison. Jimmy Turnbull stays very close but out of the action, making sure everything is staying legal. Living up to his name, the Miracle Man somehow forces both of them up to stand.

Harrison uses his size leverage to wrap his arms around Dawkins. He tries for a suplex, but Dawkins manages to snake a leg around Harrison’s to keep leverage. They struggle back and forth, Harrison trying his best to throw the smaller Hawaain and Dawkins just holding on for fucking dear life. Finally, Harrison finds his baby under the car strength and gets enough momentum to break Dawkins’ leg free. It’s too late to really capitalize, though, as the Ezekiel choke has worn the Merch God down.

Nick Stuart: Things are looking grim for Harrison here. I don’t know how he’s held on this long, honestly, but the gas tank is looking low.

Richard Parker: Shocked to see Harrison put in this position by such a feeble, little man.

In a moment of desperation, Harrison uses whatever he has left in him to squeeze the ever-loving shit out of Dawkins. They dance like that for a moment, doing a little two-step back and forth as Dawkins drives his fist into Harrison’s throat and Harrison squeezes the absolute hell out of Dawkins. Then it happens – a momentary break in Dawkins’ vice grip lock.

Nick Stuart: BELLY TO BELLY BY HARRISON! Dawkins lands headfirst and crumples into the ropes. Harrison is slow to get up, but Dawkins isn’t moving at all, completely slumped on the middle rope.

Harrison stands tall in the ring, holding his throat and moving his neck around to shake off the kinds from Dawkin’s hold. He smiles wide as his gaze lands on the prone Dawkins. He looks around at the fans and signals for Enlightenment.

Nick Stuat: This doesn’t look good for Dawkins.

Richard Parker: Choo Choo! Here comes the Miracle Train.

With a running start, Harrison gives all he’s got to plant the middle of his knee on the back of Dawson’s neck. Dawkins slams into the mat headfirst. He’s lifeless now. Harrison is moving faster now, feeling the juice from the energy. The fans are cheering and his opponent is down, he’s closing in on victory.

Pulling Dawkins up by his hair again, Harrison turns him around and locks in a crossface chickenwing. With a head full of steam he puts Dawkins into the air for It’s A Harracle.

Richard Parker: This one’s over. The pineapple man just doesn’t have it in him. Great show for Harrison tonight.

Nick Stuart: Harrison is going for the pin now-wait!

Suddenly Dawkins snaps to life. His legs wrap around one of Harrison’s arms while he puts hand over hand to tangle up the other arm.

Nick Stuart: Kimura! Dawkins has Harrison locked in a Kimura from out of nowhere.

Richard Parker: NO! COME ON HARRISON!

And lord does Harrison try. He wiggles left, he riggles right, he convexes and concaves. But, alas, it is of no use. Dawkins is wrapped around The Miracle Man like a python on it’s prey, applying constant pressure as the life slowly fades.

Nick Stuart: And Harrison is tapping!

Sure enough, with the hand not bent out of place by Dawkins, Harrison is slapping the mat. Jimmy Turnbull quickly calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: Well there goes my alimony.

ReVival moves on.

No previously on.

No Herald antics.

No grinning Max Kael.

Instead we are treated to a darkened room with a large marble fireplace. The flames that gutter and dance provide the only light giving the space an intimate feeling. Two red velvet arm chairs sit just on the cusp of the fireplace’s light.

The sounds of boots on a hardwood floor joins the crackling fire as Wilhelm Kael, Lord-Commissar of the Red Army, calmly enters from screen right in his black uniform. He eases over to one of the chairs, sitting down as he crosses his leg. After a few moments he turns his cold gray eyes toward the camera, nodding.

Wilhelm Kael: Ladies and gentleman of the expanded PRIME universe. I, Lord-Commissar Wilhelm Kael, welcome you to the Red Manifesto. Tonight our guest will be Rose, the woman who has decided to make everyone her enemy. I shall also address my opponent tonight, FLAMBERGE as well as…

A faint smirk touches Wilhelm’s lip.

Wilhelm Kael: Lord Cecilworth Farthington. Time is a precious commodity so, let us begin.

Standing, Wilhelm motions toward the camera. A door opens on the far side of the room allowing a white pillar of light to enter the darkened stage.

In steps the Second Coming, eyes laser focused on Kael, remembering the battle she had earlier in the year with another version of this person. She cautiously sits down and a small smile appears on her face.

Rose: I suppose I should give you thanks on this day for… letting me in here. There are a number of things that we could do, considering what you did to my family. Yet, I know you have your match later this evening with my close friend, Julien, and thus, I think I should leave it to him to… handle you. So, Kael, let me ask you… what are you thankful for this year?

Wilhelm’s chin lifts, his gray eyes studying Rose’s face carefully as he constructs his answer. Easing himself into the chair, he crosses his legs, motioning for Rose to take the other seat.

Wilhelm Kael: I don’t find myself in a position to be thankful for much, I’ve earned what I have for better or for worse. Who would I thank for my success? Myself? No. No. I’m not that egomaniacal. Yourself? Anything to be thankful for?

Rose: Well, I’m always thankful for family. It’s something I didn’t have much of growing up, outside of my father. So the chance of having my daughter, my KING, all together for the day helps keep my spirits high when I could get lost in so much… despair. I’m also thankful for getting to spend this time with you. Because you seem to have a mountain of information that could be useful for me.

She leans forward, placing her elbow on her leg, and her chin on her palm. Her eyes lock with Kael’s. An unpleasant thing happens because Kael chuckles.

Wilhelm Kael: Family, ah yes. That does track with your personality. Now what, pray-tell, can I do for you?

He retrieves a silver cigarette case from his pocket with a sigh, breaking eye contact to examine the shimmering surface.

Rose: Well, Kael, as you may be aware of on account of you being out in the ring with him, Ivan seems to be keen on me joining The Red Army. You’ve spent a good portion of this year aligned with Stanislav and I thought your perspective — considering how opportunistic you tend to be — would be valuable in understanding how your time in The Red Army has been thus far.

She looks at the cigarette he’s procured and shakes her head at the sight of it. Despite her shake of the head he offers just the same, out of politeness. As she speaks he carefully places one between his lips but doesn’t light it.

Wilhelm Kael: Well… Starsky Praporshchik Stanislav is always looking for the next Kenny Freeman.

He shrugs his shoulders, looking back over at Rose as he considers her actual request.

Wilhelm Kael: If I was an opportunist as you say, what benefit do I get out of revealing any insights I may, or may not, have on my Comrade and the functioning of the Red Army? You are here, on the Red Manifesto, with me. This is what the Red Army has made me, I’m not ashamed of it. I’m proud of it… but it’s not for everyone. Especially someone who is thankful for her family.

For whatever reason Wilhelm throws on a bad, southern accent on family. He doesn’t seem to be a big fan of the word. Rose tilts her head to the side, slightly, at the accent.

Rose: Is The Red Army not a family? I mean, you are here in the US for Thanksgiving. Is Ivan putting out the big turkey? Arina making the rolls? Freeman and Schwartz pouring drinks while Alexei lays out the sides? I mean, I’m sure your lot has been having a good family gathering, no?

He shakes his hand, dismissing her statement.

Wilhelm Kael: Ah, I see the problem. A common translation issue. You see, The Red Army translated is The Red Army. An Army. Which, in my opinion, is actually better than a family because there are actual guidelines for interaction and conduct, etc, etc. As for the antics of Freeman and Schwartz or any other members of the Red Army, well… I can’t speak on their behalf. Concerned?

Rose: Hm, an army you say? See, when you say the word army, I think of cogs — replaceable cogs — that all serve a singular purpose. That once you’re no longer of use, that you’re discarded and left at the side of the road for vultures to pick your carcass clean. An army is temporary, ever changing in nature, never solidified, never looking further beyond the whims of the one in charge. In your case, Ivan. A family though, they all serve a purpose, have their spot, not replaceable. For someone like you, I would think being a disposable cog would be a challenge for you, especially considering you don’t do well at following others orders. Maybe I’m wrong though.

She leans back in her chair, relaxing her arms, though never removing her eyes from Kael. She knows how dangerous he can be and doesn’t intend to give him a chance to do anything other than… this. He considers her opinion on what an army is, slipping a silver zippo from his pocket as she speaks. He shrugs, giving Rose the victory.

Wilhelm Kael: Yes, I’d agree with that assessment of an army. As I said, Ivan is always looking for the next Kenny Freeman. Anything else you’d like to share?

Rose: A man with such grand plans and yet so few words. You don’t strike me as the type to follow a leader, Kael. You seem to have your designs and so I wonder… if the thought of being dismissed from The Red Army troubles you at all. And how do you weigh what Ivan wants from you with your own plans.

A smile touches Wilhelm’s lips as he lights his cigarette.

Wilhelm Kael: You know, the best way to be irreplaceable in a machine of replaceable parts is to always find a form and function. Maybe if you find that, you won’t come here and project your fears on me.

He offers her another cigarette. She grabs it and places it in between her fingers.

Rose: My fears? Far from it. Just trying to connect the Kael I’ve seen over the past twelve months and The Red Army — how it works, really. I mean, you think he’s replacing Freeman, but at Freeman’s very base, he’s malleable and, well, not a leader. You though, you’re a leader. You’re someone who marches to the beat of their own drum. I wonder if maybe Ivan is just threatened by you, doesn’t see much use of you, and thinks I would fit in better. Not saying I would, I’m fiercely independent, but just trying to understand the rationale and the power dynamics at play here. That’s all.

She looks at the cigarette and slowly smells it. She places it between her lips and then looks back at Kael.

Rose: Who knows, though, right? I mean, Ivan doesn’t seem interested in your antics with Youngblood and FLAMBERGE. Has he shown much interest in your… relationship… with Farthington? Or however you choose to describe it.

Wilhelm Kael: What can I say? I’m a big mystery.

A practiced, politically perfect smile pulls over his face as smoke roils between his perfect white teeth.

Wilhelm Kael: I serve my purpose. Maybe you can too.

Rose takes a long drag from the unlit cigarette and then pulls it from her lips before slowly letting the ‘smoke’ out from her mouth. She then tucks it behind her ear and lets her hair fall over it.

Rose: Man of many words, my my. Well then, I have to give Ivan a response to his question tonight. And I want to ensure there’s no… interference from the rest of The Red Army. I thought about locking you up or knocking you unconscious or letting Noble stand guard over you and do whatever he sees fit since he’s still not fond of you after cracking his skull with a pack of frozen hot dogs. However, all of that seems a bit… much, wouldn’t you say? You seem like a reasonable person and thus I will just ask you. When I go out and give Ivan the answer he’s been waiting two weeks for, can I count on you to stay in the back and simply prepare for your match with FLAMBERGE? To not come out?

He pulls the cigarette from his lips, throwing his hands back with a nod.

Wilhelm Kael: I would never cheat or besmirch the rules of PRIME nor would any member of the Red Army. But to put your fears at ease, and you do seem to have a considerable number of those, on my word I won’t interfere in the match.

Raising his right hand up while placing his left over his heart, Wilhelm pantomimes some great oath.

Wilhelm Kael: Thank you, Rose, but I think we’re all out of time.

The image becomes choppy, full of static and distortion before the signal cuts out completely.

A moment later we’re back.

The scenery has changed as Wilhelm is now seated before the fireplace, the other chair having been removed. He is leaned back, his hands resting on the armrests, black gloved fingers wrapped around the ends.

Wilhelm Kael: FLAMBERGE… Vending Machine cliche’… Julien. Tonight we throw our bodies into a war of attrition, a battle to see who can secure enough pinfalls or submissions in a set amount of time. We’ve both come up short against Brandon Youngblood… though some might argue you more than I.

He gesticulates toward himself before making a dismissing wave of his hand.

Wilhelm Kael: But what are we playing for, Lizard King? With Youngblood securing a victory over both of us, this whole thing could just be played off as a matter of Pride. And surely that is a good enough reason in this bullheaded, emotion driven sport called Professional Wrestling but that’s not what it is. No, no, I can see the hunger in your eyes. Youthful rage, ah, I remember it well.

A whistle expression crosses over the hard lines of Wilhelm’s face as a gentle sigh escapes his lips.

Wilhelm Kael: You want my neck, you need my neck. It would solve so many problems wouldn’t it? Revenge for your friend, Joseph Fontaine. Protecting your good friend Cecilworth Farthington. Satisfying your petty Neck fetish. Hmm. Hmm… all good, sound and reasonable goals.

Leaning forward, Wilhelm clasps his hands together, a toothy sneer rippling over his lips.

Wilhelm Kael: …If only it were that simple. See, I desire this match because there is no one in PRIME that is going to challenge me the way that Cecilworth can. You’re the steel that I will sharpen my blade upon, over and over and over again until the bell rings. Bring your savagery, your madness and all you’re ridiculous neck-related foppery. So come for my neck, Julien… I’ll be happy to tear off your whole head, neck and all.

Reaching into his uniform, Wilhelm pulls out a silver cigarette case once again, flipping it open with a well practiced flick of the wrist. .

Wilhelm Kael: Let’s talk about you, Lord Cecilworth Farthington. I bet you wished Haze Hanlon had put a bullet in my head a year ago, hmm? Out of everyone in PRIME, you knew perhaps best of all the threat that a free roaming Max Kael could be? And yet… I don’t think you’ve come to grasp just how much danger you are in.

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth ruefully, Wilhelm pulls a cigarette free from the case, running it beneath his nose as he takes in its aroma.

Wilhelm Kael: …Over a year and a half and you’ve never thought to confront Max, or even myself. Why? Because you’re a coward. Hiding behind your wealth and your friends. Pathetic. Do you want to know the reason? The REAL reason? Now I know what Max has said… Revenge, you let him die, boo-hoo, he’s not a very creative creature. Easily manipulated though. No, the driving force behind this last year and a half is the thing you’ve besmirched since you put aside your duties and became a professional wrestler.

Tucking the cigarette between his lips, Wilhelm stands. Grabbing the chair, he slowly drags it away from the center of the stage to reveal the fireplace once again.

Wilhelm Kael: Me? I’m indifferent to you, Farthington, simply a means to an end but my employer? He’s… very, very adamant that you suffer. I can empathize with my client. I, too, have had a disappointing son.

Wilhelm’s lips curl as he lights the cigarette. Above the fireplace a single light turns on to reveal a portrait of Cecilworth’s father, Lord Farthington. He’s a stately man with stern features that have hardened the boyish charms that he shares with his son.

Wilhelm Kael: I will tear down your world in a million different ways leaving you broken, without hope, joy or meaning. I will take everything away from you, ruin every happiness, and bend my considerable resources to the misery of anyone who ever shared a kind word with you. Unless you accept to face me at Colossus.

Taking a drag from his cigarette, Wilhelm allows the tendrils of smoke to obscure his eyes, those cold gray pieces glittering like glass.

Wilhelm Kael: …Let me know, boy.

Kael makes his way off stage as the camera holds focus on the portrait of Lord Farthington.

ReVival then moves on.

Sunny O’Callahan’s frizzy blonde hair bounces with each anxious step as she paces the entire length of Adam Ellis’s dressing room, waiting for him to arrive.

It’s been four weeks since ReVival 58.  The last time she saw him before he disappeared was at the hospital.

Her mind races with possibilities.

Sunny O’Callahan: What if he doesn’t show?

She pauses, her fingers tracing the outline of the bottle of Southern Comfort in her pocket. The temptation to take a swig is strong, but she resists. She needs a clear head for this.

Sunny O’Callahan: Come on, Adam.

Sunny glances at her watch for the umpteenth time. Sunny pulls out her phone, checking for messages. Nothing. She slips it back into her pocket and resumes her pacing.

Sunny O’Callahan: Where are you, big-

The slow creak of the door opening cuts her off mid-sentence.  Sunny’s head snaps up.

Sunny O’Callahan: …guy?

Her eyes widen as she takes in the familiar figure filling the doorway.

Sunny O’Callahan: Adam?

ReVival moves on.

“There’s just surviving enough to make it to the next match…”

Crash Jackson’s quote is a sound byte played over a black screen.  Fade into Black Sheep Baez sitting behind an XLR microphone.  A vinyl sign behind him stretches the width of the shot and reads: “The Immortal Turnbuckle Show”.  This is a clip from an interview that Baez participated in earlier this week.  The sound byte from Crash was a setup by the interviewer for Alex to respond.  Ya boi does exactly that.

Black Sheep Baez: Damn, yo.  That’s deep.  Yea, I can touch on this ‘cause we tryna keep this relevant, for real.  I don’t know Crash from Adam, but brother hails from the same streets my Jordan’s tap danced on.  So, it’s kinda fitting that my second match in this company comes against someone from that beautiful city in upstate N-Y, baby!  Shout out to all my peoples in Black Rock; you know who you is.

He winks into the camera, and then shuffles around in the chair to suit his comfort level.  Alex adjusts the Versace Swiss Gold watch on his wrist.  He’s always drippin’ with an extremely high level of swagadelia: a Ferragamo polo complimenting the tailored fit Ralph Lauren slacks that intersect with a pair of Air Jordan 1 Rebellionaires.  Tack on that Versace around the wrist and the Brunello Cucinelli gold plated sunglasses atop his bald head?  Black Sheep Baez is a specimen of the uber rizz.

Black Sheep Baez: Here’s the thing, fam – I know Crash finna step up.  He aint no slouch.  Problem is that dude talkin’ out his neck ‘bout bein desperate.  I kinda get this feelin’ that Crash Jackson finna pop off and lose himself.  Sometimes goin’ ham-a-lam in that ring can cause the gears to shift in the wrong direction.  Ya feel me?  The machine locks up.  Then – BWAM! (He punches his hand for effect) The boi hit with the old 1-2 skidoo and left for the vultures to peck at them bones.

Black Sheep Baez: But, respect is in order for knowin’ that we finna bring the smoke.  He mentioned a couple times, in his own special way, that we ‘bout to put on a show.  So, that tells ya boi that Crash knows what he’s up against.  Ya boi is also well aware of the task at hand.  This is what we do, yo.  We make stacks on stacks while tryna break backs.  So, regardless of my initial feelins’ ‘bout Brochacho Jones, I aint lookin’ down at him with disrespect, cuz.  That aint how we do it.  I get that there’s some real wiln’out bring-tha-ruckus types in PRIME.  He dropped a few names.  They gots them demons steerin’ the ship.  Nah, not here fam.  Jesus takes the wheel when Yung Al step into that beautiful wrestlin’ ring.  On God.  So, I’m lookin’ forward to tyin’ up with the Northern Light and anxiously anticipatin’ the hustle of a hard-fought battle.  Set the standard.  Survive until the next match.

Baez leans back in the chair and delivers a confident smirk.  The scene fades to black for a couple seconds.

The sound of the crowd’s cheers can be overheard as production cuts to Black Sheep Baez shadow boxing near Argyle.  His face is the epitome of determination.  He throws a few left and right upper cuts before a combination of drunken master jabs.  He ends the series of punches to hop up and down a few times.  He cracks his neck to the left and right.  He’s ready to head out to the ring and kick some ass.

His eyes suddenly shift.  He’s no longer alone.

Crash: Want a bite?

Baez looks at his opponent, who is eating a hotdog but also offering one up for sharing purposes in the opposite hand. Sharing is caring, everyone. He’s also not even looking at Black Sheep and just chomping his doggie like a psychopath.

Crash: You eatin’, Skin ‘n Brones?

Crash waves that fine, delightful hotdog at Baez one last time. Say no and thousands on the ACE Network will watch Crash pull off a pleasure kill on live TV. Twice.

Crash: Last call, kid…

Baez raises an eyebrow.  He looks at the hotdog, and then back at Crash.  He looks down at the hotdog, again, and then at Crash.  Then, one more time for good measure: he looks down at the processed meat then looks at Crash.

Black Sheep Baez: Appreciate the offer, fam, but nah – I’m Gucci.  Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a solid dog, for real, but ya boi got an appetite for a fight.  Ya feel me?  So, go’head and deuce it up with them franks quick so we can get out there and fuck each other up.

In that same breath where Baez starts to get bangin’, a beautiful blonde breezes by. Crash maintains eye contact with BSB for that one millisecond too long that signifies he’s about to do some shit. Baez can’t help but cock his head to a slight degree.

Crash: Hey girl, ya boi finna give his best rizzking daddyo skibbidy king king hit dog dog, but gang gang phantom taxes my rizz dog, dog. You want his hotdog?

The cute girl snatches that shit like it’s an engagement ring. She pulls out her phone and just gives it to Crash. Baez can’t believe what the fuck he is watching. She plants a fat one on Crash’s cheek and he has the pink lipstick mark to prove it.

Crash: See, bro? Everybody loves a hotdog.

Baez continues to do that look at Crash, looking at his disappearing hotdog, and even once clocks the cutie walking off with her gracious gift. He does this a few times while waiting for the Hot Dog Hero to give him his full attention.

Crash: Let’s go show these fuckers what Buffalo’s made of, baby.

The Northern Light tosses up some fucking knuckles to the Sultan of Smoke. The real shit. Baez takes nanoseconds to return the gesture before they both grin and chest bump and bro the fuck out and belt out their Instinctive war cry, in unison, in fucking Long Beach, bro.

“GO BILLS!”

Crash smiles and then gallops into Argyle.  Baez’s smirk does not fade, but his eyes widen, and he shakes his head.

Black Sheep Baez: That man needs Jesus, for real.

And then he follows The Bro into Argyle as ReVival moveso n.

“I don’t even know why Crash would agree to this.”

Fresh off his successful bout against Steve Harrison, Bryan Dawkins makes a bee line through the parking garage toward his rental, throwing his bags into the trunk of the car before turning to face his traveling band of Heralds. The Heralds have figured out how to use Secretariat as a noble steed, with the horse(?) pulling along The Herald’s wheelchair like a Roman chariot. The Green Herald and Charlie Armageddon sit atop Secretariat as they follow their reluctant protector.

Dawkins has no time to relish in this small win streak he’s amassed over the past few weeks as he’s got other business to attend to before the night is over.

Bro business, if you will.

The Herald: I think it’s pretty obvious isn’t it, The Bryan Dawkins?

Secretariat: whinny

Dawkins turns to face the chariot bound Herald, his face twisted into a quizzical look.

Bryan Dawkins: What are you talkin’ about, bruh? I know I attacked him a few weeks ago and taunted him two weeks ago, but what’s he gonna get from accepting the challenge?

The Herald: Well, you saw her in Winters Port, of course!

The Green Herald: Don’t worry about that, kid. You’ve tortured Crash the past few weeks, that’ll be enough to get him to bite. Trust me.

Charlie Armageddon hops down from Secretariat and situates himself between Dawkins and the car.

Charlie Armageddon: INDEED! WE SHALL DELIVER GLAD TIDINGS OF THE END OF CRASH JACKSON’S ENTIRE WORLD! HE SHALL PERISH AND GROVEL AT THE FEET OF THE HERALDS! In that exact order.

CLUNK

In a split second, all four tires on Dawkins’ rental deflate, sending the entire weight of the vehicle onto the aluminum rims. They fail, bending spectacularly and rendering the vehicle undriveable.

Bryan Dawkins: Well, that’s just great. Thanks bruh.

Charlie Armageddon: No problem, MAY THE EMBERS OF THE APOCALYPSE BLESS THEE ON THIS DAY!

Armageddon indeed.

Secretariat: whinny

The Green Herald: He’s right, kid. Chuckie’s still a little pissed about you sellin’ the condo. I’m sure he’ll get over it soon.

Bryan Dawkins: Not soon enough…

The Herald: Enough of this chit chat! Like I was saying, The Bryan Dawkins…once Crash realizes we know where his dear Violent Purple currently resides, he’ll be most motivated to accept your challenge!

Bryan’s eyes nearly fall out of his head as it all clicks in his brain.

He recalls the woman he ran into when picking The Herald up in Winters Port. The shaved head. Pale complexion. Gaunt features.

But those eyes.

Caring, yet fierce.

So that’s why she looked familiar. Dawkins had met Crash and Violent Purple back on ReVival 44, shortly after his return to PRIME. They didn’t meet for long, but one doesn’t forget a presence like Violent Purple.

Bryan Dawkins: …WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU?!

Dawkins rages – his tan complexion takes on a red hue as his blood pressure rises.

Bryan Dawkins: So you’re telling me I’ve been AIDING AND ABETTING an abduction this entire time?!

The Herald fidgets nervously as he formulates his response. Dawkins slams the hood of the trunk closed and turns to the group. The Herald stammers.

The Herald: I’m not sure I would put it that way! The Violent Purple was moved to Winters Port for her own safety! You’ve seen The Crash Jackson in business – he’s a danger to both himself and others! We’ve done her a favor by whisking her away to Father Don’s paradise!

Bryan slowly blinks, processing the line of bullshit he was just sold.

Bryan Dawkins: This ends now. I’m goin’ out there, tellin’ Crash everything…and then I’m comin’ back here to take care of each of you. And I’m not talkin’ about protecting you anymore…

As he goes to depart the scene, the Green Herald interjects.

The Green Herald: I wouldn’t do that if I were you, kid.

Charlie Armageddon: Yeah, I really wouldn’t.

Secretariat: whinny

The Green Herald: Remember, you signed a contract…a contract that could end very badly for you if you decide to back out now.

The Herald: Yes indeed! Remember, it would be a true shame if you never got to see one of those dreadful football games in the rain ever aga–

SLAP

The Herald recoils, immediately drawing his trembling hands to his face, where Dawkins just slapped the taste from his mouth.

Secretariat: WHINNY

Bryan Dawkins: That’s ENOUGH out of all of you! I’m goin’ out there right now…and I’m layin’ down the challenge for Colossus. But I know how I can get him to agree…

With that, Dawkins storms back the way he came into the garage, followed by the convoy of Heralds…

ReVival moves on.

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

LEEEET’S GET READY TO RUUUMMMBLE

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

Vince Howard: Introducing first, hailing from Buffalo, NY and weighing in at two-hundred and thirty eight pounds…

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

Vince Howard: He is The Northern Light!

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.

Vince Howard: CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACKAOOOOOOOOON!

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.

The fans hear coughing through the speakers for about three seconds. Orange lights on the stage begin to dance with the beat of “Cisco Kid” by Method Man, Redman, Cypress Hill, and War. The crowd throws their hands in the air and many are excited that Black Sheep Baez is about to exit the Argyle Position.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, heading to the ring and weighing in at 220 pounds…

Black Sheep steps out onto the stage with a gigantic pearl white grin. He bobs his head up and down, left to right, with the Latino trance-esque beat of Meth and Red’s Cisco Kid concept. He spreads his arms wide to embrace la familia, the fans, because if he could hug each and every one of them right now then he absolutely would. He jolts forward toward the camera and tugs on his side split sleeveless t-shirt that promotes his brand which is his name made into the logo of his favorite sports team: THE New York Mets.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Buffalo, New York, he is the Sultan of Smoke!…

He hurries past the camera and leaps in the air. Orange and blue fireworks explode from the stage as the sole of his Nike’s hits the ground.

Vince Howard: He is DIOS…DE GEN Z!…

Baez falls to one knee, closes his eyes, grabs the gold crucifix attached to his necklace and kisses it. He points to the sky and then is back to his feet to slowly jog down the ramp toward the ring.

Vince Howard: He is YA BOI!…

Black Sheep doesn’t use the steel steps once he gets to the ring. He explodes like a rocket and flies underneath the ropes so that he slides across the mat until he hits the brakes in the center of the ring. He poses like Spider-Man after a landing, and looks at the crowd with a confident grin.

Vince Howard: BLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLACK! SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP BAAAAAAEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

Ya boi stands and continues to slowly groove with his theme song. He removes his shirt, necklace, and other articles of clothing that shouldn’t be part of the match while awaiting the cue from the referee to start the match.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Ashley Barlow calls for the bell and we’re underway!

Richard Parker: Who do you like here Nick? Black Sheep Baez or the Hot Dog Heartthrob?

Stuart audibly sighs as the two men circle each other before locking up in the center of the ring. Crash takes advantage, whipping Baez into the ropes, dropping to the mat, Baez hops over him. On the return, Jackson leapfrogs him, and as Baez rebounds once more, both men have the same idea, attempting to drop kick the other.

The crowd cheers wildly as both men get back to their feet and offer nods of appreciation. Crash leans in with a right haymaker, but Baez rolls under it, swiftly coming to his feet behind Jackson. He goes for a waistlock, but Jackson breaks it. Crash spins and attempts another wild punch, but Baez ducks it and follows up with a spinning backfist that catches Jackson square across the jaw. He stumbles backwards into the ropes, and Baez follows up with a roundhouse that sends Jackson toppling over the top.

Nick Stuart: Baez is just beating the brakes off Crash early. I thought they would match speed, but it doesn’t look close right now!

As Crash Jackson stumbles around outside the ring, Baez has catapulted himself off the ropes once more and soars effortlessly over the ropes with a Fosbury Flop. Both men fall to the floor to more cheers from the crowd. Baez goes to stand to preen to the crowd ringside, but Jackson reaches up and wrenches at his ankle, with Baez’s face connecting with the ring apron as he goes down.

Crash scrambles to his feet and grabs Baez by the seat of the pants, rolling him back in the ring. Jackson follows suit, and immediately begins putting the boots to ole Black Sheep. He follows up with a seated senton, and rolls Baez over onto his back for a pin. Barlow drops into position.

ONE!

It’s too early. Baez’s shoulder pops up with ease. Crash slaps the mat in frustration, asking for a faster count, but he knows he’ll need to do more. Crash lifts Baez back up by the head and neck and delivers a snap kick to the midsection, followed by a vicious snap DDT that gets some “oohs” from the crowd. Instead of sensibly going for a cover, Jackson brings Baez back to his feet and whips him into the corner.

Crash charges in and hits a knee to Baez’s chest, slumping the latter down into the corner. The Northern Light backs himself into the opposite corner and charges forward and leaps, brutalizing Black Sheep with a shotgun dropkick to the chest.

Richard Parker: It looks as though the tide may be shifting like hot dog rollers at a 7-11!

Nick Stuart: That… that doesn’t even make sense, Richard.

Richard Parker: I’m really hungry for a hot dog now.

Nick Stuart: ANYWAY, it looks like Crash is back to his feet to continue his offensive!

Jackson again picks up Baez and hoists him effortlessly into the air with a sitout suplex. He hooks the leg and again, Barlow is quickly down for the count.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Baez powers out of the pinning attempt, rolling Jackson off his body. He slowly gets to his feet and catches Jackson attempting a spinning heel kick, but is wise, catches it, and spins Jackson around. He attempts another waistlock, but for the second time tonight it’s broken and Crash tries a second spinning heel kick.

AGAIN Baez is wise to it and instead of a catch-and-spin, he wrenches Crash’s leg in a disgusting looking dragon screw, whipping the hapless Jackson to the mat. The crowd reacts in a bit of horror as Baez gets up grinning. He lifts up Crash’s recently whipped leg and smashes the knee back into the mat. And again. And again. And a fourth time for good measure.

Nick Stuart: Baez has found a line of attack and he’s going to try and demobilize Crash!

Richard Parker: If the high flying Jackson can’t fly, it’s curtains for him!

Nick Stuart: That may be the case, but he’s a resilient and crafty wrestler. He’ll find a way to keep himself in this match.

Baez lifts Jackson to his feet, and goes to whip him, but Crash limps and falls on the bad knee after a couple of steps. Black Sheep takes a couple of steps back himself before launching forward with a forearm smash to the back of Jackson’s skull.

Crash is absolutely reeling as his face sinks into the mat. Baez does the geometry quickly and scales the top rope before moonsaulting off and hitting Crash’s injured leg with his own leg drop. Baez, feeling confident, pulls Jackson back to his feet, spins him around in a waist lock for the third time and uses his strength to send Jackson flying with a release German suplex.

Richard Parker: The crowd loved that!

Jackson kind of rolls through the suplex and ends up back on his knees, facing Baez. Black Sheep shoots forward, looking to blast a forearm into Jackson’s face, but at the last second Crash falls forward with intelligence, exhaustion or a combination of the two. Baez flies into the bottom turnbuckle, nearly snake eyeing himself in the process.

Crash Jackson crawls and clambers for the ropes, using them for purchase as he slowly rises to his feet again. Baez gets back to his feet as well, but Jackson drops his shoulder, flipping Black Sheep over the top rope. Baez quickly gets his footing on the apron, and grips the top rope with both hands, vaulting himself into an enzuigiri that slaps the back of Crash’s skull. Jackson stumbles backward a few feet, allowing Baez to vault onto the top rope and springboard himself and wrap his legs around Jackson’s head.

Nick Stuart: FRANKENSTE–

Richard Parker: NO! Crash’s body built by Nathan’s is fighting it!

Jackson is indeed fighting it and uses all the strength he can muster to lift up Baez and fold him back over in half with a vicious powerbomb. Barlow quickly drops to her knees to perform the three count.

ONE!

…

…

…

TWO!

…

…

…

THRE- NO! Baez just kicks out at 2.99! The crowd roars their approval and the match continues on! Jackson scrambles back to his feet and smacks the turnbuckle a couple of times, getting cheers from the crowd. He quickly scales the ropes, mimics smoking the devil’s lettuce and leaps through the air…

Nick Stuart: 420 Splash! 420 Splash!  Can he make the cover?

Jackson is holding his ribs after the impact and is able to make the second joint smoking mime, but as he goes for the cover, Baez slyly rolls himself in the opposite direction. Both men struggle to their feet, arriving at full height milliseconds apart, just enough time for Crash Jackson to rear back and..

Richard Parker: WIDE LEFT! CRASH HAS GOT HIM NOW!

Jackson grabs both of Baez’s legs and wraps him up in the JaxSS! He torques the small back of Baez, who reacts, shouting out in pain, but refusing to tap the mat at Barlow’s questioning. Crash pulls Baez into the center of the ring, eyes cinched shut, teeth gritted tight as he pulls on the elevated sharpshooter.

Nick Stuart: Wait a minute! Someone’s coming down the aisle!

Richard Parker: It’s… The Herald!? And who’s that with him?

Nick Stuart: I believe it’s Bryan Dawkins! What is the Flyin’ Hawaiin doing out here!?

The Herald is excitedly leaping up and down as he leads Dawkins toward ringside. About fifteen feet away, Crash’s eyes snap open and he locks them with Dawkins. The Herald smiles and dances and the two men on the outside watch the concentration drain from Crash Jackson’s face. He relents the hold and drops Baez, approaching the ropes. He begins shouting obscenities at both men, and never sees or feels that Baez has recuperated behind him and found his footing.

Richard Parker: Crash! Watch out!

Baez sneaks up from behind and raises his arms in a menacing manner before grabbing Crash and locking him up in an absolutely airtight crossface chicken wing.

Nick Stuart: CAYADO DEL PASTOR! CAYADO DEL PASTOR!

Baez wrenches Jackson back from the ropes as Dawkins and The Herald watch on, smiling. Black Sheep wraps his legs around Jackson’s midsection as the two fall to the mat with the hold cinched in. Barlow checks the arm of Jackson and quickly calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Baez releases it dutifully and stands up as Barlow raises his arm in the center of the ring.

Vince Howard: and the winner of this match as a result of submission, BLACK SHEEEEEEP BAAAAAEEEEZ!

Dawkins, nodding at the events at the end of the match, asks for a microphone as the Heralds flank him. The Herald wears a Hawaiian-sized handprint across his cheek and his eyes are welled up with tears. The Green Herald and Charlie Armageddon sit atop Secretariat, who chews mindlessly on some hay. Where he found it is anyone’s guess.

Bryan Dawkins: Crash, bruh…we gotta talk.

Crash leans against the ropes, still catching his breath. Dawkins gestures at the Heralds behind him.

Bryan Dawkins: As it turns out, this band of idiots has been holdin’ back some information from me…so let me get right to it.

Dawkins pauses to look at the Heralds, specifically The Herald, who continues to sob after having his teeth nearly slapped from his mouth mere moments before.

Bryan Dawkins: At Colossus…Bruh versus Bro.

RAAHHHHHHH

The Bro from Buffalo looks around the Long Beach Arena with a cocked eyebrow. His ears feel like these fans want to see the Brodown go down but he doesn’t seem so certain he wants that kind of stress in his life.

Crash: I never wanted any of this bogus, bonkers bullshit, bro. But if you’re followin’ the Minister’s orders, clearly the axe is gonna fall sooner or later, so I’m wonderin’ why in the royal fuck I’d get in the ring with you, Dawkins?

Bryan flashes a quick grin and turns toward the Heralds. He grabs The Herald by his red tunic and rips him from the wheelchair. He drags the feeble Herald to the top of the ramp and throws his arm around him.

Bryan Dawkins: I’m glad you asked, bruh. If you win at Colossus, I give you full access to The Herald. You can question him about anything…

BOOOOOOOOO

The mere mention of the fancy little man brings on a chorus of disdain. Dawkins pauses for a moment. Dramatic effect and all that.

Bryan Dawkins: …including Violent Purple.

GAAAAAAASSSSSP

The tone changes and the air gets real thick up in this bitch. Crash’s eyes burst at the name drop of his one, true long, lost love. Crash starts rage pointing and yelling up the ramp, something about removing Dawkins’ sphincter if he’s trying to pull some shit.

Bryan Dawkins:  A little bird told me he might even know where she is.

OHHHHHH SHIIIIIIT

Nick Stuart: Crash’s face says it all! He doesn’t want to wait for Colossus! He wants answers, tonight!

Bryan Dawkins: So, whaddaya say, bruh? We on?

The crowd grows into a frenzy as the Northern Light keeps his focus on the Bruh. He slowly raises the mic to his mouth, pausing briefly. The rumble from the crowd gets to raucous levels.

Crash: Let’s fuckin’ go, bro.

RAAAAAHHHHHHHH

The Hot Dog Hero backs away from the ropes, dropping the mic and setting off a wild celebration amongst the PRIME fans near and far. Dawkins lowers his own microphone, simply nodding at one another as Crash’s music fires up one more time.

Richard Parker: Great. More Night One filler. Can we fine these two for making us watch this?

Nick Stuart: Another grudge match is set for Colossus, folks! Bryan Dawkins, the Bruh, will take on Crash, the Bro, in one of the wildest matchups in PRIME!

ReVival goes to commercial.

Revival 60 cuts quickly backstage to see The Glueminati’s Cecilworth Farthington leaning up against a wall, clearly just hearing the challenge that had been laid by Max (Wilhelm?) Kael.

Cecilworth Farthington: Have you ever had to grieve a friend well before their time? Have you ever had to sit there and feel so helpless that you see a man’s life end in front of you, live on Pay Per View. Two of my friends, who just could not see past each other, who no longer cared about what once was, but rather just wanted personal glory agreed to quite possibly the most stupid stipulation I’ve ever seen in this wrestling industry. A literal death match. A LITERAL DEATH MATCH. You could only win when your opponent was dead.

Cecilworth looks up to the ceiling and sighs.

Cecilworth Farthington: I guess I was the fool, because I just assumed that both of my friends would see sense when the bell rang. That they’d realise a championship wasn’t more meaningful than continued existence on this plane. That you’d have another chance to be a victor without having to remove someone from this mortal coil.

Cecilworth looks down to his hands and tries to gather his emotions, it’s very clear that this is not an easy situation to talk about.

Cecilworth Farthington: For a year and a half, I’ve seen a man claim to be the reanimated body of a man I considered my best friend. I’ve seen literally everyone willing to go along with it. People who I trust, people who I respect, all of them act as if a man I saw die on my television screen in the manner most brutal just so happened to come back to life, and they’ve accepted this under the idea that my department father, a monster of a man, had some kind of “jizz pods” in the basement of my family house.

Cecilworth begins to chuckle at what should be the absolutely absurdity of what he just said.

Cecilworth Farthington: For a year and a half, I’ve seen this… man claim to be my best friend, I’ve heard him claim that he is possessed by my father and that he speaks with his voice. I’ve had him try to bribe and corrupt the roster to kill me. Yet, I’ve tried to move beyond it. I’ve tried to avoid the bait, I’ve avoided interaction because… he’s not Max. HE IS NOT MY BEST FRIEND. HE IS NOT THE MAN I SAW DIE.

Cecilworth’s fists ball up in a natural rage as he slams them at the wall.

Cecilworth Farthington: I knew the challenge would come eventually, I knew that it was inevitable I would have to stand in the ring and face you, whoever you are. Later tonight, you face quite possibly the greatest and most dangerous wrestling talent I’ve ever seen, and he wants to hurt you. He wants to hurt you bad for what you’ve done to us, what you’ve done to the Glue brethren. You make it out of that match in one piece? Okay, we have a deal. We have a deal because I’ll finish the job that FLAMBERGE starts tonight.

Biting his bottom lip, Cecilworth tries to centre himself.

Cecilworth Farthington: You want me in the ring at Colossus? You want to face me, whoever you are… you’ve got it. This has been a year and a half of misery for me, a year and a half of me questioning what’s even true but I know one thing, I’ve seen your eyes, I’ve seen your soul and… you’re not him. You will never be him. If you survive tonight, at Colossus, we end this sham, we end this fraud, I expose you for who you are.

Cecilworth points at the camera to get out of the scene.

Cecilworth Farthington: That’s it, that’s all I’ve got to say.

The camera fades out.

The scene cuts backstage to Zapp Scatino donning his teal and magenta jacket, his completely fashionable gold necklaces, and the PRIME Tag Team Championship draped over his shoulder. Behind him, standing with excellent posture and holding a cloche, is his man Friday, Sunday.  Standing next to Zapp is PRIME’s top Canadian backstage interviewer Angie Brooks.

Angie Brooks: I am standing here with one half of the PRIME Tag Team Champions, Twins?!, Zapp—-

Zapp Scatino: The Wise Guys.

Angie Brooks: Excuse me?

Zapp Scatino: We’re The Wise Guys now. Twins?! sounds like a stupid fuckin’ question asked by a stoned bimbo fuckin’ hackey sack player from one of them idiot states like Mississippi. Whoever came up with that name shoud get their fuckin’ balls nailed to a fuckin’ cross!

Angie Brooks: The Wise Guys.

Zapp Scatino: Right.

Angie Brooks:  Well, Zapp, two weeks ago you issued a challenge to Coral Avalon.

Zapp Scatino: That stubby prick.

Angie Brooks: You challenged Coral Avalon and Tony Gamble to a match.  If they win, you would grant them a match for the PRIME Tag Team Championship. If they lose, Tony Gamble would be forced to lick your boots and Coral Avalon would have to grant The Anglo Luchadore a Universal Championship match.

Zapp Scatino: That is correct. Although, I am rethinkin’ the whole Tony Gamble bootlickin’ stipulation.  I haven’t found a diseased enough whore with a snatch large enough to fit my boot.

Angie Brooks: That’s highly offensive.

Zapp Scatino: I wouldn’t be wearin’ it at the time!  That’d be perverted!

Angie Brooks: I’m referring to the words you used

Zapp Scatino: So fuckin’ sorry, Your Majesty! I have yet to find a prostitute plagued with the gonorrhea and other sexual TD’s with a vagina expansive enough to fit one of my boots.  Forthwith.  Better?

Angie Brooks: No.

Zapp Scatino: Look, I’ll find another method of which to remove every ounce of dignity Tony Gamble has if I gotta, but yeah, but as far as Coral Avalon, the gauntlet has been issued.

Angie Brooks: What compelled you to give The Anglo Luchador the Universal Title shot and not yourself?

Zapp Scatino: Because I ain’t a selfish fuck.

Angie Brooks: We have not heard Coral Avalon’s or Tony Gamble’s response to your challenge. How do you think they’ll respond?

Zapp Scatino: Tony Gamble can choke on a bag of dicks.  And Coral? Tommy, that’s The Anglo Luchador to those that are not in trades, as they say in the biz. Tommy and me, we’re gonna get an answer from that walkin’ Easter Island statue.  You seen that prick’s head?  It’s all fuckin’ forehead under a jerk off haircut. Yeah, anyway, so, we’re gonna conversate with Mister Universal Champion tonight and get his response.

Angie Brooks: And later tonight, you and The Anglo Luchador have a non-title match against Sage Pontiff and Paxton Ray, any thoughts?

Zapp Scatino: The only issue I’m gonna have is not passin’ out from the repungent fuckin’ stench of patchouli, broken dreams, and ass sweat from that Sage Pontypanda and this Ray Paxton? Well, I don’t know shit about him.

Angie Brooks: Thank you, Zapp, and good luck.

Zapp Scatino’s eye twitches slightly at Angie wishing him good luck.  In the environment which he found personal satisfaction, “good luck” was the worst phrase you could say to a performer.  Zapp uncomfortably nodded as the scene ends and ReVival moves on.

A video comes on…

McDowell First Baptist Church- McDowell, Kentucky
Dawn McGill sees the church door creak open from the front seat of her rental car.  Ginny Van Lear emerged, cradling little Abbigail against her chest as she traveled down the worn steps to the parking lot.

Ginny strides across the parking lot, her fiery red hair whipping in the breeze. She opens the passenger door of her truck and secures Abbigail into the car seat.

A flash of movement catches her eye.  She turns, coming face to face with Dawn McGill.

Following a few tense seconds, Ginny finally speaks.

Ginny Van Lear: You sure got some nerve showing up here.

The twang of her Kentucky roots sharpened each word like a knife’s edge.

Dawn holds up her hands, placating.

Dawn McGill: Ginny.  I didn’t come here to cause trouble.

Ginny Van Lear: Who toldya I was here.  Cletus and Enos?

Dawn nods yes.

Dawn McGill: Look, I once managed them and… let’s just say I know how to get answers from them.

Ginny rolls her eyes and turns away.

Ginny Van Lear: Goodbye.

Dawn McGill: Ginny, please. You deserve to hear the whole story about that night.

Ginny walks around the truck and climbs into the driver’s side.   Her laugh is bitter, devoid of any warmth.

Ginny Van Lear: The whole story? Adam cheated on me, plain and simple.

Dawn’s eyes catch a glimpse of the gun rack in Ginny’s truck, the shotgun a silent threat.

Dawn McGill: I know you’re hurting-

Ginny Van Lear: I ain’t shed one tear over that boy after what he did to me!

Ginny’s voice rises and her composure starts to crack.

Dawn McGill: But there’s more to it than you know.

Ginny Van Lear: More to it?

Dawn can see Ginny’s emotions roiling inside of her like a storm even though outwardly, she tried to appear cold, and distant.

Dawn McGill: I understand you’re upset at Adam.  But… look… what happened that night was all my fault.

Dawn senses how deeply Adam’s betrayal had cut her.

Dawn McGill: Just five minutes, Ginny.  That’s all I’m asking. Let me explain.

Ginny’s jaw clenches, weighing her options. Part of her wants to just slam the truck door and drive away. But a small voice in her head whispers for her to listen.

She crosses her arms.

Ginny Van Lear: Fine. Five minutes. Say your peace.

Dawn climbs into the passenger side of the truck and takes a deep breath, her usual confidence replaced by vulnerability.

Dawn McGill: As you know… the Soviet Bloc kidnapped me at an MVW show.  They chained me up in a cooler for two weeks and blasted propaganda non-stop. Then they put me inside a small box and blared more Soviet propaganda inside for two more weeks. Until I… I broke.  Then they turned me into Agent Zarya.

Shame colors the words she spoke and she glances down at the ground.

Dawn McGill: It wasn’t exactly my shining moment… I’m not proud of what happened.

Dawn’s eyes rise back up and harden, her voice takes on a sharper edge as she delves into the events of that night.

Dawn McGill: As you know, Boris Antonov had won the AMCW title from Adam the night I betrayed him. Boris knew Adam technically was a better wrestler than he was and wanted Adam out of the picture for good. So he sent me to do his dirty work.

Ginny’s voice responded in a low, judgmental growl.

Ginny Van Lear: And y’all just went along with it?

Dawn McGill: I was Agent Zarya… loyal Soviet agent… and I did what I was told. So I planted myself at a back table inside the hotel bar, had the bartender keep Adam’s glass full so I could get him good and drunk and told her to tell Adam it was from ‘the cute blonde in the back.’ I’d already snuck into his room and set up a camera. The plan was to get him drunk out of his mind, seduce him, take him back to his room, and catch it all on tape.

Ginny’s stomach churns hearing all this.

Dawn McGill: Then Vickie Hall happened.

Dawn shakes her head ruefully.

Dawn McGill: Vickie showed up out of nowhere, with her predatory fake smile and wandering hands. It didn’t take long before she had Adam stumbling to his room with her.

The image of Adam with another woman, even if manipulated, sends a fresh wave of pain through Ginny’s heart. She stares straight ahead.

Dawn’s shoulders slump.

Dawn McGill: I didn’t expect Vickie to show up, but the end result was the same. They went to his room, and I… I filmed everything.

Ginny’s mind races, trying to reconcile this new information with the betrayal she’d felt for the past six weeks.

Ginny Van Lear: That it?

Dawn McGill: Yes.

A heavy silence falls over the truck.  Ginny’s facial expression doesn’t change.  She remains facing the front windshield with a numb expression on her face.

Finally, she responds.

Ginny Van Lear: Get out.

Dawn’s eyes widen.

Dawn McGill: Ginny, please-

Ginny’s head whips towards her and anger flashes in her eyes.

Ginny Van Lear: I SAID GET OUT!  I don’t EVER want to see your face again, you hear me?

Dawn nods slowly.

Dawn McGill: Okay.

She opens the truck’s passenger door.

As Dawn steps out, she turns back one final time, her voice is thick with emotion.

Dawn McGill: I’m so sorry, Ginny… for everything.

Ginny doesn’t respond, her gaze fixed straight ahead as she yanks the gear shift into drive. The truck peels out of the parking spot, leaving Dawn standing alone, a solitary figure framed by the dust kicked up in Ginny’s wake.

Dawn McGill: Good one, Dawn.

She leans forward and buries her head in her arms against her car.

Dawn McGill: Real good one.

ReVival moves on.

Nick Stuart: Time now for our third bout of the evening and over to Vince Howard we go.

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

The lights dim as the opening bars of 49 Winchester’s “Leavin’ This Hollar’ play over the sound system.

Seconds later, 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.

Vince Howard: INTRODUCING FIRST! Hailing from Warrensburg, Missouri, standing six feet, four inches tall and weighing in at two hundred and twenty six pounds…AAADAAAM EEEEEELLIIIIISSSS!!

Sunny’s eyes are red and welling up as she takes a swig from a bottle of Southern Comfort and sways on the stage as Isaac Gibson’s vocals come on over the sound system.

”Well, I can feel it changin’ in every moment, every hour – Lives start rearranging, and the sweet things all turned sour…”

Adam Ellis comes out on stage next. His long hair has been buzzed short and he has a short, stubbly beard, He wears full black wrestling tights with black boots.

“Tried to take one for the team – and stick around
Try to make things what they should be – But I can’t, not in this town.”

Adam slowly follows Sunny down the ramp towards the ring.

“So I’m leaving this holler
Leaving the heartache
And I’m leavin’ the way things used to be…”

Adam and Sunny reach ringside. Adam rolls up onto the apron…

“I will not be returning
My spirit is still yearning
For a chance at being happy, Lord, and free…”

…while Sunny walks past the broadcast table where Nick Stuart and Richard Parker are.  She glares hard at Richard as she passes by and then climbs into the ring.

“And those chains they use to bind me
I’ll break ’em off and find me a lover who will never let me down…”

Adam follows Sunny into the ring and goes to the southeast corner, leaning back on the turnbuckle and focusing on the match. Sunny stands at the northeast corner… seemingly very emotional tonight.

“Well, a brand-new start and a clean-washed heart
And I’ll be good to go
Well, they say that you can’t keep a good man down
I’m skippin’ town.”

The song ends and Adam stretches out in the corner.

Nick Stuart: A fresh haircut and new gear? Adam Ellis looks like a different man tonight.

Richard Parker: Looks like a man that’s been through the wringer a few times Nick, and as for Sunny…

Ellis’s manager hears her name being mentioned and shoots a look of disdain towards the announce desk.

Richard Parker: she-uh, is…here…as well. Looking-

Nick Stuart: Do yourself a favor and don’t finish that sentence, partner.

Vince Howard: AND HIS OPPONENT! Hailing from Death Valley, Nevada! He stands six feet, five inches tall and weighs in at two hundred and eighty pounds…AAAALEEEEEX…DEATHWISH. SSSSTRRRRYYYYYKEEEEER!!

The lights in the arena dim and begin to flicker. The opening riffs to “You Only Live Once” by Suicide Silence begins to play. Alex “Deathwish” Stryker steps out onto the stage, you can barely make him out as his cold and dead stare is scanning the crowd with a smirk on his face. The lights illuminate more and his silhouette shines to the back of the stage. He walks slowly down to the ring tilting his head.

At the lyrics “You only live once, so just go fucking nuts” he picks up the speed sliding into the ring. He sits on his knees, putting his head down in the center of the ring before lifting his body up with his hands in the air. He looks down at the hardcam with a cold dead stare tilting his head.

He stands up walking toward the hardcam ropes and hangs one of his arms over them while smirking, readying to unleash utter chaos.

Nick Stuart: It’s been a bumpy start for Stryker since debuting back in October, can he pick up his first victory against the MVW stalwart tonight?

Richard Parker: Well if anyone has a death wish it’s Adam Ellis…I’d say the odds are in the PRIME rookie’s favor. Stryker’s gonna grant that wish for him!

Stryker retreats to the northwest corner while Adam rocks in the opposite, eyes fixed on the floor as he mutters something under his breath. Sunny moves towards her charge, calling out to him and drawing his attention. She steels herself as their eyes meet and communicates words of encouragement out of earshot while pumping her left fist into her open right palm. Adam’s upper lip visibly stiffens as he nods his head while Stryker watches intently, his gaze flicking rapidly between the two as a plan formulates. Referee Elvis Nixon takes center stage and motions to both competitors.

Nick Stuart: Sunny O’Callahan trying to instill some confidence in her client before the bell rings.

Richard Parker: Maybe she should try sleeping with him?

Nick Stuart: Richard!

Richard Parker: What?! It’s worth a shot! Y’know how some people take a blow to the head and lose their memory or whatever, then they take another blow to the head and the problem fixes itself! Maybe a good screw is just what the doctor ordered!

Nick Stuart: You being a commentator is a mercy on the world Rich-

With his back still to Nixon as the referee beckons him, Ellis doesn’t notice the flurry of motion as Stryker charges out of his corner across the ring.

Nick Stuart: -hey, hey, look out! Stryker’s not waiting for the bell!

A startled shriek escapes Sunny’s throat as Adam’s eyes bug out and he suddenly feels himself sandwiched between the turnbuckles and the full 280lbs force of a big splash from Stryker! Nixon starts hollering and quickly intervenes as DeathWish follows up with rapid forearms to the back of the head and neck of Ellis who crumples straight to the mat. Nixon throws his arms around Stryker’s waist and tries to force him back as DeathWish connects with two stiff kicks to the same area, prompting Ellis to cover up at last. Finally pulled away amidst a chorus of boos from the fans in the arena, Stryker holds his hands up and barks at the referee with a bell-ringing gesture as Nixon shoves a finger in his face and chews him out.

Nick Stuart: Referee Elvis Nixon doing his best to control the situation here, what a cheapshot by Stryker!

Richard Parker: Ellis needs to focus up! And nothing helps a man focus more than-

Nick Stuart: Don’t you say it..

Richard Parker: ……THE NOOKIE!!

Nick’s microphone picks up the slap as he facepalms himself while Nixon orders Stryker back to his corner and returns to Ellis, asking if he’s okay to compete. Adam holds his neck, wincing from the surprise attack, and meets the referee’s gaze with the slightest of nods. At ringside, filled with fury and visibly tearing up, Sunny screams obscenities across the ring at a grinning Stryker as Ellis pulls himself to his feet. Nixon repeats the question as Ellis steadies himself using the top rope then clasps a hand over the ref’s shoulder and tells him to ring the bell.

DING! DING!

Nick Stuart: Adam Ellis looks stunned but to his credit he says he’s good to go and we are underwear!

Richard Parker: I’m sorry did you-

Nick Stuart: WE. ARE. UNDERWAY.

Stryker doesn’t hesitate, flying across the ring once more and leaping into the air with his knee raised. Ellis sidesteps at the last second as DeathWish hits the empty corner, spinning him around and driving an elbow into Stryker’s collarbone, then another, but as he shoots for a third Stryker gets his arms up to block the shot and drives his knee into Ellis’s gut. Adam doubles over, winded, and Stryker grabs him by the tights and back of the neck, driving him shoulder-first into the turnpost.

Nick Stuart: Stryker isn’t messing around.

Richard Parker: Neither’s Sunny, listen to that banshee howl!

Ellis lets out a yelp as he hangs between the turnbuckles, clutching the affected shoulder. Sunny O’Callahan slaps the apron, eyes wide and teeth bared as she roars at Stryker who looks down his nose at her and scoffs before grabbing Ellis by the ankles and yanking him backwards. As Adam hits the mat, Stryker wraps his arms around the waist and hoists his opponent into the air.

Nick Stuart: Belly-to-back suplex to Ellis!

Ellis hits the canvas hard, cradling his neck, then feels the point of Stryker’s elbow driven into his exposed abdomen. Pain shoots through his gut causing him to sit bolt upright.

Nick Stuart: Stryker follows up with a guillotine!

Caught in the headlock, Ellis feels himself hoisted off the ground once more as Stryker smoothly transitions into a vertical suplex and dumps Adam back onto the mat before rolling over for the cover.

ONE!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: A count of one off the vertical suplex and look at the frustration in Ellis’s eyes!

Richard Parker: He’s as frustrated as a jilted housewife!

Stryker snarls and thumps the mat before hauling Ellis back to his feet.

Nick Stuart: Show some decorum, will you man??

Richard Parker: Hey, I’m not the one that destroyed their family and tried to take the coward’s way out.

Nick Stuart: …that was low, Richard, even for you.

Stryker presses Ellis into the ropes and shoots him across the ring with an Irish whip, doubling over for the back body drop on the rebound. Ellis snatches the top rope on the opposite side of the ring to halt his momentum, spies DeathWish in a vulnerable position and quickly races back and drops him with a snap DDT! Sunny bursts into cheers along with the rest of the fans as Adam goes for the cover.

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Stryker kicks out before Nixon even counts one!

After getting the shoulder up, DeathWish rolls away but gets caught facedown as Ellis leaps onto his back and starts clubbing him on the back of the head with forearms of his own! Sunny rallies the crowd from ringside, garnering more support as Adam applies a very snug sleeper hold. Stryker’s eyes go wide, spittle flying from his mouth as he struggles to inhale. Without hesitation he starts rocking right to left and rolls over so that Ellis’s back is to the canvas with him laid on top of his opponent.

Nick Stuart: Stryker using his fifty-pound weight advantage to great effect-

Richard Parker: Ellis’s shoulders are down!

ONE!

TW-KICKOUT!

Ellis jerks to the side to break the count and Stryker uses the momentum to continue his roll, maneuvering their combined 500lbs closer to the apron where he’s able to reach out and grasp the bottom rope as his face turns red.

Nick Stuart: Great wherewithal and strength on display by DeathWish!

Richard Parker: I could say the same for the love rat Nick, he’s not breaking the hold!

Ellis refuses to release the hold, applying even more pressure as Stryker begins flailing and Nixon steps in.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

Nick Stuart: Ellis breaks the hold on four! He wanted every bit of that count!

Stryker gasps for air as he rolls out of the ring and staggers over to the barricade holding his throat while Ellis gets back to his feet and accepts the bollocking from Nixon. With the referees back to Stryker, Sunny’s eyes light up and without missing a beat she sneaks around the turnpost and throws herself elbow-first into Stryker’s left knee, eliciting a yelp from the big man as he drops to the mats. Sunny collects herself and scrambles back around to her corner, popping up just in time to see Nixon turning to start a ten count.

ONE!

Nick Stuart: Sunny got away with that one and I don’t think Stryker even knew what hit him!

TWO!

Richard Parker: She’s clutching that elbow though Nick, she put everything into that shot.

THREE!

Nick Stuart: Keep that in mind next time you disparage her, partner.

Stryker pulls himself to standing and glances around expecting Ellis to be next to him. When he sees Adam waiting in the middle of the ring he turns his attention to Sunny around the corner and catches her rubbing the sore elbow.

Nick Stuart: I don’t like the way Stryker is eyeballing Sunny right now..

Richard Parker: He’s no fool!

Pointing threateningly at Ellis’s manager, Stryke begins stalking towards her. The arena erupts into jeers as he rounds the corner, while Nixon breaks his own count and rushes to the ropes yelling at DeathWish to get back in the ring. Seizing the opportunity, Ellis slides out of the ring behind his opponent.

Nick Stuart: Uh oh, look out Sunny!

As she stumbles backwards into the steel steps with Stryker advancing on her, Sunny spies Adam charging around the corner. Her worried expression changes to a devious smile and she throws herself out of harm’s way. Stryker is a second too late to click on to what’s going on and turns around in time to eat a massive spear from Ellis that sends him crashing into the steel steps to a roaring chorus from the crowd!

Nick Stuart: Spear into the steel steps! Stryker is down!

Richard Parker: Get her out of here Nixon! Do your job!

Nick Stuart: As far as the ref is concerned, Sunny is the victim here!

Richard Parker: We really need to start assigning refs to the floor…

Shaking off the cobwebs, Ellis pulls Stryker to his feet and rolls him back into the ring. DeathWish clutches his gut, rolling away from Adam as he hops up onto the apron, glances at the top rope and starts to climb the northeast turnbuckles.

Nick Stuart: Ellis going up top…

He waits until Stryker finds his feet and flies through the air with his opponent’s back still to him, driving him back into the mat with a flying shoulder block to the spine. Stryker howls in pain as he hits the canvas. Ellis scuttles over him for the cover, hooking the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: Kickout at two and Ellis is back on the offensive.

Richard Parker: Rats are notoriously resilient.

Ellis grabs Stryker by the head and pulls him up, only for DeathWish to hook the leg and neck and pull him back down into a pin.

Nick Stuart: Stryker with the roll-up!!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!!

Nick Stuart: Kickout by Ellis! That was too close!

Richard Parker: Closer than lovers in the night!

Nick Stuart: You are incorrigible.

Richard Parker: The only thing I encourage are core family values, Nicholas.

Another facepalm resonates through the mic as Stryker rolls off of Ellis and retreats to the northwest corner to pick himself up, still favoring his midsection. Ellis makes it to one knee before he hears a roar and looks up to see Stryker charging and barely misses the knee strike attempt before grabbing Stryker’s tights, kicking the back of the same knee Sunny targeted and pulling DeathWish back down into another cover.

ONE!

Nick Stuart: Kickout with authority!

Both men shoot to their feet, frustration etched on both their faces. Stryker swings wildly looking for a lariat and catches thin air. Ellis ducks under and hooks the arm, throwing his legs up and hooking Stryker’s other arm before planting him with a crucifix driver. Stryker’s head spikes the canvas and he flops onto his belly again. As Ellis gets to his feet however he hears a surprising roar from the crowd and looks to Stryker, shocked to find Alex already on his feet and roaring gutturally as he fires off another shot.

Richard Parker: Lariat connects!!

Nick Stuart: My God!! Alex Stryker just ate that crucifix driver and got right back up!!

After a short respite, both men begin to stir. As they reach all fours they lock eyes with one another and furrow their brows, launching into a hockey fight as they get back to their feet! They exchange several shots, riling the crowd up before a chorus of boos echo out as Stryker thumbs the eye of Ellis. Staggered, Adam feels himself hoisted up and planted with a huge spinebuster!

Nick Stuart: Cover!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Ellis gets the shoulder up and seconds later feels himself being lifted once more. A wry grin plastered across Stryker’s face shows his intent as he whips Ellis off the ropes and misses another lariat attempt. Adam shoots past him, hitting the ropes again and dropping to a knee as Stryker switches to a clothesline attempt. Ellis captures the arm, spins around, hooks the neck and drops Stryker.

Nick Stuart: Arm trap neckbreaker! Ellis goes for the cover!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: And Stryker kicks out before the count again!

Richard Parker: He’s on the warpath tonight!

Undeterred, Ellis pulls Stryker to his feet and connects with a European uppercut, rocking his opponent. Stepping back, he cocks his leg and delivers a superkick, but Stryker recovers in time to lean out of the way and grabs Ellis, shooting him off the ropes once more. On the rebound Stryker drops to the mat and Ellis hops over him, running into the ropes again as Stryker shoots to his feet and hits the opposite ropes. Both big men try to stall the other’s momentum with the same thing in mind…

Nick Stuart: Double crossbody!! What impact!

The smack of flesh echoes out over the first few rows and both men lay splayed out on the canvas, clutching their midsections. Sunny hollers at Ellis from ringside as the fans fervently cheer on the action. Stryker’s back heaves as he fills up on air, while Adam holds one hand over his chest, teeth gritted, the other hand rising shakily and forming a fist.

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!

Nick Stuart: Ellis rallying the crowd after that brutal lariat!

Richard Parker: More like a la-rat, given the target, amirite?

Richard’s smug remark goes unnoticed as Ellis pumps his fist, his arm shaking as the crowd rallies behind him. The cheers quickly turn to boos however as Adam feels a hand clamp around his wrist and looks up in time to see the sole of Stryker’s boot come down hard over his nose. A second stomp finds its mark, and the third leaves him dazed allowing Stryker to drag him over to the northeast corner.

Nick Stuart: Adam Ellis might be driven by redemption but Stryker is determined to pick up that first victory!

DeathWish releases Ellis and climbs the turnbuckles, perching like a gargoyle before standing up to his full height.

Nick Stuart: What could Stryker have in mind here?

Richard Parker: I don’t know, but I bet it doesn’t involve her!

Richard gestures to Sunny who hops up on the apron, grabbing the top rope and causing Stryker to lose balance. Alex drops to his haunches to steady himself, yelling at Nixon who’s already by the ropes warning Sunny to step away. While the two are arguing, Stryker fails to notice Adam Ellis getting to his feet.

Richard Parker: Get her the hell out of here!

Nick Stuart: Sunny causing the distraction, allowing Ellis to recover!

As Nixon threatens to ban Sunny from ringside she spots Ellis rising behind the ref and holds her hands up apologetically, hopping back off the apron and stepping back. Caught off guard, Stryker yells and wobbles as a right hook from Ellis catches him in the ribs and causes him to drop to a seated position on the top turnbuckle. Ellis takes a step back then jumps forward as though he’s going to connect with a high knee strike, only to pivot and catch Stryker square on the jaw.

Nick Stuart: Superman punch!!

Stryker’s head snaps to the side, his eyes rolling upon impact. He slouches to the side and jolts as he’s about to fall, instinctually grabbing the top rope to keep from falling. Ellis furrows his brow and sets his feet on the bottom rope and hooks Stryker’s neck.

Nick Stuart: Ellis trying for a suplex!

Richard Parker: While O’Callahan tries Alex Stryker’s patience!

As Ellis stiffens and tries to lift Stryker he catches a fist to his ribs, followed by another that slackens his grip. As he stumbles backwards Stryker catches him with a boot to the gut, causing Ellis to stagger back even more. As dazed as he is he stands up, hops from the middle rope up to the top and dives forward head over heels!

Nick Stuart: Cannonball!!

Stryker flies through the air and slams into Ellis. The crowd erupts however as Adam catches him around the waist, holding him in place as Alex’s weight and momentum drives Ellis back into the ropes where he rebounds and finds his footing, stopping in the middle of the ring with Stryker still in his arms, his face red and showing tremendous strain.

Nick Stuart: Ellis catches Stryker in mid-air! My God! Is he setting up for an inverted belly-to-back mat slam?

Richard Parker: What a clash of styles!

Nick Stuart: Beg your pardon? They’re not-

Richard Parker: Eh, if you know, you know.

Ellis steps over Stryker’s dangling arms and drops Alex several inches to adjust his grip around the thighs. Instead of executing the slam however, Ellis transitions into a submission hold, with a knee driven into the spine for good measure.

Nick Stuart: No! Not the mat slam! He’s locked in his elevated Boston crab!

Richard Parker: Incredible show of strength from Adam against the two-hundred-eighty pounder! Imagine how he must have thrown Vickie Hall around the bedroom!

Stryker’s pained howls echo against the mat as Adam steels his jaw and fights to keep his balance. Sunny throws herself against the apron, leaning half her body under the bottom rope and yelling more encouragement at her charge. Stryker grabs a fistful of canvas and lets out a defiant roar, then raises his other hand…

Nick Stuart: Stryker’s gonna tap! He’s gonna tap!

…and plants it into the mat, using the momentum to roll over onto his back. Ellis stumbles and rotates with Stryker, but maintains his hold on the legs. Stryker shoots him a furious look, only for Ellis to roar back in his face and flip him back over onto his belly!

Nick Stuart: Adam reverses back into position!

Richard Parker: He knows all the positions!

Stryker digs his fingers into the mat and looks to the bottom rope just beyond his reach. As he reaches out for it however he feels Adam’s knee press into his spine once again, and the pressure becomes too great.

Tap Tap Tap!

Nick Stuart: Stryker taps! It’s over!

DING! DING! DING!

The bell rings and Ellis releases the hold. Stryker flattens out, clutching his spine and burying his face into the floor. Adam releases the hold and stumbles into the ropes, almost in disbelief, as “Mama Didn’t Raise No” by Garrett Briggs hits the PA.

Nick Stuart: Ellis picks up the victory! He’s been through Hell and back and tonight he shows the world he’s ready to take the necessary steps to becoming a better man!

Richard Parker: Which is more than you can say for Miss O’Callahan! Stryker didn’t stand a chance with that witch prowling around the ring!

Speaking of witch, Sunny slides into the ring as Stryker rolls to the outside to collect himself. Still hanging off the ropes, Adam suddenly feels her full weight thrown against him as she latches on with her arms and legs wrapped around him, giving him the biggest hug she can possibly manage. Taken by surprise at first, Ellis’s expression turns from a frown to relieved joy as he realizes the who and what and reciprocates the hug, to even louder applause from the audience.

Nick Stuart: What a feel-good moment for Adam and Sunny!

Richard Parker: Yeah, yeah, can we get on with the f*****g show already?

Nick Stuart: Well, funny you should say that Richard…folks we’ll be back with more action shortly, stick around!

ReVival moves on.

[Pre-recorded]

A movie theatre on a lonely city street, a run-down flickering marque that still manages to light up tonight’s world premiere:

Dead Before He Died:
The Rob Williams Story

The theater’s done up in full Hollywood glamour for a premiere. A red carpet trails from the front door, protected on both sides by red velvet stanchions.

Only there’s nobody here. It’s empty, a party with no attendees, a welcome with no visitors. Until the guest of honor shows.

Rob Wiliams’s shadow, much like the man, is larger than life. Cast out into the vast emptiness of the lobby. The stillness is uncomfortable and the silence is so loud that you can almost hear the laughter and tears from the ghosts of moments shared in this shuttered sanctuary. In Rob’s weather-worn hands is a crumpled note, a fancy cream paper with embossed letters all in gold:

World Premiere

All of the movie posters have been stripped from the walls. In place of Casablanca is an advertisement for Rob Williams vs. Ebola Zaire. Where Paul Newman once proclaimed, “Sometime’s nothing’s a real cool hand,” you get Rob Williams wrapped in barbed wire on the cover of UCW’s Homecoming. And on and on, almost every piece of notable marketing from Rob’s career adorn the walls.

Ever the villain, Rob pulls one last drag from the cigarette hanging from his lips before dropping it on the carpet. It sizzles under the heel of his snakeskin cowboy boot.

Sebastian Gold (V.O.): Almost showtime. Come on, slowpoke. You’ll be late for your own funeral but probably still be the first one there.

When he hears Gold’s voice, Rob’s eyes go wild. Primal. He barrels into the theatre. He’s two-hundred and forty pounds of apex predator and he smells blood in the water.

Sebastian Gold (V.O.): Remember how it was? You remember those days? Dude, nobody could tell you shit.

The doors of the theatre nearly come off their hinges as Rob explodes through them with violent intent. All the lights are out, but the screen is lit. Rob is gutshot- stopped dead. The room spins and the floor is quicksand.

A panoramic shot of Charlotte and Rob in an ECCW ring. He’s holding up the United States title and her arm. It’s so much more than that, though. This was the beginning. They had each other. They had money like they didn’t know existed. They had everything they had ever thought they wanted. But it’s something more than any of that which paralyzes Rob. They still had hope.

Sebastian Gold (V.O.): My brother and I’d watch you in ECCW. I was a small, bullied kid who thought you were the coolest guy on the planet.

The screen cuts to Williams power bombing The Massacurist through a flaming table. Rob and Reggie Rivid run amock through some nameless tag team. A wide shot shows a young Williams diving through the air at Marcelo Ford. It ends with Williams pinning Jimmy “Superfly” Steele – freeze frame.

Sebastian Gold (V.O.): Nobody fucks with Rob Williams. I figured if I acted like you, then nobody would fuck with me. Loosened plenty of my classmates’ jaws in your honor. That didn’t stop the bullying, mind you. Just made it mutual. Still, cheesy as it sounds, you inspired me to stick up for myself. Thank you. I’m sure you hated every word of that.

The screen abruptly cuts to black and then… and then its tight shot from behind Williams that catches Charlotte walking away at ReVival 59. Beautifully cut and professionally shot, this isn’t PRIME footage. Gold planted someone.

Sebastian Gold (V.O.): But I’m telling you this so you understand: I really did call her to help you.

A figure in the back of the theatre stands.

Sebastian Gold: Only thing I told Charlotte was that you were in pain. That was enough for her to show up for you. She actually wanted to help you, old man, but you weren’t strong enough to let her. So hate me all you want. It’s not my fault you blew it.

It hurts cause it’s true.

Rob Williams: You think you know a fucking thing about being strong, kid? What, you stopped turning tricks for dope, and all of a sudden you got some fucking answers? Look at you. You’re pathetic. I’ve got underwear that have worked out more shit than you. Live a little bit, you fucking prick, and you’ll see that it ain’t all black and white.

Rob moves towards Sebastian.

Rob Williams: I’m going to rip your head off and shit down your throat.

Gold’s hands become fists. He’s ready to charge but restrains himself.

Sebastian Gold: WOW. You know, you’ve only got so many breaths left, old man, I’m honored you’re wasting so many on me.

Sebastian moves closer to Rob, keeping an even pace.

Sebastian Gold:  And I’m about done wasting my breath on you so let’s cut to the chase. You. Me. Colossus. Maybe your last show.

He extends his hand to the Legend.

Sebastian Gold:  Do your worst, old man. It won’t be enough to break me.

Rob Williams: Break you?

Rob scoffs, but grabs Sebastian’s hand and grips it tight. He pulls the younger wrestler in close.

Rob Williams: I don’t want to break you, you fucking idiot. I just want to hear the pop.

Sebastian Gold: The pop?

Rob Williams: That’s the noise it’s going to make when I pull your head out of your ass. You need salvation from your own ego, kiddo. I’ll see you at Colossus.

For a moment they stay dangerously close, a physical strike imminent from either warring party, squeezing the hell out of each other’s hands. Finally, they both release. Williams sneers at Sebastian and begins backing up.

Rob Williams: If you don’t bring the Gold that lit up that defenseless fan, don’t bother coming. Don’t need all this theatrical shit.

With that, Rob turns his back and leaves. Sebastian yells at the receding figure.

Sebastian Gold: W-wait, the guy who did that wasn’t me! I lost control, I’m not that kinda guy you hear me! Hey!

It’s useless. He’s gone. Sebastian collapses into a chair, his entire body untensing.

Sebastian Gold (mumbling): ****Shit.

Sebastian rubs his temples then looks up at the screen. The giant Rob Williams onscreen stares back.

Sebastian Gold: What made me think I could save you…

He kills the power on the projector. Lights out.

ReVival moves on.

The door to the Whorehouse is locked, barred, chained, and locked again from the inside. Fred Dick stands on his tippy-toes, looking through a peephole in the door.

Daytona Diamonds: See anything, Freddy?

Daytona stands by the bar, a bottle of whisky and a makeshift catapult ready to fling it at the ready.

Rob Williams has Harley Walker in a similar, but much larger catapult.

Fred Dick: Nah… but they comin’ big dawg. Trust me on that. Lawd yes. Nobody just lets somebody piss on dey dead daddy and not show up with a posse. They comin’, I know it in my stankin’ ol’ guts.

Fred slowly, ominously turns his head towards Daytona.

Fred Dick: They comin’.

***

Vae Victis sits staring at the doorway to their locker room. Kerry Kuroyama, Scott Hunter, Henry Keyes, RIA and Helen, all waiting.

Scott Hunter: Why are we all here? Must be something particularly egregious.

Scott turns his head toward Ria…

Scott Hunter: I just learned that word.

…and winks.

Kerry Kuroyama: Clay said we needed to be here.

RIA: Also said to meet ‘im here thirty minutes ago, but whatevs…

Just as the words leave the Psychoberry’s lips the door swings open angrily and The Behemoth storms through. He throws his jacket down and pulls his shirt off in one fluid motion. He launches his shirt right behind the jacket. Clay slams his bag into the locker, as all eyes in the room are transfixed on him. He spins, taking the cue from the room.

Clay Byrd: Grab yer’ shit. Chair, pipe, whatever the fuck ya want.

Hunter walks up to Byrd with his arms outstretched.

Scott Hunter: Woah, woah. Where are we even headed?

The Behemoth snarls and grabs Hunter by the shirt collar. He pulls him close, almost seething.

Clay Byrd: He pissed on my dead Daddy’s grave.

***

Fred continues to peep out the door of the Whorehouse.

Fred Dick: Now, you boys remember the plan.

Daytona Diamonds: Change of plans.

Fred swiftly turns his head.

Daytona pulls a harpoon from under the bar of the Whorehouse.

Daytona Diamonds: Found this bad boy.

Fred Dick: Smart thankin – that’ll scare the shid right out of their buttho’ and straight into their pant.

Daytona nods, taps his noggin.

Rob Williams: So he gets a fuckin’ sick harpoon, and I’m stuck with blacked out Harley here?

Daytona Diamonds and Fred Dick: Yup.

Rob Williams: I’m gonna remember this shit.

Fred Dick: You just remember to launch Harley at the first mothafugger that busts through the damn door.

Rob Williams: Don’t tell me what to do.

Fred sighs.

Fred Dick: Remember to launch Harley at the first mothafugger that busts through the damn door, please.

Rob nods.

Fred nods.

Daytona nods.

***

Scott Hunter: Helen?

Hunter stands in the center of the room with a clipboard, preparing for battle and running down some type of readiness checklist. “The Kraken” Henry Keyes scritches the ears of his beloved white tiger before giving her some snackin’ steak.

Henry Keyes: Check.

Scott, very pleased, makes a check.

Scott Hunter: Baseball bat?

RIA holds the bat towards Hunter and smirks.

RIA: Check.

Scott Hunter: Giant chain around Helen’s neck?

Hunter points to the large tiger in the room with a steel chain leash. Her belt-sized black leather collar has very punk rawk metal studs poking out.

Helen: purrs, which sounds like a tank engine

Hunter turns towards Kerry.

Scott Hunter: Tennis racket?

Kerry Kuroyama: Check.

Scott turns towards Clay and nods.

Scott Hunter: Matching outfits?

Kerry Kuroyama: What?

Scott Hunter: Nevermind. (Scott smudges that last one from the list) We’re ready.

The impatience almost breaks him, but Clay nods and shoves the doorway open as Vae Victis pours forward into the hallway armed for war. The Behemoth leads the way, Kerry to his right, Keyes and Helen on his left. Ria and Hunter take the two edge positions as VV walks down the hallway in a literal V.

***

Fred Dick is antsy. He paces back and forth behind the door.

Finally, it occurs to him.

Fred Dick: Wait just a damn sec’, here. How we gon’ launch Harley, launch whiskey, and shoot a harpoon at these mothafuggers if they can’t ever get the door open?

Fred starts unchaining, unbarring, and unlocking the door.

Daytona Diamonds: Freddy, y’know, I said that to ya ‘bout half an hour ago, and you said, “I know what I’m doin’.”

Fred Dick: ‘Tona, you saw me let Rob Williams cut my MUHFUGGIN DICK OFF. How the hell you gon’ trust me when I say I know what I’m doin’?

Daytona laughs.

Daytona Diamonds: Shitfire! I ain’t even remembered ’bout that! Hah! Goddang! Freddy, you crazy sonuvabitch!

***

Vae Victis rounds another corner, backstage staff split apart as the swarm continues its march forward. One man takes a moment to step in the way of the runaway train. The New Diamond steps in and shouts at the posse.

Nate Colton: Who are you guys killing?!

The Behemoth’s eyes dart towards Colton, the familiar face quells the rage for a moment.

Clay Byrd: Fred Dick.

Colton’s eyes light up as Byrd and VV continue to storm forward.

Nate Colton: Care if I tag along?

Byrd’s eyes are back forward, eyes on the door.

Clay Byrd: Long as ya want him dead, more the merrier.

Colton nods, handing his bag off to a backstage worker and taking his jacket and shirt off as he falls in line behind Vae Victis. Finally, the destination is in sight. A door with pizazz, style, and grace. There’s Christmas lights strung around, a picture of The Intimidator and Alan Jackson hang on either side. A large suction cup dildo is hung above the door. Loving tender words for Fred Dick are scrawled on a yellow post-it attached to the tip. The V approaches.

***

Fred Dick: Shh. Hear that?

Literally, there isn’t a single, unordinary sound for any of the Whoresmen to hear.

Fred Dick: The winds of violence. They doth approacheth.

BOOM!!!

The V (and Nate Colton) burst through the door and pour into the Whorehouse.

Rob Williams: Bombs away!

Harley goes flying across the Whorehouse…

Over the heads of everyone in Clay’s posse…

And out into the hallway.

Daytona Diamonds: Bombs away!

A whiskey bottle does the same exact thing, except it hits the hallway floor and shatters.

Fred Dick: God damn it, too much arc! We’re oh fer two here… Fuggit! Daytona! Ready the harpoon!

Daytona grabs the harpoon and pulls back as The Behemoth makes his way towards the center of the Whorehouse. The harpoon flies, Byrd begins to charge forward, Kuroyama is waiving his tennis racket, RIA has pulled back her baseball bat and Nate Colton has found a barstool and throws it. Helen awkwardly paws at and licks the corpse of Harley Walker, but Keyes waves her off, making a yuck face as they turn. Scott looks around for a fern, but it’s the wrong group.

Voice: WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?

CLUNK!!!

The harpoon flies into the wall beside Lindsay Troy and wobbles as she storms into the room, flanked by Dam, Wade Elliott and a gigantic group of Enemigos. The swarm of Enimigos takes up almost all of the empty space in the room as The Boss and Co-Consul of Vae Victis walks to the center.

Daytona Diamonds: LT! How’s it hangin’?

Lindsay Troy: Can it, Daytona. Clay, what the hell are you doing?

Clay Byrd: I’m gonna chop his pecker off and feed it ta him, then I’m gonna kill ‘em.

Fred Dick shoves an Enemigo away, smiles a toothy grin at Clay and points an accusing finger.

Fred Dick: You stupid mothaFUGGER!

Fred smiles wider and prances around in a circle, gestures towards his groin.

Fred Dick: If you were ta feel around down there right now, you wouldn’t find mucha NUTHIN!!! JUST SOME WEIRD LASAGNA!!! CUZ I DUN CUT IT OFF A COUPLE WEEKS AGO!!! DUMB ASS!!!

Fred prances around more, giggling and pointing at Clay.

Clay Byrd: …

Silence fills the room. Wade and Dam share an awkward look. Lindsay Troy facepalms. Rob places a gentle hand on Fred’s back.

Daytona does the same.

Harley army crawls back into the Whorehouse. He reaches out and places his hand on Fred’s groin.

Harley Walker: Don’t call your lasagna weird, Fred.

Harley belches. Passes out on the floor.

Fred Dick: You right. Gotta talk positive about cherself these days. Errbody wanna talk about self-esteem bein’ important and all that, but don’t nobody wanna be about it. So let me rephrase, Clay Byrd. It’s not a weird lasagna. It’s honestly a pretty damn good lasagna.

Fred approaches Clay.

Fred Dick: And if yew don’t get yo’ ace outta dis Whorehouse, yew might end up with a mouthful, HOMEBOY.

Byrd lunges but Dam and Wade grab him from either side, likely saving Fred’s dickless life. Lindsay steps towards the King of Wrong Style.

Lindsay Troy: Shut the fuck up, Fred.

Fred gasps, covers his mouth as the Queen continues.

Lindsay Troy: And whatever all you idiots were planning to do with the fight scene from Anchorman, let’s calm it down.

The room slowly quiets down as Troy waves an Enemigo over to her. The Enemigos murmur, and suddenly something is passed around the room, and finally back to the last Enemigo who walks towards Troy with a bull rope in his hand. She takes the rope and turns towards Fred and Clay.

Lindsay Troy: This is how you handle it, Clay, not with harpoons, baseball bats, and sweet baby Helen.

Helen: purrs again, and nuzzles Troy’s hand

Lindsay Troy: I know, muffin.

Troy reaches down and scratches the tiger’s head while she finishes addressing this wonderful gathering we are all thankful to have witnessed.

Lindsay Troy: Fred’s a dipshit that pissed on your Dad’s grave. You want to kick the fuck out of him? I’ll gladly make it happen, however you want to do it, Clay. You want the rope? You can have the rope.

Fred Dick: Clay’s dead daddy on a pole match!

Clay lunges at Fred again, and is once again held back. Lindsay gives Fred a glare that audibly produces a terrified fart from his butt.

Fred Dick: You right. That was disrespectful. My bad.

Clay looks around the room. He can’t believe this. This guy just says whatever the fuck he wants. He wants to end Fred. But suddenly, he is moved at the sight of the bull rope. A moment of… call it cowboy poetry.

Clay Byrd: Gimme Dad’s rope.

Byrd holds his hand out, and Troy passes the heirloom over. Clay nods to LT. The Behemoth stares at Fred Dick.

Clay Byrd: I’m gonna fuckin’ hurt you.

Fred sneers.

Lindsay Troy: Let’s save it for Colossus.

Byrd storms out of the room, and is followed by the rest of his posse, as the scene fades.

Rob Williams: Wanna talk about blue balls? Fuckin’ christ.

Keyes sidles over to his fellow Co-Consul.

Henry Keyes: …we’re still getting pancakes, yeah?

ReVival moves on.

Nick Stuart: Given the way things have been going between Ivan and Rose lately, you can’t help but think that Ivan and Freeman are relishing the opportunity against her KING cohorts, here.

Richard Parker: Big Daddy Ivan is about to put these young babies to bed.

Nick Stuart: I hate every single word you just said.

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: The following tag team contest is scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing FIRST, 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… 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.

Vince Howard: And their opponents…

“The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir erupts as Ivan Stanislav, Kenny Freeman, and Randall Schwartz emerge from the backstage area. Stanislav and Freeman raise their arms, side by side, roar at the crowd, and pointedly make their way towards the ring. Stanislav points and jaws at several fans along the way as Kenny maintains his focus on Kinetic Innovation. Meanwhile, Randall cheers on his stablemates.

Vince Howard: At a combined weight of five-hundred and sixty pounds… THE RED ARMY!!! IVAN STANISLAV AND KENNY FREEMAN!!!

Stanislav steps over the top rope and thunders into the ring. Kenny slides under the bottom rope. Stanislav raises his arms over his head and bellows at the camera, while Kenny moves to his corner and prepares to begin the bout.

Nick Stuart: Looks like we’re gonna kick things off here with Ingram and Freeman.

Richard Parker: I gotta admit, I like Kinetic Innovation’s style, Nick. A lot of teams would take the opportunity to get the crowd on their side when facing the Red Army, but not these kids. More power to them, not sucking off the crowd!

Nick Stuart: Richard!

DING! DING!

With the bell sounding, Jamaal Ingram and Kenny Freeman meet in the center of the ring and tie up, though immediately Ingram takes the advantage and transitions Kenny into a side headlock. Freeman wisely backs up into the ropes, uses them and his forward momentum from the bounce to shove Ingram away!

Ingram bounces off the ropes and shoulder checks Kenny, dropping him. Kenny scrambles to his feet as Ingram runs and leaps on the nearby middle rope, SPRINGBOARD CUTTER BY INGRAM!!!

Nick Stuart: This one might be over before it starts!

Ingram makes the cover. Hooks the leg!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREEEEEEEEEEE – NO!!!

Of course not, right? No one possibly believed that the match was over there. Though, Ivan had half his leg in the ring ready to storm in and lose his shit if it had!

Ingram pulls Kenny up to his feet, who immediately leaps in the air and drops him with an enziguri! Kenny bounces off the ropes – BUT CORY KENSINGTON SLAMS HIS KNEE RIGHT INTO KENNY’S BACK WHEN HE DOES! Immediately Ingram, back on his feet, wraps Kenny up from behind and delivers a beautiful butterfly suplex!

Rather than keep the suplex for a pin attempt, Ingram releases and stands to his feet. He drops a few boots into Kenny’s abdomen, and tags in Kensington.

Richard Parker: Classic tag team strategy at work here, Nick. Keep the little guy in your corner so he can’t tag Big Daddy Ivan.

Nick Stuart: …stop it.

Cory, the much larger of the two men, steps into the ring and immediately begins driving his foot into Kenny’s throat. Jimmy Turnbull immediately begins giving Cory the five count, and like a good heel, only stops just after four and a half seconds.

Then he does it again.

Ivan is apoplectic on the apron as Turnbull gives Cory a stern warning to cut the shit. Cory does so, but only to bring Kenny up to his feet…

Lift him high in the air for a vertical suplex…

And DROPS him with a brainbuster!!!

Cory looks over at Ivan and offers him a smile before tagging in Ingram.

Nick Stuart: Cory poking the Russian Bear here.

Richard Parker: No way that comes back to haunt him.

Nick Stuart: Ha.

Before Cory Kensington steps out of the ring, Jamaal Ingram climbs to the top turnbuckle from the outside. He then steps onto Cory Kensington’s shoulders.

GIANT SPLASH FROM INGRAM ONTO KENNY!!!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREEEEEEEEEEE!!!

.

.

.

Nick Stuart: NOOOOOOOOOO!!! IVAN BREAKS THE COUNT WITH A BOOT TO INGRAM’S HEAD JUST BEFORE TURNBULL’S HAND HIT THE MAT!!!

Indeed, and just to be a dick, Ivan sends a stiff right jab right into Cory’s jaw that drops him on the apron.

Jimmy Turnbull orders Ivan out of the ring. Ivan orders Jimmy to do his damn job as he steps back onto the apron. Meanwhile, Ingram is still putting work in on Kenny, leaping onto the second rope for an ASAI MOONSAULT!!!

BUT KENNY ROLLS OUT OF THE WAY!!!

Kenny senses that this is his chance to tag out and get a much needed breather. He begins scraping and clawing towards Stanislav, whose massive arm is extended as far into the ring as he can get it.

Nick Stuart: Look at Ivan, Richard! He’s foaming at the mouth!

Richard Parker: God help Jamaal Ingram if Kenny makes this tag!

Kenny reaches his hand out!

SMACK!!!

No, that is not the sound of Kenny Freeman’s hand tagging Ivan Stanislav.

That is the sound of a senton bomb landing flush on the small of Kenny’s back by Ingram, dropping Freeman flat on the mat.

Ingram quickly reaches his feet, drags Kenny by the leg back to his corner, and makes the tag to Cory. Ingram holds Kenny’s leg up, offering it up to Kensington as he steps into the ring, who lays a boot right into the back of Kenny’s thigh, before dropping an elbow on his chest.

Nick Stuart: Impressive tag team work from Kinetic Innovation, I have to admit.

Richard Parker: Couldn’t agree more.

Cory brings Kenny up to his feet and shoves him into the nearby turnbuckles. He begins sending jabs and hooks into Kenny, who –

ROLLS OUT OF THE CORNER???

KENNY ESCAPES!!! CORY TURNS AROUND!!!

A MOONSAULT DROPKICK BY KENNY SENDS CORY REELING BACKWARDS!!!

KENNY LUNGES FOR HIS CORNER!!!

THE TAG IS MADE!!!

Nick Stuart: God help us.

Richard Parker: It’s Big Daddy Time.

Nick Stuart: I am begging you to stop saying stuff like that, seriously.

Ivan’s menace is apparent as he steps over the top rope.

Cory charges Ivan and is met with a MASSIVE headbutt!

Ingram leaps over the top rope and charges towards Ivan. HEADBUTT!

Ivan picks Ingram up by his head with both hands, and THROWS him into the corner.

Kensington comes up from behind and hits Ivan with an axe handle smash in the back! But the Russian Bear turns around, grabs a hold of him, and throws him into the same corner as Ingram!

Ivan isn’t remotely close to done. He grabs Kensington and pulls him off of Ingram! Then, he VIOLENTLY WHIPS Kensington BACK into those turnbuckles, absolutely squishing Ingram, who slumps down in the corner as Kensington stumbles backwards and drops on the ground.

Ivan roars as he scoops Ingram up out of the corner.

He THROWS Ingram out of the ring to the outside!

Ivan is pissed. He sees Kensington trying to reach his feet, and grabs hold of him. With one arm he lifts Kensington into the air.

THEN HE DROPS HIM!!!

AND SHORT ARM CLOTHESLINES KENSINGTON WITH EVERY BIT OF STRENGTH IN HIS BODY!!!

THE IRON CURTAIN!!!

Nick Stuart: No matter how many times I see it, Richard, the Iron Curtain still makes me wince.

Richard Parker: Yeah, well, imagine what Kensington will do when he sees it from now on.

Ivan makes a no-nonsense cover!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

DING! DING! DING!

“The Soviet National Anthem” hits the speakers, and Turnbull raises Ivan’s arm. Kenny steps into the ring and Turnbull raises his as well.

Vince Howard: HEEEEERE ARE YOUR WINNERS!!! IVAN STANISLAV!!! KENNY FREEMAN!!! THE RED ARMYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!

The final bell is barely a memory when The Red Army and Kinetic Innovation’s powder keg finally explodes. Cory Kensington’s boot whistles through the air before crashing into Randall Schwartz’s jaw with a sickening crack – each strike a receipt for the crimson debt Schwartz owes him. Meanwhile, Jamaal Ingram manhandles Kenny Freeman into the corner, driving his shoulder repeatedly into Freeman’s gut like a battering ram.

Ivan Stanislav, the Russian behemoth, reaches for Jamaal with hands like industrial vices – but fate has other plans. A blur of motion rockets down the ramp, the crowd erupting as they recognize the figure.

Richard Parker: (practically leaping from his seat) Sweet mercy, where’s security?! This place has gone nuclear!

Nick Stuart: That’s David Noble! KING is taking it to The Red Army, and they’re here to collect on The Red Army’s tab of pain!

Richard Parker: (under his breath) I’m just going to sit here and pretend I’m not loving every second of this…

Noble slides into the ring like a heat-seeking missile, his fists finding Ivan’s granite jaw with surgical precision. Each blow lands like a firecracker – enough to keep the Russian Bear dancing, but not enough to fell the monster. The chaos spreads like wildfire as Jamaal Ingram launches Kenny Freeman over the ropes, while Kensington hurls Schwartz into the sea of humanity beyond the barricade. Kensington vaults the wall after his prey, only to eat a desperation right hand that earns Schwartz a knee to the solar plexus that folds him like origami. Kenny and Jamaal vanish into the crowd, their brawl becoming a violent game of hide-and-seek through the arena.

Nick Stuart: We’ve got a standoff! Noble and Stanislav, eye to eye!

Richard Parker: Look, Noble’s tough as nails, but sometimes you don’t poke the bear – especially when he’s got all that smoke!

Nick Stuart: I swear, Richard, if you got that slang from Urban Dictionary…

Richard Parker: Wait – what’s Noble playing at?

The atmosphere crackles with tension as Noble backpedals, slipping between the ropes with an enigmatic wave that leaves Ivan’s face twisted in confusion.

Richard Parker: This is… certainly a choice.

Nick Stuart: Looks like he’s taking your advi— HOLY—!

Like a bolt of lightning, a figure in blue jeans and a black hoodie materializes behind Ivan, wielding a midnight-black baseball bat like Death’s own scythe. The weapon connects with Ivan’s left knee with a thunderous crack that echoes through the arena. The Russian Bear’s roar of pain mingles with the sound of his massive frame meeting canvas. Before he can recover, the bat becomes a brutal pendulum, crashing into his broad back and drawing another primal growl from the beast.

The finishing touch comes as the bat’s barrel finds Ivan’s face, painting the canvas with crimson droplets from his nose. As the Russian colossus lies prone, the mysterious attacker reveals their identity, throwing back the hood with theatrical flair.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: (voice cracking with excitement) ROSE! IT’S ROSE!

Richard Parker: She just laid out Ivan Stanislav! Sure, she needed Louisville’s finest to do it, but who’s counting?

Nick Stuart: Look at that smile… That’s not just satisfaction – that’s a predator admiring their handiwork.

Richard Parker: Can you blame her? She just dropped the Russian Bear like a bad habit!

She hoists the bat skyward, bringing it down across Stanislav’s ribs with a savage crack – her rage lending supernatural strength to each blow. Reaching into her hoodie pocket, she produces a microphone and crouches before her fallen prey.

Rose: Ivan… like I said last week, thank you. You’ve done what no one else could – you broke my chains. Those noble principles my father branded into my soul? The ones Jamaal, Cory, and David begged me to abandon? They’re ashes now. You burned them away, and I’ve never felt more alive.

In one fluid motion, she rises and delivers another devastating blow across Ivan’s ribcage. Her eyes bore into him with an intensity that could turn stone to ash.

Rose: Last week, you spewed enough poison to choke a saint. Lucky for you, I stopped being a saint the moment you started lying through those blood-stained teeth of yours. Remember our first dance, Ivan? Colossus 2023. Your pet, Arthur Pleasant, was running wild, and David paid the price. Some leader you turned out to be – can’t even keep your own toys from breaking. I call that a lack of leadership, which seems to be a common theme around you.

She prowls the ring like a predator, wielding the bat with casual menace before unleashing a devastating swing that connects with the Russian Bear’s face. The impact resonates through the arena like a gunshot.

Richard Parker: Rose is having a bit too much fun with this, she might want to consider what happens when Ivan recovers from this attack.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think that’s a thought she’s interested in entertaining right now.

The Second Coming drops to one knee beside Ivan, studying the crimson pool forming near his face.

Rose: Then there’s your new favorite plaything, Max Kael. Remember when I gift-wrapped his unconscious body and left it at your doorstep? But you couldn’t be bothered to put your rabid dog on a leash, could you? No, you just sat back and counted your blood money while he ran amok, much like you did with Pleasant when he attacked me. Sure, you finally put him down, but only when he became an embarrassment. Some iron fist you’ve got there, Ivan – seems more like a trembling hand to me.

Ivan stirs, only to be silenced by another savage blow across his torso, drawing a guttural groan from the depths of his being.

Rose: I’ve traded blows with your precious army. Kael left his mark. Freeman tasted defeat. And your little lapdog, Alexei? He had the audacity to skulk around my home in the dead of night. My home, Ivan. Where my daughter sleeps. You sent your mongrel to threaten what’s mine!

She explodes into motion, unleashing a barrage of strikes that rain down on the Russian Bear’s body. Each impact echoes with righteous fury as her ponytail whips through the air, her eyes blazing with unchecked rage until she’s left breathless from the assault.

Nick Stuart: I’m surprised the Enemigos aren’t racing down here to put an end to this.

Richard Parker: Something tells me that Lindsay Troy is enjoying this a bit.

Rose: Should we talk about the time you cornered me like a coward? When you nearly robbed my daughter of both parents? For months you played innocent, hands raised, claiming no control. But we both know better, don’t we? Every “accident,” every “coincidence” – they all lead back to you, you magnificent liar. But dragging my father’s name through your sewage? That was your fatal mistake.

Her boot rockets into Ivan’s face, spraying crimson droplets that speckle her like war paint.

Rose: You crossed every line, Ivan. My family. My father’s legacy. My child. Now? Now it’s time I strip everything from you. Piece. By. Piece.

She drops to the canvas, leveling her gaze with the fallen giant.

Rose: Colossus isn’t just another match – it’s a year of hatred coming due. Nothing else on that card comes close to the inferno we’re about to ignite. You want me in The Red Army? (dark laugh) Careful what you wish for, Ivan. No Holds Barred. Winner takes all. If you win, you get your trophy. But when I win? The Red Army becomes mine, and you? You’ll be my property. Forever. You played your games, Ivan, but now it’s time to learn what happens when you’ve crossed every line imaginable. Ask your own mother if she raised you to be this stupid.

She leans in close, her whisper dripping with venom.

Rose: Thank Arina for me.

Rising to her feet, she towers over Ivan as “What’s Up Danger” fills the arena. Her eyes never leave her conquered prey.

Nick Stuart: Well, the match is set for Colossus! Ivan Stanislav! Rose! No Holds Barred, anything goes! Will Rose be joining The Red Army or take control of it?

Richard Parker: She may have made a stand here tonight — and some of the things she mentioned go far beyond the lines that should be crossed in wrestling — but come two weeks time in SoFi Stadium, she may have wished she didn’t sign up for what’s sure to be a massacre.

Nick Stuart: The odds are not in her favor, but I don’t think I would count her out just yet. Still, she’s definitely sent a message to Ivan and she better be prepared for the rage that will be coming at her in two week’s time.

The camera lingers on Rose’s predatory gaze fixed on Ivan as we fade to commercial.

Nick Stuart: Welcome back, fans! It’s been a wild show so far, but there’s plenty of action left! Up next, we’ve got–

Eagles. “Tryin’.”

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

Richard Parker: He didn’t even wait for you! Rude.

The song has barely started when Nate Colton emerges from backstage. Looks like he doesn’t want to wait for his own music, let alone Nick Stuart’s exposition.

He stalks toward the ring, wearing his ever-present blue satin jacket, jeans, a fresh pair of Nikes, and his new shirt, now available at the PRIMEporium, featuring a diamond-shaped C with an N inside, and the caption “SAY THE NAME.”

Nick Stuart: Two weeks ago, Colton picked up a huge win over Jason Snow.

Richard Parker: He also lost his shit over what was basically an accident.

Nick Stuart: It’s been a rough few months for the New Diamond, that’s for sure. One sibling injured, another banned from PRIME, a war with Ivan Stanislav that he barely survived…one has to wonder about his mental state heading into Colossus.

Richard Parker: That state is Wyoming, Nicky. Because it does not exist.

You can almost hear Nick rolling his eyes at his broadcast colleague, right as Colton enters the ring. He quickly removes his jacket and trades it to an attendant in exchange for a microphone.

Nate Colton: Long Beach.

He said the name of our town!

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

Nate Colton: I appreciate any chance I have to come out here and talk to the fans. And I was hoping I had something better to talk about, like a title shot or a match where I could prove just how good I am in this ring. But needs must as the devil drives…and right now, he drives me to talk about Paxton Ray.

A very loud, but very mixed reaction at the Lafayette Bruiser’s name. Judging by Nate’s reaction, it’s way too positive for his liking.

Nate Colton: I know a lot of you like him now. I’m guessing if you do, you only started watching PRIME this year. So you won’t know about names like…Mark Lemon.

A modest reaction from the crowd. There’s a few who remember the incident two years ago, when Paxton Ray hospitalized a PRIME employee whose only crime was being too closely linked to Jared Sykes.

Nate Colton: Or Mikey Battaglia.

That one’s a bit louder; more of the crowd here in Long Beach know that as the family name of the Anglo Luchador. Some of those people remember Mikey, and how Paxton Ray attacked him in the family home last year.

Nate Colton: Expected that. But I also expect a lot more of you will remember the name Jonathan Rhine…

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

Oh yeah. Anyone who’s a wrestling fan knows that name.

And what Paxton Ray did to him.

Nate Colton: But they ain’t who I want to talk about tonight. No…I wanna talk about the Belmont Classic.

Nick Stuart: That’s coming up next weekend! The yearly tournament for rookies, where a lot of future stars have been made–Jay Phoenix, Coral Avalon, and even Nate Colton himself!

Richard Parker: How big a deal could it be, if Ivan Stanislav never won it?

Nick Stuart: I don’t think he’s ever been eligible…

Richard Parker: No excuse.

Nate Colton: That tournament means a lot to me…and my family. All of us who are in the business took part in that tournament. My dad won it, so did I, and so did my sister Jennifer…

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

Good cheer for the MVW star.

Nate Colton: But more than that, it’s a celebration of what wrestling is supposed to be. And two years ago, the same year Jenny ran the table…Paxton Ray shit all over it. He stepped in the ring with two kids who were just trying to live out their dream, and he put ‘em in the fucking hospital. And I know, I know, there’s a piece of him that’s still pissed he didn’t go five-for-five.

Another loud but mixed reaction from the audience.

Nate Colton: One of those kids, Justin Wheelwright, is never gonna wrestle again. Called it quits before he even recovered from his injuries. And we thought for sure Sammy Broadway was headed the same way.

Even louder. Even more mixed.

Nate Colton: I don’t…condone what Sammy did these last few shows. Mind games, sucker punching people out of nowhere…that ain’t the way I do things. But even I understand, Sammy lost everything that night. Sammy loved theater as much as he loved wrestling…Paxton knew that, and he broke the kid’s legs. For no goddamn reason, other than that he could.

Richard Parker: Colton’s airing out some pretty old laundry here.

Nate Colton; Like I said, I don’t condone what Sammy did when he came back. But I get it, y’know? And what happened because of it? Sammy’s banned from PRIME. So is my sister, just ‘cause she was trying to help her friend. And Paxton is still pissing and moaning like he’s the victim. Well, you know what? If he wants to play the victim that goddamn bad–

“They say it’s good to start a story with a tragedy”

“Fistfight” by the Ballroom Thieves fires up, and it’s almost completely drowned out by the response. A lot of people have differing opinions of this man, but all of them are loud.

Paxton appears under the PRIMEView with a microphone in his hand. He stares up at Colton as he waits for his song–and the crowd–to die down.

Paxton Ray: Funny how ya wanna bring up stuff that happened. I got my own list.

Paxton holds his fist out, then sticks out his thumb.

Paxton Ray: Wade Elliott.

The fans let out a cheer as he extends his pointer finger.

Paxton Ray: Jared Sykes.

Another sizeable cheer. Paxton grins, then sticks out his middle finger.

Paxton Ray: Nate Colton.

The biggest cheer. Paxton chuckles at this.

Paxton Ray: Know what list that is? It’s the people who shook my hand after our match.

Paxton continues to walk towards the ring.

Paxton Ray: Where I come from, a handshake means somethin’. An’ t’me, what it means is that we might have our differences, but we understand each other.

Nate continues to stare Paxton down as The Bayou Butcher approaches ringside.

Paxton Ray: I ain’t never backed down from the shit I did. Ya can throw Sammy, Jon, or anybody else in my face, an’ I take it. Because I did what I did. An’ I also never backed down from tryin’ t’get better. T’prove I can be a good father to my daughter despite all that happened. I do what I mean. I say what I mean.

As the Gator finally enters the ring, he walks up to Nate with a grimace.

Paxton Ray: So lemme ask ya, Nate. What did that handshake mean t’ya?

Nate Colton: Wishful thinking.

He levels a sneer in the Murdergator’s face.

Nate Colton: I…wanted to believe you were trying to change. I really did. And when you and Jared shook hands…I thought maybe you had. But then you lost me, because of what you did after Warchamber.

He draws back a little bit…enough to be just out of arms’ reach.

Nate Colton: When you set him up for that goddamn brainbuster of yours. The move where you paralyze someone on fucking purpose. But you didn’t go through with it…and that was your grand gesture. Your big show that you weren’t a monster anymore. Maybe that worked for a lot of people…but not for me.

Colton steps right back up to Paxton Ray.

Nate Colton: Far as I’m concerned, you might as well have put a loaded gun against his head. Now you want us all to applaud you for not pulling the trigger…but if you really had changed, you wouldn’t have picked up the gun in the first place.

Paxton nods, rubbing his beard as he takes a step back from Colton.

Paxton Ray: Yeah. Yeah, I kinda get that. Then again, it must feel pretty easy t’judge when ya ain’t done nothin’ wrong, right? Never let your anger get the best of ya. Never felt the lines blur because somebody pushed your buttons a little too hard.

Paxton pretends to be surprised. He even makes a shocked face.

Paxton Ray: Oh but that ain’t right, is it? ‘Cause I seen ya lose your temper quite a few times. That diamond don’t shine as bright when somebody scuffs it. Like when Ivan hurt your brother.

Nate Colton: Oh, please. Blake spent weeks in the hospital. He could have been crippled. He could have died. Name me a single goddamn person who wouldn’t have done the same!

Paxton Ray: THAT’S THE FUCKIN’ POINT, COLTON!

Paxton’s outburst surprises everyone, even Paxton himself.

Paxton Ray: Fred fucked with me at every turn. He talked about Nora. He attacked me with his goons. He did his best to bring out the monster in me, and he almost did. So yeah, I’d say the fact that he can walk right now is a pretty fuckin’ good indicator of my reserve and patience. But because it’s me, it’s not enough.

Even talking about Fred seems to bring Paxton back to that dark place. He closes his eyes for a moment before continuing.

Paxton Ray: We live in a world where our lives are on the line. A world where it’s dangerous t’know us. The rules don’t apply. We’re angry, violent beings, and for some of us it’s fine. Yeah, I did somethin’ awful. An’ I’ve come back from it. I’ve tried t’prove myself again and again. But some people are allowed to be angry. And some people ain’t.

Paxton breathes in heavily for a few breaths. It seems he hasn’t completely calmed down.

Paxton Ray: I tol’ ya last time. I ain’t ever not been angry. An’ I think you’re the same, but ya lie t’yourself. An’ that makes me even more angry. So ya wanna see me as the angry monster? Ya wanna feel good ‘bout bein’ right? Fine.

Paxton gets in Nate’s face.

Paxton Ray: You’re right. So whaddaya gonna do ‘bout it?

What indeed? Nate’s chest heaves; his face reddens. What little cool he has left dissipates as the Bayou Butcher’s words burrow into his ears.

Nate Colton finds himself at a crossroads. A choice that will dictate his, and Paxton’s, life path going forward.

It is the choice so many have been offered so many times. Understanding, or conflict?

The open hand, or the closed fist?

We could say that Nate Colton makes his choice, here and now…but that’s not entirely true.

He made it eight weeks ago…and he brings it to Paxton’s jaw with all the force he can muster.

CRACK!

“OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!”

Paxton Ray’s face snaps to the side. When he turns back, he’s sporting a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth…and a grin full of teeth.

CRACK!

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

Paxton drives his own right hand into Colton’s face, sending the New Diamond staggering backwards. He charges back in, but gets caught by another perfectly-timed punch.

Richard Parker: That’s it, boys! Use your fists!

Nick Stuart: Nate needs to use his head! What’s he thinking, getting into a brawl with Paxton Ray?! But he’s trying again–no! Colton ducks the swing, and he tackles Ray to the ground! And now he’s really laying into him with those punches!

Indeed, Colton has the advantage with both men on the mat, but it doesn’t last for long. For all the speed and ferocity of his punches, he just can’t match the damage that Paxton can do. It isn’t long before blood spills from Colton’s mouth, with another cut forming on the side of his head.

Nick Stuart: These two are out of control–again!

Richard Parker: I know! All we’re missing is that singing guy!

Nick Stuart: Are you disappointed?

Richard Parker: I mean…a little?

As the brawl continues, a mass of people in black shirts swarm the ring in an attempt to pull them apart. At least we didn’t have to call in Wade or the Enemigos this time.

Nick Stuart: Looks like we’ve got arena security out here to break it up…but one thing’s clear! These two are on a collision course for Colossus!

Richard Parker: Paxton’s always been a killer, and it looks like Nate’s finally become one himself! That fight’s gonna be hot shit in a champagne glass!

Nick Stuart: For the love of God, I beg you…stop talking.

Richard Parker: Not a chance!

Nick Stuart: [sigh] Let’s go backstage, where Angelica Brooks is standing by with the PRIME Tag Team Champions. Angie, take it away!

Cut.

ReVival 60 cuts to the Throne Room, the home of the Universal Champion.

It’s been placed within the lone skybox overlooking the Long Beach Arena, with the throne pointed towards the arena after the first two matches of the evening. Coral Avalon sits upon this throne, Universal championship on display next to him, and he’s in his ring gear since I’mhe’s in trios action later tonight.

He also, for reasons that will become apparent very soon, has the look of a man who has a headache.

He reaches for a glass of orange liquid. You might think it’s whiskey, but it’s actually apple juice on the rocks. He’s not correcting you either way.

Coral Avalon: I’d tell you two that there’s snacks over there in the corner, but the last time someone outside of Bobby came in here looking for snacks, it apparently ended with someone slicing off their own…

He sighs.

Coral Avalon: …Nevermind. (muttering) Children might be watching.

He takes a sip of his drink, sets it down, and stands from his throne.

Coral Avalon: Anyway, I’ve heard your challenge.

The camera pans around as he walks out from his throne and comes face-to-face with the two men he’s talking to. It’s the PRIME Tag Team Champions, the Wise Guys themselves, The Anglo Luchador and Zapp Scatino.

Applause!

Coral Avalon: Tom, good to see you. Zapp, what the heck?

The Luchador nods and sighs at the same time, anticipating what Zapp is going to say.

Zapp Scatino: There he is!  The “O.K.” Coral! You look, uhh….this is a nice, uhhhhh….

Zapp Scatino looks around, swivels his head to and fro and up and down looking for something to compliment.  His eyes fixate on the throne.

Zapp Scatino: Nice chair.  Really adds to the room’s ambivalence.

TAL: Zapp, I don’t think Coral’s here for niceties. You said some pretty inflammatory stuff about him.

Zapp Scatino: Thank you. And you said you appreciated…

TAL: Oh don’t get me wrong, I appreciated that you stuck your neck out for me to ask for something that did not benefit you in the least, but I mean…

The Champion clears his throat.

Coral Avalon: Hey, I’m standing right here.

The King of Conquerors crosses his arms.

Coral Avalon: The way I see it, you…

He gestures to Zapp.

Coral Avalon: …tried to dictate terms to me. And that’s not really how this works. If I answered every challenge levied at me in this company, I’d be in a fatal-twenty-six-way at Colossus.

He pauses, as though counting in his head if that was the exact number of people he’d be up against.

Coral Avalon: And, well… if you haven’t noticed, my dance card is pretty full. Even if I wanted to take your challenge, it wouldn’t be any time soon.

Zapp Scatino: I call bullshit.

Coral Avalon: Zapp, last time we had a conversation, it ended with my foot in your face.

The Luchador moved between the throne and his tag partner.

TAL: Look, I don’t give a shit what beefs, beeves? I dunno. Anyway, bad blood, let’s use that. Don’t care what that situation is. We’re here for the response. I’m here to see if the little token my guy here threw out there is good or if it’s an expired coupon. And I know you don’t wanna speak for Two Books and Beautiful Bob, but…

Coral Avalon: I think you forgot who runs the Bandits right now, Tom. I can most certainly speak for them.

Avalon clears his throat.

Coral Avalon: So, Sleeping Beauty over there…

Avalon points off-screen. The camera follows where he’s pointing to discover that Beautiful Bobby Dean is dozing off on one side. He’s tucked in with a blanket and he’s hugging a stuffed Cancer Jiles doll. You know, the one that calls people a crumb if you pull on the string, that one. He’s even making that ‘honk shoe mimimi” sound as he sleeps.

Coral Avalon: …Well, we’re waiting for his Prince Charming to come wake him up. Obviously, that leaves ‘Ol 2B without a dance partner.

Zapp Scatino pulls TAL to the side.

Zapp Scatin(to TAL): See? I told ya this triple foreheaded prick was gonna dodge us.

Zapp Scatino turns his head towards Coral Avalon.

Zapp Scatino (to Coral): Prick!

Zapp turns back to The Anglo Luchador.

Zapp Scatino (to TAL): He don’t respect you. That prick not only is refusin’ to face you, he’s protectin’ that wormy fuck, Tony Gamble to boot. This fuckin’ guy is who you respected enough to seek out guidance? I’m startin’ to question things here, Tommy.

The Luchador turns to his partner.

TAL: Go ahead and question them. It’s your right. It’s his right to refuse me. Or to not respect me. I don’t care. If I have to earn a Universal Title shot by going through a murder rumble or War Games or even three fuckin’ Dual Halos in a row…..

The faint wisp of an owl in flight glides across the room, noticed seemingly only by the Luchador. It’s probably nothing, but…

TAL: …then so be it. If Coral wants to make it contingent on this tag match with Two Books and… wait.

The Luchador realizes that Cancer Jiles would not deign himself to go for the Tag Titles, and that Doozer still is not really what one might call, well, active. That leaves two options, both terrible and mighty.

One is Cardboard Dan Ryan. Even without arms, he’s a formidable Bandit. The other…

TAL: You wanna replace Bob with Big Hess, don’tcha?

Coral Avalon: Well, I suppose I could have replaced him with Cardboard Dan Ryan, but yes. I propose that we let sleeping Bobbies lie and you meet two Hall of Fame eGG Bandits.

Zapp goes to speak up, but The Luchador holds up a hand.

TAL: I wouldn’t have it any other way. This partnership might have dulled the edges, but I’m not a guy who changes like the wind. I’m still who I was in Wales, challenging Snow. I want to wrestle because that’s who I am. You give me Big Hess? I’ll take him with glee. Same with Two Books. Let’s fuckin’ go.

Zapp Scatino: Bring it!  Big Hess! Big Chevron! Big BP!  Whatever gassy egg fucks you wanna send, we’re gonna crack’em!  And then you’re gonna lose that Universal Championship to my paisan, Tommy. Assumin’ you don’t choke and lose to whoever the fuck before then. And your boy, Tony Gamble? Tell’em I said to go fuck himself cuz he’s fucked too.

Avalon smiles at Zapp’s outburst.

Coral Avalon: Okay, Zapp. I’ll put that on my very, very long to-do list. Some time after taking out the trash, maybe.

He pauses to turn to TAL.

Coral Avalon: Since we’re all busy tonight, let’s set this match – for the tag titles, mind you – for Colossus. If you get through that, then we can have that discussion about the Universal title, because I’ll still be champion.

Then he goes back to his throne, waving the PRIME Tag Team Champions off with his hand.

Coral Avalon: Until then, I’d ask that you keep all of your personal discussions that I can definitely hear outside of the Throne Room.

The Luchador shrugs and nods. Zapp looks as if he’s going to say something, but he catches an elbow to the gut and a nod towards the door from his partner.

We move elsewhere.

“The Fairy” by Ophelia Wilde hits the speakers like a magic spell. Whimsical, mystical piano keys dance across the arena’s sound system.

Faerie-esque lights, multicolored, flickering ballerinas, glide gracefully across the audience seating.

And then?

Out skips the King of Wrong Style, Fred Dick, who is met with outrage-fueled jeers from the audience. He appears to not even hear them. A serene smile, and serenely smiling eyes make up his visage as he skips towards the ring. He appears in this moment almost ethereal.

Vince Howard: From Chicken City, Georgia! Weighing at 305 pounds! The Street Cat, FRED DIIIIIIIICK!

Rather than entering the ring when he reaches it, Fred skips around the ring’s exterior as the jingly, ethereal piano continues to play. He is all at once angelic menace. The violent cherub.

He slides under the bottom rope just as the song comes to a soft conclusion, and moves to his corner of the ring.

Nick Stuart: This has been unsettling.

Richard Parker: Yeah, can’t say this has been my favorite entrance.

The lights in the arena go dark as the haunting melody of “A Darkness In My Soul” by Solid Space drifts throughout the arena. A spotlight hits the center of the top of the ramp while some fog dances around the stage. Soon enough, Anna Daniels appears into the light. She begins a slow walk down to the ring.

Vince Howard: Approaching the ring, from Mount Perdition, Gallifrey! Weighing in at 135 pounds! The Time Lord, ANNA DAAAAAAAANIEEEEEEEELS!

Anna hops up onto the apron, wiping off her boots. She stares at her opponent wearily before finally stepping into the ring. Ashley Barlow goes to check both competitors as the lights come back on.

DING DING

Anna stands a few feet out of the corner and waves Fred on, almost as if to say “Let’s get this over with.” Fred, in turn, shoots Anna the middle finger defiantly while staying stationary. The Muse rolls their eyes and again motions for Fred to step up, verbally saying so. Again, Fred shoots a finger Anna’s way with a loud “FUGG YOU!” Finally, Anna moves forward and snatches the finger, bending it backwards to the howls of pain from Fred.

Nick Stuart: Already, Anna Daniels is looking to break an appendage off of Fred Dick!

Richard Parker: He’s lost worse things recently.

Nick Stuart: I was really hoping you weren’t going to bring that up.

Richard Parker: You kidding?! I have three pages of jokes written up!

Tired of dancing around in pain on his toes, Fred sends a hard slap across Anna’s cheek. The vessel stumbles back, releasing the phalange in the process. Fred keeps up the pressure and sends a stinging knife edge chop across Daniels’ chest! Anna hits the mat hard, clutching at their aching chest. Fred takes the time to posture arrogantly, jawing towards the downed Muse in the process. Fred roughly grabs a handful of Anna’s hair and pulls them up to their feet.

Fred makes the decision to send Anna to the ropes. The Street Cat sends a swooping overhand chop towards Anna! But they dodge to the side and hit the opposite ropes quickly. Fred spins around comically, only to be met with a picture perfect jumping calf kick from Daniels. The King of Wrong Style staggers back, but stays on his feet. Anna doesn’t take long to recover, bounding forward with an offensive flurry of elbows and low kicks.

Nick Stuart: Anna is really peppering Fred with those blows!

Richard Parker: You think the buzzards would’ve liked some pepper when they were eating Fred’s d-

Nick Stuart: Alright, cut it out!

Richard Parker: Or off!

Fred gets just enough of a pause between blows to push Anna off of him. Bum Fardo barrels ahead and smashes into the Time Lord with a shoulder block that sends them tumbling. They almost fall to the ringside floor, but deftly grab the middle rope to stop the plunge downward. Fred makes an earnest attempt to finish the job with another shoulder block to the recuperating vessel. Unfortunately for him, Daniels steps back and, clutching the top rope, clobbers Dick Minus with a gamenguiri. Fred again is knocked even goofier than normal but he doesn’t get time to recover. Anna bounds in and sends Bloodmode to the mat with a signboard dropkick!

Anna convalesces while Fred writhes on the mat in agony. The Muse sends some short kicks to the head of the downed Street Car, humiliating but not without some pain. As Fred gets to his knees, Anna face washes him with her boot. Not once, not twice, but thrice! The second one seemed to wake him up a bit and the third one? Now he was mad. Fred stomps to his feet, his mug just a shade lighter than his jersey, steam practically shooting out his ears. He glares at Anna before tilting his head back to scream.

Fred Dick: BLOODMOO-

Before The King of Wrong Style can finish his declaration, Daniels cracks him upside the head with a roundhouse kick! Fred almost immediately crumples into a heap. Anna wastes no time hitting the ropes while looking to drop the knee! But Fred isn’t as out as first thought, it seems. He sits up, turns, and leans up to bury his head into The Muse’s stomach!

Nick Stuart: I’m pretty sure that headbutt knocked the wind out of Anna. Desperation move, but it worked.

Richard Parker: And at least Fred can still make use of one head.

Nick Stuart: Rich… I’m begging you to stop!

With Daniels on their knees, doing everything to pull in some oxygen to their lungs, the Street Cat pushes himself to his feet, more than a little unsteady. He rears back and slugs Anna with a stiff punch. The way Anna falls, the blow looks like it may have caused a flash knockout. Fred covers!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Fred slowly gets to his feet and starts to rub his Jordan on Anna Daniels’ face, looking to make Bloody Shoes more than the move name. The Time Lord struggles and manages to roll onto their side, with the goal to keep their face from further abuse. Dick reaches down to try to turn them over, but Anna quickly snatches an arm! They try to pull Fred down to the ground, but the heavier man resists, pulling backwards. That struggle lasts for a second before Daniels stops and uses Fred’s tugging to jump to their feet.

With The King of Wrong Style a bit baffled, Anna tries to get to Fred’s fingers for Yubi Yubi! after the abbreviated version early in the match. But Fred is a stubborn Dick and instead sends Anna into the corner with a hard Irish Whip. Little time is wasted by Fred as he crushes Daniels in the corner with a body avalanche, causing the vessel to slump down into a seated position. Fred backs up, running his mouth while doing a poor imitation of an imaginary crossover. He stampedes forward, looking for Kiss The Ring!

Nick Stuart: No! Anna rolled out of the way!

Richard Parker: Good timing there by Daniels!

Nick Stuart: Didn’t I ask you to sto- Oh. Uh, yes! Great observation, Rich!

Richard Parker: You can see why her and Rob Williams worked so well as a team with how she cut Dick off there!

Nick Stuart: Damn it.

Daniels rapidly sweeps the leg out from the dazed Bloodmode, dropping him into the position they themself were just in. Anna jumps up and starts pelting Fred’s chest with kicks. They stop to take off to the opposite corner. Once there, they bounce off and charge forward. They jump up, with Fred Dick covering… for a blow that doesn’t come. The moment Fred drops his guard and leaves his face open, Anna smashes her foot against his temple!

FUCK YOUR HEAD!

FUCK YOUR HEAD!

FUCK YOUR HEAD!

The Muse works hard to position their rotund opponent in a way to make a pin possible. They cover!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Anna doesn’t look particularly impressed with Ashley Barlow’s count, but doesn’t dwell on it. Daniels recovers and stomps away on the fallen Fred, with The King of Wrong Style flopping in an exaggerated fashion after every blow. The Muse stalks the slowly recovering Fred. Once the man is on his feet, they jump into action, grabbing wrist control from behind. They spin Fred around and blast him with a slap across the face!

Nick Stuart: Bitchmaker!

Richard Parker: Might as well figuratively castrate him after he-

Nick Stuart: ENOUGH!

The slap seems to wake Fred up. Guess what? He ain’t happy. He swings a sloppy, but heavy, slap that Anna dodges under. When the Street Cat whips around, he gets a kick to the gut before getting planted with a flowing DDT! Anna gets to their feet, forgoing the cover. Instead, Daniels starts pushing Dick to the edge of the ring.

Fred flops to the floor in short order, groaning in pain on the landing. Anna joins him momentarily. They grab Fred by the mullet and drag him to the barricade, smacking his head off of the steel. Fred flops over like a fish before crawling away from Daniels. As they pursue, Fred turns over, begging off as Anna draws near. They reach down, but ever resourceful, Dickless Wonder grabs Anna by the tights and yanks her backwards into the steel stairs.

Nick Stuart: A sneaky display by The King of Wrong Style!

Richard Parker: He’s doing what he can to survive, Nick! The concrete jungle don’t have no rules!

Now with the advantage, Fred’s swagger shows his growing confidence. He pulls them up to their feet and again tosses The Muse into the stairs. By now, Ashley Barlow is up to six, admonishing Fred for his action while also urging him to get in the ring. Bloodmode shrugs and rolls into the squared circle. On entry, he immediately demands a stronger count from Barlow. She bickers for a moment before turning her attention to Anna Daniels, who’s struggling to recover.

SEVEN!

Anna is on their knees, groggy and in pain.

EIGHT!

They reach a slightly shaky hand for the apron… but collapse!

NINE!

They try to push up to their knees…

TE-NO! Anna slides into the ring at the last second!

Fred stamps his feet, whining to Ashley that the match should be over. The referee shakes her head no, emphatically motioning that Daniels beat the count. A frustrated Street Cat walks over and sends a stinging slap across the back of Anna. They swing up onto their knees, face twisted in pain, back arched. A knife edge chop sends them down to the mat. Freddick drags Daniels over to the corner and leaves them there. He backs off before charging forward.

Nick Stuart: Posterized! That bronco buster move!

Richard Parker: That seems like it might be a terrible idea, but here we are.

Fred slowly gets to his feet before dragging Anna out of the corner. The Street Cat drops a sloppy elbow and stays laying across Daniels for a pin!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

The King of Wrong Style climbs to his feet. As The Muse attempts to recover, Fred levies some slaps across the back of their head. They aren’t vicious blows, they aren’t expertly executed. Fred is just being a dick. Anna stays slightly hunched over for a moment. Fred throws a heavy knife edge chop towards them, but the Merch Tzar ducks and explodes into the ropes. On the rebound, a baffled Street Cat gets driven to the mat with a Crucifix Driver!

Nick Stuart: What a move from Anna Daniels! Fred might be in som- Oh what is he doing here?!

Yes, you know what’s going on. Harley Walker comes sneaking down to ringside, ducking down below the ring apron. Anna hasn’t noticed. They grab the downed Fred Dick and apply the Purple People Breaker (Stretch Plum). Chicken Lollipop thrashes around, howling in pain while trying to find some kind of escape. Walker pops up from the cover of the apron and climbs up onto it. Referee Barlow is quick to order him off of the apron.

Anna doesn’t wait for compliance. They release the submission hold and charge forward, smashing an elbow into Harley that drops him to the ringside floor. The Time Lord isn’t satisfied with just that, rolling outside of the ring. The moment Walker climbs to his feet, he gets sent right back down, thanks to the Interrobang (Brazilian Kick). Daniels climbs into the ring while Ashley climbs out to check on Walker, and to urge him to leave.

Nick Stuart: This Whoresmen interfering nonsense has to stop at some point!

Richard Parker: Well someone’s just gonna have to do something about it.

Nick Stuart: Seems like Anna Daniels might be that person.

Richard Parker: Right now, sure. But let’s be real, Anna doesn’t care enough to do that long term!

As this argument over potential vigilante action continues, Anna approaches the battered King of Wrong Style. Fred throws a sneaky sack tap to Anna! He slowly climbs to his feet before his eyes go wide, realizing that the  move he just used? All it did was likely annoy Daniels. He starts begging off and pleading his case. It doesn’t really stop the Time Lord from offering a counter in the form of a swift kick to the balls. Fred squeals in agony and drops to the mat.

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: Ashley Barlow was back in the ring! Why the hell did Anna do that right in front of her?!

Nick Stuart: I suppose The Muse was just over this whole situation tonight.

The steel chair lies on the mat, and Anna Daniels and Fred Dick both stand over it, arguing back and forth.

Nick Stuart: Looks like Anna and Fred aren’t done with each other, yet!

Fred seethes through grit teeth.

Fred Dick: You time travelin’ piece of dog shid! This is all your goddamn fault!

The Muse scoffs and rolls her eyes.

Anna Daniels: Oh, what the fuck else is new?! “It’s all your fault, Anna!” That’s what everybody says around here. “It’s your fault you’re failing, Anna! The other guy’s just a buzzsaw, Anna! Why don’t you do more to save the universe, Anna?!?” What’s next? Gonna blame us for chopping off your johnson too, you absolute bogan?!

Fred Dick picks up the steel chair, holds it over his head.

Fred Dick: I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHUT A “BOGAN” IS!!!

When a time-traveling smokeshow and a dickless Whoresman are fighting, it’s hard to tell what moment is the crescendo. This is it. This is the pinnacle. The raucous, distorted opening riff of “Man in the Box” cascades through the arena as Rob Williams comes charging from the back. He slides into the ring and steps between his two warring allies. Someone ringside tosses Rob a mic.

Rob Williams: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Everybody calm the fuck down here. Don’t you see? This is exactly what the wrestling gods want. Think about it – few weeks ago they pitted Anna against Daytona. Now it’s Anna against my boy Fred. And why? We’re fucking disruptors and the brass, well, they don’t like that shit.

After a moment, Fred drops the chair. He nods thoughtfully, scratches on his chin. He seems to think Rob is making a good point.

Nick Stuart: The only thing they’re disrupting is an otherwise perfectly good wrestling show!

Richard Parker: Why don’t you shut up? I’m trying to watch my stories.

Rob continues.

Rob Williams: They have their little plans for who they want to be on top: the Ivan Stanislobs, Brandon Youngbloods, and Cancer Jiles. Like spiders, they weave their little webs using us as pawns in their fucking games. But WE Rob points to Fred, Anna, and then himself scare them. That’s right. Look how fucking close we came to ruining their little tag tournament. Fred damn near pulled the Universal Title off the Forehead. And Dayonta just won’t quit winning. Don’t waste good hate. The enemy of my enemy and all that bullshit, right?

Rob holds the circle and three fingers up in the air to Fred.

Fred wipes a tear from his eye.

Fred Dick: That was beautiful, man. I’m totally hard.

Fred sticks his finger through the hole.

The Whoresmen Salute.

Rob turns to Anna and holds up the hole, welcoming her to their multiple-man wolfpack. She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head.

Nick Stuart: Doesn’t look like Anna’s interested in becoming a Whoresman!

Confused, he makes it a little bit bigger.

She crosses her arms and slowly shakes her head again. For once, the boys are stumped. Was Rob’s argument not good enough? No! It’s the children that are wrong! They seem to huddle up to have some type of conversation which may or may not be related to what the fuck is going on. They could be talking about tacos for all we know. After a moment, the two man huddle breaks. Williams strolls across the ring to his former(?) tag partner and makes another hole.

A bigger hole.

A hole the size of Vickie Hall’s giant tunnel vagina hole.

And for some reason, this makes Daniels pause. Now it’s her turn to stroke her chin and give a thought to all of this. Tentatively, she walks towards the massive man made crater of Whoresman diplomacy. She balls up her fist and shows it to Rob, as if threatening to punch him.

And then with gusto, she proceeds to thrust it into the giant tunnel hole. Quite a few times, in fact. The last time she even does a hand puppet!

Nick Stuart: Uh… is she…?

Richard Parker: My god… she’s fisting Rob’s hole.

Nick Stuart: You could’ve said that, literally, any other way, and it would’ve been better.

Richard Parker: Don’t you get it, Nick? Anna’s a fucking Whoresman now! That’s, count ‘em, not one, but TWO peckerless Whoresmen in the fold!

Nick Stuart: What is your–

BEWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARE!!!

“Beware” by Death Grips. You know the fuckin’ score.

Amidst bass so loud it could rattle the stars out of the sky, the sound of a familiar truck horn blares from backstage. Right on queue, the sparkling, rhinestone-encrusted Slut Truck pulls out from the back with none other than Daytona Diamonds behind the wheel. He’s smiling. We’re all smiling. It’s a celebration, bitches.

The Rhinestone Cowboy navigates the garbage truck up and onto the ramp, driving it real slow like until it’s close to the ring. He pops open the driver’s side door and hoists himself up on the roof of the cab. Even without a mic, his voice shouts about the din and commotion, ringing true with two simple words repeated again and again and again.

Daytona Diamonds: WHORES UP! WHORES UP! WHORES UP! WHORES UP!

Richard Parker: Throw your Whoresman salute in the air, Nick! Have some respect.

Nick Stuart: I’m not fucking doing it.

But Rob, Fred, and Anna.

They all got their holes in the air.

The trio leave the ring and hop in the slut truck. Anna rides shotgun. Rob and Fred climb on the back, looking like a couple of filthy rich garbage collectors.

Daytona, like he’s some kind of god damn Burt Reynolds, hops down from the roof and uses his momentum to swing himself back in the driver’s seat. It’s called showing a little athleticism, try it some time.

Daytona slowly backs the Slut Truck back up the ramp.

He doesn’t use his mirrors.

He doesn’t have to.

ReVival moves on.

In one of the backstage areas of the arena, we find Seán O’Neill in front of a monitor showing a replay of the Anna Daniels versus Fred Dick match. The Irishman has the scarf Anna knitted for him in the build-up to War Games around his neck, and makes no effort to hide where his allegiance lies as he cheers Anna on.

???: Nice scarf.

Entering the scene is the Psychoberry herself, RIA. The darkness of Nightshade is gone, replaced with the vibrant brightness RIA typically brings. She moves up next to Seán, eyes going to the monitor briefly before moving to her friend.

O’Neill raises an eyebrow playfully as he smirks at his friend. He affects the accent of a stereotypical portrayal of an old-timey English police officer.

Seán O’Neill: ‘Allo ‘allo ‘allo!

RIA snorts with laughter, glad to see that the previous week’s encounter with Nightshade doesn’t seem to have impacted on how Seán treats her.

RIA: So, uh, sorry about ReVival 59… I kinda let my anger with Kael cloud my judgment. I… My priorities were kinda jacked. Kinda been processing stuff before I decided to come talk.

Seán O’Neill: Hey, no worries, you don’t need to explain yourself to me matey. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about Colossus. The last few months have been a helluva ride – When I reached out to you I was utterly lost. But now when I go out there, and feel that roar of the fans behind me, I feel like I’m starting to get my confidence back bit-by-bit. I owe that all to you.

The Rainbow Riot scoffs before smiling gently.

RIA: Dude, you did the work! I just helped give you a lil boost here and there. And our fans here? They made the choice to support you. They could see this isn’t some bullshit. You ain’t runnin’ a con here. You’re a good dude, a genuinely good person, and everyone can see that.

Seán O’Neill: Well then maybe it’s more accurate to say that we’ve done this together. I know I couldn’t have gotten things turned around without ya. But I know that you’ve not really been able to focus on yourself much as a result. So I was thinking, neither of us wants to sit out Colossus. So what about we go out there and put on a show? You and me, not as rivals, but as friends, and show the world what we’ve learned from each other? Whatcha think?

RIA: I mean, I’ve been tryin’. Any lack of success I’ve had, I ain’t blamin’ on you. Never been a fan of that kinda crap. And we been leanin’ on each other, helpin’ each other out. To me, that matters more.

The Psychoberry pauses, considering the offer made by O’Neill. A sly smirk slides across her face.

RIA: So you wanna tear it up, eh? Show how we’ve grown? I don’t hate it. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I’m kinda digging the idea. Feel like I been a little too focused on the negative outside of Angel lately. Maybe this’ll really do great things for both of us going forward?

Seán O’Neill: Twenty twenty-five will be a fresh challenge for both of us. I’ve got some goals I need to get started on, and I know you’ve certainly got a lot you want to achieve in the coming year. So come Colossus, I figure we go out there, give the fans one helluva show, then you go your way, and I’ll go mine.

It’s RIA’s turn to raise a brow following the last remark. Her look says that a little further explanation is needed.

RIA: Yeah? Just off we go? A wave, a pat on the ass and see ya later?

O’Neill burst into laughter, seeing his poor choice of words have blurred his intent.

Seán O’Neill: I don’t mean we stop being buds, haha! I just mean I’ll get out of your hair so you aren’t having to put up with my stupid arse all the time. Anytime you need me though, I will be there. It would be a shame if the only time the world got to see SurRIA was losing to those stinky Egg Ballbags.

RIA: Yeah, I get ya; focus on ourselves, but stay in touch. Kinda funny if you think about it… Our first match, we were more kinda playin’ around than anythin’ else. But this? I think this could be the perfect follow up. Showin’ each other what we can really do. Kinda fittin’, if ya ask me! Make Colossus a true battle, but one of respect and not anger.

Grinning, the Irishman extends his hand, RIA nods as she shakes it.

Seán O’Neill: No matter the outcome, and wherever our paths lead, I’ll always have your back pal. Let’s show the world what we’re made of!

ReVival moves on.

The theater sits dark as the velvet curtains part way and block white letters drop from the top of the theater box that read:

THE FIVE STAR THEATRE PRESENTS
THE RETURN OF THE PENGUIN

A medieval background pops up. Castle walls, little crimson and white crossed flags, rolling green hills, a beautiful blue sky and a big old smiling sun.

But soon the big old smiling sun was blotted out by the menacing shadow of a large giant dragon flying through the air on marionette strings. As the dragon’s emerald green body turned in the air, the sun caught and shined across the massive Kerry Kuroyama tattoo on its back.

The dragon roared and snarled as it flew through the sky, and small townsfolk puppets appeared, running to and fro across the stage, screaming their little puppet screams as they sought cover that didn’t exist beneath the stage’s sky. Paper streamers of fire flew from its mouth and the thatched roofs on the cottage burned.

Slowly, but surely, the hero arrived. Donning steel armor, a crimson and white tabard, a sword and shield, he stood defiantly on the ground, staring up at the poorly inked dragon. The dragon glares downward at the knight, swooping in for a closer look. He lands on the ground and unfurls his massive wings, the Kerry Kuroyama tattoo gleaming in the sun, looking terrible and menacing and horrible and like it took ages to get just right.

THE DRAGON: I am here for the Five Star hoard, puny knight.

The Knight does a familiar shuffle to the left, and shuffle to the right. He raises his sword high into the air like Meta Knight, but doesn’t say a word.

The dragon laughs and rears its head back, ready to spew forth another torrent of fire, this time on the poor Knight.

However, he has no chance to react, the Knight leaps deftly in the air and slices the dragon from neck straight down through his belly. A cavalcade of colors explode like a pinata in the aftermath, the Knight taking cover behind his shield.

The Knight raises his sword once more and removes his helmet. The familiar lovable, affable, world famous face has returned to national television. One would imagine the cheers in the arena right now are just unbelievable. Decibel levels are being broken, glass is shattering, the place is just going wild.

PIOUS PENGUIN: The Emerald Apex will not defeat Father Don at Colossus. (It is clearly Don voicing Pious Penguin, like, painfully obviously.)

PIOUS PENGUIN: I will return myself at Colossus. Your hero returns home, one year after his debut! Find us in the Winterland!

ReVival moves on.

IS THERE A VV ENTRANCE HERE? IF NOT IMAGINE THE INDIANA JONES THEME TUNE AND THEN THEY ALL DO SOME COOL AND RAD STUFF. CLAY BYRD PROBABLY GOES VROOM IN A COOL HAT, SCOTT HUNTER TOWELS IT UP AND KK IS GRUMPY BUT ALSO BUSINESS BUT ALSO LOVE HIS FRIENDS.

We are cast in darkness, as we await the arrival of the eGG Bandits. There’s a murmuring amongst the crowd.

It starts as a low rumble. A familiar yet unfamiliar guitar solo. And a chant, one that resonates deep in the soul and brings out the crumb in all men.

BAN-DITS!

Oh, no. This is not your mother’s “Thunderstruck”. The lights of Long Beach Arena pulse with this single carrion call, as though the building itself was chanting. Maybe it was. Maybe this place is haunted by the spirit of Dan Ryan’s Pride. God help it, because the Devil ain’t.

No, the Devil is right there in this building.

BAN-DITS!

A single spotlight hits the stage.

There, standing in his full salt-saturated glory and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than a mid-level trios match on the Colossus go-home show, is Cancer Jiles. King Crumb himself. The T-shades a little scuffed. The glorious alfredo hair a little less immaculate than usual. Filled with a level of petty rage so acute that the only way he can feel anything at all is if he superkicked everything that moved tonight.

Fans boo him, of course.

It is Cancer Jiles, after all.

BAN-DITS!

A second spotlight.

This one’s a little smaller, because it’s for Tony Gamble. Small spotlight for a small guy, yet he stands as a juggernaut. His smile permanent and being cast witheringly towards the ring, the PRIME Hall of Famer is a true Bandit, one who continues to forge his Hall of Fame path in his own way.

Fans boo him, too, of course.

It is Tony Gamble, after all.

BAN-DITS!

Then there’s a third spotlight, set between Jiles and Gamble.

No one occupies it.

BAN-DITS!

It’s only when the guitars of “Banditstruck” start in earnest that a man steps from shadow and into the spotlight. He wears a fur cloak with two lion’s heads mounted on the shoulders over the top of his ring gear. The championship gleams conspicuously around his waist in the light of the spotlight.

Fans cheer this one.

It is Coral Avalon, after all.

After giving nods to his fellow Bandits, it’s Avalon who leads the way down to the ring while Vince Howard makes his proclamations.

Vince Howard: Their opponents… at a total combined weight of six hundred and nineteen pounds and a… (long, audible sigh) total combined height of seventeen feet and ten inches tall! First, from Las Vegas, Nevada, he is a member of the PRIME Hall of Fame… HE! IS! TONY! “THE GRRRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNNNN”! GAAAAAAMBBBBBBLLLLLLLEEEEEE!!!

Gamble smiles (not that he can help that particular condition of his) and raises his arms in the air to absorb the boos thrown his way.

Vince Howard: Next… from COOLYMPUS, by way of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania! He is a former PRIME Universal Champion! HE IS THE COOL! HE IS… CAAAAAAAANNNNNNCERRRRRRRR! JIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLEEEEEESSSSS!!!

Cancer Jiles does not smile. He is not the top billing of this team, and he’s probably made a mental note to superkick someone for this slight. Fans boo him anyway.

Vince Howard: Finally… currently residing in Seattle, Washington! He is the KING OF CONQUERORS! He is the PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! HE IS COOOOOOORAAAAALLLLLL AVALOOOOOOOOONNNNN!!!

This one gets cheers.

Vince Howard: Together! They are… the EGGGGGGGGGGGG BAAAAAANNNNNDDDIIIIIITTTTSSSS!!!

Nick Stuart: Just two months ago, Coral Avalon and Cancer Jiles went to war in Seattle for the Universal Championship, and tonight… they are partners against Vae Victis. Do you think that might present a problem for the Bandits tonight?

Richard Parker: I sure hope it does.

The Bandits make their way into the ring. Avalon takes the stairs and walks up to the apron. Gamble slides into the ring. Jiles takes his sweet goddamn time.

Imagine a world where the eGG Bandits are at the top of the world. That’s the world we live in right now. It is Richard Parker’s hell.

Richard Parker: This is my hell.

See?

As each team has a little quick chitter chat about who should start off the match, we end up with some delicate negotiations through complex games of rock, paper, scissors and “spot the egg”. Once the dust settles, we are left with both Tony Gamble and Scott Hunter in the ring.

Both men immediately rush towards each other, perhaps looking for dueling dick kicks, but they just miss each other like passing ships in the night. Elvis Nixon makes a judgment call as both men try to catch their breaths and eye each other up for more shenaniganary and calls for the bell.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: And this traditional trios match is underway! Truly, with such a trios match, could we really claim that we’re in Colossus season.

Richard Parker: I’d like if we celebrated history without having to look at Cancer Jiles, but call me old fashioned in that way.

As Gamble looks to his partners on the apron for advice on what to do next, Scott Hunter dances behind him, like… well… like a hunter circling on his prey. As Coral Avalon tries to be a helpful pal, he points out to Tony that there may be a be-mulleted man just to his back, but as The Grin turns back around to focus on his opponent, he’s met with a flurry of fury in a series of big time punches. Scott Hunter enjoys every moment as he rears back, holding his fist in the air with each punch before making direct contact. Gamble for his part tries to block a few of the blows but the onslaught is too much and he begins to stagger. Hunter sees the dazed Gamble and rolls off the ropes, taking The Grin down to the mat with a brutal clothesline. Hunter then runs over to his corner and grabs his favourite towel, swinging it around above his head, much to the delight of the crowd.

Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter has come here to fight tonight and he’s feeling his moment, his energy is driving him forward right here.

Richard Parker: I don’t know if turning your back on a Bandit to have yourself a little towel party is that great an idea though. These are Bandits after all. You gotta have eyes on the back of your head, and maybe on your shoulders, and maybe on your knees… you need a lot of eyes, that’s the point.

Almost as if Tony Gamble himself had heard Richard Parker’s analysis, we see Cancer Jiles holler at Elvis Nixon, making it clear that he may have injured his knee due to excessive thrusting. Nixon tries to ignore Jiles, but Jiles is very insistent and just as Nixon turns around to admonish Jiles, Tony Gamble drills his fist right into the balls of Hunter. Hunter drops to his knees and The Grin follows it quickly with a picture perfect DDT straight to the mat. Not leaving anything to chance, Gamble quickly hooks the leg, looking to make this a quick one. Jiles yells at Nixon to count the pin, and he turns around, slightly confused about the current situation but dutifully doing his job nonetheless.

ONE!

TWO!

Hunter manages to kick out, rolling back to his feet and pumping his fist in the air as he is provided with sweet words of encouragement from Byrd and Kerry on the apron.

Nick Stuart: The Bandits will take any opening they can, and when you have Tony Gamble in that mix, there is no low that they will not sink to.

Richard Parker: You say that, but our Universal Champion doesn’t seem to quite feel like he wants to endorse the actions of Jiles and Gamble. I mean, it’s false, he’s a Bandit and therefore the worst, but he’s maybe the best of the worst?

Gamble tries to argue with Nixon over the count but Elvis Nixon is having none of it, clearly gesturing it as a two count. Instead of trying to prolong the fight, Gamble walks over to his corner and tags in Cancer Jiles and…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The crowd gives Jiles an incredibly warm welcome into the battle. Surprising no one, this does very little to deter Jiles as he reluctantly shimmies into the ring. He looks over at Scott Hunter, ready to follow through on the damage provided by Tony Gamble but unfortunately for a man who once climbed to the peak of the mountain of Coolossus, Scott Hunter has managed to touch tips with Kerry Kuroyama (not in that way you perverts) and the challenger to the 5 Star Championship enters the ring. Jiles doesn’t seem to be too phased about this, although he’d much rather be beating up Scott Hunter, he’ll make this work. He gyrates in the general direction of The Emerald Apex and thanks to this sensual form of dancing, he gets a big time kick straight to his face for his troubles. If the t-shades were on, a large amount of destruction would have been done to them. Kuroyama hooks the staggered Jiles and lifts him up high in the sky, quickly dropping his knee right into the guts of Jiles. Jiles gasps for air as Kuroyama puts down all of the pressure on a lateral press.

ONE!

TWO!

Tony Gamble enters the ring and kicks Kuroyama right in the back of the head.

Nick Stuart: I think Jiles had enough juice to get out of that alone, but he’s put Tony Gamble to work.

Richard Parker: Kuroyama did not take kindly to the gyration, he definitely isn’t going to take kindly to being booted in the skull.

The Emerald Apex nurses the back of his head as he stands up to face Gamble, Elvis Nixon for his part is gesturing for The Grin to get back on the apron. Not satisfied with waiting for a tag to get his revenge on Gamble, Kuroyama gives him chase, but this provides just enough of an opening for Jiles to grab Kuroyama by the back of the tights and roll him up into a tight and leveraged school boy pin.

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: And Kerry breaks free from the grip of Jiles! Jiles seems rather frustrated though, as Elvis Nixon is now questioning whether he was hoisting the tights.

Richard Parker: Why is anyone even arguing about this, it’s standard operating procedure from the Bandits.

A frustrated Jiles decides he doesn’t want to deal with any of this anymore and tags in the Universal Champion, Coral Avalon. The crowd roars and squeals in delight at the man with a date with Brandon Youngblood coming up. Avalon rushes over to Kuroyama, looking for a mutual yakuza kick style of action, but The Emerald Apex manages to side step it and rest up in his team’s corner. Kuroyama and Byrd lock eyes and Byrd tags into the match.

Richard Parker: And here comes the economist!

Nick Stuart: That… that doesn’t seem right or true.

Richard Parker: Are you saying that the good Lord, Cecilworth Farthington, would lie about these things.

Avalon looks at Byrd in the ring and begins to size him up and he’s giving the sense that actually he would quite like to deal with this challenge. Byrd lumbers over to Avalon in the way you would normally expect from a big dumb cowboy who likes to go vroom. He throws a haymaker in the direction of the Universal champion, but Avalon has enough awareness and energy that he’s able to grab the hand of Byrd in the middle of the flow of the punch. Avalon contorts his body up and over and manages to hoist Byrd into an arm breaker but as Avalon tries to roll through and take Byrd to the mat, Byrd does not want to join.

Richard Parker: The Universal Champion here is looking like a child trying to drag his dad to McDonalds, he’s ripping at the arm but Clay Byrd is refusing to go down.

Nick Stuart: In this situation, you have to wonder if Avalon wants to injure the arm of Byrd in any way he can, take the sting out of that dangerous discus lariat that Byrd is known for.

Despite not going down, Avalon continues to lock himself around the arm of Byrd, locking his grip in tight, Avalon uses all of his force to keep wrenching at the arm and it’s clear that even if he’s not going down, Byrd is starting to feel the pressure of the hold. Byrd closes his eyes and tries to use his free arm to bat at Avalon, going down to one knee as he does so. Avalon keeps tugging and pulling, but Byrd manages to reach over and deliver a strike right into the eyes of Avalon. With his eyes stinging, the Universal Champion doesn’t have as strong a grip on Byrd, and Byrd manages to position himself in a way that slams Avalon right into the mat, finally breaking what was a pretty tight hold.

Nick Stuart: I don’t know if Clay Byrd knows he got the eyes there, but it gave him the breathing room he needed to.

Richard Parker: He’s got a Bandit in the ring with him, there’s no such thing as an illegal move in these situations.

Byrd nurses his arm and uses his good one to pull Avalon back up and into the fight. He takes a moment to measure the Universal Champion and he roars into the night air as he sets up for a discus lariat, but Avalon, although dazed, sees that brutal move coming and rolls through under the lariat and towards his team corner. Jiles for his part doesn’t seem to demonstrate much interest in getting involved in this battle anymore, but The Grin has no such reservations, tagging himself into the match. He looks over to He Who Goes Vroom and notices that he’s favouring his arm, and of course, being the mean kind of prick that he is, Gamble immediately rushes over to Byrd and delivers a big-time shotgun dropkick straight to the arm. Byrd yells in agony as he drops to his knees and Gamble, like a rabid dog, keeps up the energy, kicking the weakened arm of Byrd over and over.

Nick Stuart: There’s never been a weakness that Tony Gamble will not exploit. He’s seen his opening here and he has gone for it. The damage was done by Avalon and now in true Bandit fashion, the attack is getting kept up.

Richard Parker: Jiles didn’t look like he wanted much action from Clay Byrd, he’s been making eyes with Scott Hunter the whole time. Well either that or Kerry. It’s hard to work out what the eye contact situation is when you’re this far away from the ring.

Gamble hooks himself around the weakened arm of Byrd and rolls through, he uses his legs to hook the back of the behemoth’s thighs and locks in a very tight pinning maneuver.  Clay tries to struggle free from the pin but perhaps due to the pain shooting up through his arm, he’s not able to do so. Elvis Nixon sees Byrd’s shoulders on the mat and starts the count.

ONE!

TWO!

Just as it looks like Byrd is about to break free, Hunter throws a towel over the face of Gamble. Nixon looks over to Hunter and asks if he’s throwing the towel in for Byrd, clearly confused by the situation, but Hunter just mumbles something about how it’s really humid these days and his arm slipped to send the towel flying. Jiles tries to protest such a ridiculous situation, but given the typical Banditry that Nixon has seen in his life, he’s not got the most sympathetic ear to this whole situation, if you can believe it.

Nick Stuart: I think it’s a bit rich for Jiles to complain about any bending of the rules.

Richard Parker: Thankfully our talented team of officials has been provided with a high quality and high impact “How to Tune Out Cancer Jiles” course for free. Attendance to the courses has been mandated by Lindsay Troy, I do believe.

Clay Byrd manages to pull himself back up to his feet with his good arm. He sees that Tony Gamble is still struggling with the towel that rests upon his face and he sits and waits, he waits patiently as Gamble flails wildly, trying to free himself from the towel based hell that he currently finds himself in. Byrd looks on as The Grin finally manages to free himself from the towel, throwing it off him and back in the direction of Hunter, from whence it came. The Grin starts to yell at Hunter about cheating in a moment that may have broken every irony detector in the universe. Of course, what Gamble wasn’t counting on was when he turned around, Clay Byrd was readying himself with his good arm. As Gamble turns around to focus his attention on Byrd over Hunter, he doesn’t see the next move coming and his head is almost separated from his shoulder with a brutal discus lariat from Clay Byrd’s non-dominant hand.

Nick Stuart: It’s an impressive man who can discus lariat with both hands.

Richard Parker: Ambidextrous brutality! I love it!

Tony Gamble crumbles to the mat, and Cancer Jiles is about to enter the ring, only for Kerry Kuroyama to run off from his side of the apron and boot Jiles down to the floor below. Avalon looks on, trying to encourage the now very dead Tony Gamble as Clay Byrd drops down and hooks the leg, wincing as he does so, as he did it with his bad arm, the fool. Elvis Nixon does his final checks for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here are your winners via the method of pinfall, Kerry Kuroyama, Scott Hunter and Clay Byrd… VAEEEEEEEEEEEEE VICTIS!

Richard Parker: Huh, the towel was clutch.

Nick Stuart: I’m sure we’ll be hearing about that towel for a while but it’s still a testament to Clay Byrd that he could switch up his strategy and deliver that devastating lariat blow despite the damage done to his good arm.

In the ring, Scott Hunter jumps into the action, hooting and hollering as if he was the one who picked up the victory. Kuroyama for his part gives a respectful nod to Byrd, as Byrd continues to nurse his arm. On the outside of the ring, Jiles just glares at what’s going on, seething at the result and Avalon checks in on Gamble to make sure he’s still alive and that Clay Byrd didn’t just knock his head clean off.

Nick Stuart: A big time win for Vae Victis here tonight, you have to wonder what this means in terms of Kerry Kuroyama’s momentum heading into Colossus. You also have to wonder how the rather frustrated Cancer Jiles is going to take to this situation.

Richard Parker: Today’s a beautiful day Nick, it’s a beautiful day indeed.

The camera fades away on a triumphant Vae Victis, with Avalon still checking on Gamble as Jiles just glares at his fellow Bandits.

ReVival moves on.

A voiceover begins to speak against the sight of Academia Fuerza opening its doors for the first time, with students running the ropes to train.

“Fuerza Pro was founded on the principle of raising up a new generation of pro wrestling…but sometimes, the old guard becomes short-sighted.”

Cue the sight of Xander Azula, one of the head trainers and founders of Fuerza, and the influence of his Eternal Circle dragging him into the very depths of Hell…bringing out Legion in the process.

“A man possessed now searches for his own personal glory, at the price of the woman representing the best of a new era.”

Cut to Kendra Freeman winning the Unum Championship, and a successful title defense the newly-minted Grand Championship being cut short by the arrival of the Eternal Circle.

“And with all eyes on the city of Long Beach, Fuerza Pro will host a war for its very heart and soul…the Grand Championship.”

Cut to action shots of both competitors across their careers, in and out of Fuerza, as “STARTAFIGHT” by GHØSTKID plays in the background.

♫ I WANNA KILL SOMETHING ♫
♫ WANNA DESTROY SOMETHING ♫
♫ I WANNA ♫
♫ I WANNA ♫
♫ I WANNA START A FIGHT♫
♫ YOU ARE THE PROVING GROUND ♫
♫ AND I’M THE DYNAMITE ♫
♫ ABOUT TO BLOW IT UP ♫
♫ I WANNA START A FIGHT♫

The music cuts, taking us to a moving graphic showing the ruthless aggression behind the main event of the next Fuerza Pro event:

FUERZA PRO PRESENTS
ON THE STREETS OF LONG BEACH

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 30
FROM ALTAR IN LONG BEACH, CALIFORNIA
AIRING LIVE ON THE ACE NETWORK

MAIN EVENT – FOR THE GRAND CHAMPIONSHIP
KENDRA FREEMAN DEFENDS AGAINST XANDER AZULA

Oh, just go on ahead and play that music, why don’tcha?

“Fastest Horse In Town” by Sturgill Simpson.

The lights go out. The boos get loud. The cowboy steps out from behind the curtain, spotlight illuminating him there at the top of the ramp, and Long Beach is none too happy about it. Daytona Diamonds, The Rhinestone Cowboy. Daytona Diamonds, The King of the Rodeo and of the Ocean. Daytona Diamonds, PRIME’s Intense champion. You know him. You love him. He’s walking to the ring, no Whoresmen in tow. That aforementioned Intense championship is draped over his shoulder, he’s dressed in all white like A Real Hero™, and by god, he looks like he’s got some shit to say. He’s even grabbing a microphone and everything!

When he gets into the ring, the second verse of his theme song fades out just as the lights fade on. He stands in the center of the ring, boos and jeers and all sorts of not-very-nice things being shouted from the audience. It doesn’t phase him. It never does.

Nick Stuart: Oh god, here we go…

Richard Parker: Shh! Shh! Let the man cook, Nick!

He lifts the mic to his lips and, hoo boy, here we fuckin’ go.

Daytona Diamonds: Y’know, Long Beach, I’ve been doin’ some thinkin’…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Daytona Diamonds: Yeah, yeah. I get it. Y’all don’t like me and that’s fine. I don’t like y’all much either. But this ain’t about you, comprende? This is about me. Me and, more specifically, the year of our lord, 2024. Where’d it all go, huh? Feels like just yesterday it’d just turned February and I was in this very ring, beatin’ the everlivin’ cock snot outta ol’ Brandy Youngblood. Ain’t that right? So’s, with this year just ‘bout done, I started lookin’ back and gettin’ real sentimental, thinkin’ ‘bout all the things I’ve done, all the things I’ve accomplished, every fuckin’ promise I made that came out true. Now, tonight’s a night for celebratin’ what with The Whoresmen welcomin’ ol’ Annie Daniels into the fold, but I reckon I wanted to take a few minutes of your time to set things straight…

Daytona Diamonds clears his throat before reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper and a pair of (rhinestone encrusted) reading glasses. He puts on the glasses and unfolds the paper before lifting the mic back up to his lips.

**Daytona Diamonds: …**Brandon Youngblood. Max Kael. Wade Elliott. Sage Pontiff. Jason Snow. Paxton Ray. Kenny Freeman. Anna Daniels, god bless her. Each and every one of ‘em stepped in this ring with me and each and every one of ‘em learnt real quick that I ain’t nothin’ to mess with. As of right now? You’re lookin’ at the longest reignin’ Intense Champion of the ReVival era; longer’n FLAMBERGE, longer’n The Anglo Luchador, longer’n any of ‘em. Hell, speakin’ of ol’ FLAMBO, I’m just three wins away from tyin’ his oh-so-coveted win streak, ain’t that right?

Daytona stops and grins as those boos just keep raining down.

Daytona Diamonds: I ain’t been beat this year. Ain’t lost, ain’t drawn, just fuckin’ won and won and won some more. Only other motherfucker in this whole damn company that can say that is ol’ Coral and, hell, he’s a couple wins behind my numbers, ain’t he? I’m a fuckin’ problem that the rest of these peckerwoods in the back can’t figure out how to solve and that’s a goddang fact.

Boos. More boos. Just a whole mess of boos, really.

Daytona Diamonds: Hell, this ain’t even just ‘bout records and numbers and statistics. While most these fucks’ve been squabblin’ and fightin’ and measurin’ their dicks ‘gainst one another, I’ve been buildin’ an army! Look at The Whoresmen! From nothin’ to the greatest group PRIME’s ever seen! Hands down, bottom line, ain’t no goddang doubt!

Richard Parker: Whores up!

Nick Stuart: You don’t have an ounce of shame, do you, Richard?

Richard Parker: Shame? Never heard of her.

Daytona wads up the piece of paper and tosses it out of the ring, pulling the reading glasses from his face and tucking them back into his pocket.

Daytona Diamonds: See, way I figure it, time’s gettin’ ‘bout right for people to start figurin’ out who this year belongs to. Year’s end, people want to put it down in the history books, who was the best of 2024? I figure a lotta folks’re gonna say it’s Coral, right? How’s ‘bout JCH? Hell, bet there’s a few folks who’ve got a hard-on for ol’ Donny Winters, ain’t there? Well… I’m here to tell you right now that it ain’t none of them. It’s me. I’m Mr. Twenty-Twenty-Four. I’m the goddang reckonin’ this company’s been waitin’ for. I’m the best thing PRIME’s seen since ol’ Jason Snow was still worth a shit and it’s high time some of y’all start recognizin’ that. Hint hint, Lindsay.

One last smirk. A sly wink for the camera. God, the fans aren’t liking what The Rhinestone Cowboy has to say.

Daytona Diamonds: So, here’s the thing. I’ve been sayin’ for a long time that I’m the future, but that don’t sound right no more, does it? I ain’t the future, folks. I’m the goddang present. I’m gonna do it all again next year and ain’t nobody or nothin’ gonna stop me. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The Rhinestone Er–

Daytona Diamonds goes silent when a murmur that had been buzzing through the crowd builds to a roar. And he turns to find one Jason Snow striking toward the ring without much nonsense in his step.

Diamonds leans over the ropes and finishes his statement all the more emphatically.

**Daytona Diamonds: …**The Rhinestone ERA!

Snow’s eyes are locked on him. Daytona backs away from the ropes.

Daytona Diamonds: Boy, you’d best slow down a fuckin’ smidge if you don’t want to find yourself tits-up by my goddang boots. I’ve seen that look you got in them eyes a time or two and, lemme tell ya, it don’t end well for ‘em. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, bucko!

Snow is in the ring now and finally he cuts to the right rather than continuing toward Daytona Diamonds. Now to the left. He’s pacing, eyes on Diamonds, and Diamonds is staring right back. And there’s a microphone in his hand.

Diamonds raises his own microphone first.

Daytona Diamonds: Now I don’t know what in–

Jason Snow: Stop. Just stop.

Diamonds smirks and lets the microphone sag down to about chest level.

Jason Snow: You know, Daytona, you’ve come out here tonight and you’ve said a lot of facts.

Daytona Diamonds looks like he might be having a change of heart about Jason Snow in this moment.

Jason Snow: You are indeed the longest reigning Intense Champion of the ReVival era. And you are indeed unbeaten this year, and you’re on your way to one of the most impressive years in the history of PRIME.

Diamonds is nodding along now.

Jason Snow: And you said one more thing that’s probably a fact, Daytona.

Daytona Diamonds: And what’s that?

Jason Snow: You said Jason Snow ain’t been worth a shit in a long time.

The crowd falls back to a simmer.

Richard Parker: Well when he’s right he’s right.

Daytona Diamonds is squinting suspiciously now. Snow is still pacing his side of the ring, back-and-forth, Diamonds’ eyes following as if he’s slowly being hypnotized.

Jason Snow: I don’t know. That’s a fact too. Maybe I’ll never get this train back on track. Maybe I’ll never find whatever it is I used to have. Maybe, Daytona, maybe, these days? Maybe I’m just an old man looking for a fight.

That gets a pop. But Snow has no time to wait for cheers to die down.

Jason Snow: Look, Daytona. I know you beat me. It’s not the novel thing it was, once upon a time. But I also know it took every friend you got backstage to do it. And I’m thinking maybe, just maaaaybe, if not for that, you wouldn’t be out here tonight, talking about how you’re the longest reigning Intense Champion of the ReVival era. How you haven’t been beaten all year. I’ve got a feeling those would no longer be facts. And that title would be mine.

Daytona Diamonds: …that so, Snow? Man, ain’t this sad, ladies and gentlemen?! Lookie here! Look at him! One of the most decorated, celebrated, dominant wrasslers of our time and now he ain’t nothin’ but a sore loser!

Daytona spits off to the side, sneering as the venom seeps up.

Daytona Diamonds: I beat you fair and fuckin’ square by the rules of this here championship. Don’t matter how I did it, just matters that I did it. Ain’t my fault you ain’t got no friends back there to help you out. If you’re lookin’ for pity, you ain’t gettin’ it from me.

There’s those boos again, right on cue.

Daytona Diamonds: We can talk all night ‘bout might’ves, could’ves, and maybes, but that don’t change a goddang thing. Don’t turn back time, don’t help you beat me, don’t make you a champion, and it sure as shit don’t make you any less of a washed up has-been clingin’ to the little bit of relevancy you got left. So, what we doin’ here, Snow Buddy? You sure you’re lookin’ for a fight? Sure you ain’t just bitchin’ and moanin’?

Snow is pacing again.

Jason Snow: One thing you should know about me, Daytona: Whether I’m washed up or not, and whether I’m just clinging to whatever legacy I have, or whether I’ve got nothing left at all, I am always, always, ALWAYS looking for a fight. Now.

Snow stops pacing, maybe three or four steps from Diamonds, and points at him with a pair of fingers.

Jason Snow: Proposition for you.

Daytona Diamonds: I’m all ears, compadre.

Jason Snow: You and me, Daytona, at Colossus. You and me at the event that made me what I am–or maybe just what I used to be–but this time? It’s just you and me. No interference. Daytona Diamonds and Jason Snow, one more time. You want? You don’t even have to put the belt on the line. Just fight me. Because, like I said, I am always looking for a fight. And right now that means I’m looking at you.

Diamonds reaches up and scratches his chin, tilting his head at just the right angle as a slow grin curls across his lips.

Daytona Diamonds: One more time, huh? S’that all you’re wantin’? Alright, alright, alright… Y’know, I’ve been lookin’ for one last feather to put in this year’s cap. You want me at Colossus? No interference? Mano a mano, one on one, toe to toe…?

Pause. For dramatic effect.

Daytona Diamonds: …you’re fuckin’ on, buddy. Hell, I’ll even put the title on the line! Fuck it!

That gets a pop. The fans are cheering, even if it’s almost entirely at the prospect of Daytona finally losing the title to someone who actually deserves it. Diamonds steps forward until he’s nose to nose with Snow, that smirk never leaving his face.

Daytona Diamonds: Be seein’ you ‘round, pardner.

Just as The Rhinestone turns and begins to walk away, he suddenly spins back around and throws a sucker punch at Jason Snow. Snow manages to dodge out of the way just in the nick of time, the fist flying mere inches from his face. Wide eyes give way to a look of anger, Snow’s hands balling into fists as he starts to rush towards Diamonds, but it’s already too late. Every good cowboy knows when to get out of Dodge and Daytona’s no exception. He slides beneath the bottom rope, out into the aisle, backing his way up the ramp.

Jason Snow climbs onto the ropes, leaning forward and pointing an accusatory finger out towards Diamonds, shouting something unintelligible beneath the din of the crowd. Daytona, for his part, just grins and shrugs his shoulders before offering a quick wink, turning, and making his way back up the ramp and behind the curtain.

ReVival moves on.

Things haven’t exactly gone the way of the Bandits tonight.

Taking the loss to Vae Victis stings, and it especially stings Tony Gamble, who’s being helped to the skybox by the PRIME Universal Champion, Coral Avalon. Cancer Jiles trails behind them with seething, inarticulate rage hidden behind a pair of T-shades. Avalon, though, doesn’t seem to be fazed by what just transpired, as he talks Tony Gamble through his steps.

Coral Avalon: You know what? It’s only a setback. You know what happens when we encounter a setback? We come back even stronger.

You can’t see them – T-shades and all – but Jiles is clearly rolling his eyes at this.

Avalon reaches the skybox door, and even trying to open the door, Gamble falls out of his arms and collapses to the floor.

Coral Avalon: Alright, Tony, we’re here. Gonna need you to rest up, get ready for Colossus, an–

He opens the door, and the thought stops in his throat like a freight train impacting a brick wall.

The Throne Room hadn’t changed much since we last saw it earlier in the night. Bobby Dean still sleeps soundly at one side of the room, still awaiting his Prince Charming to kiss him awake. There’s only two real changes made to the Throne Room.

The first? The Throne itself, which now points towards the door instead of to the ring.

The second? The man sitting in said throne, the man who will challenge Coral Avalon for the Universal Championship in two weeks’ time in Los Angeles.

Brandon Youngblood.

Tony Gamble instantly disappears from sight. He’d be right at home with fellow PRIME Hall of Famer Tyler Rayne and all of his wacky ninjas with how quickly he vanishes. Memories of hard losses and six-hit juggle combos clearly danced in his head upon sight.

If the current Universal champion is at all bothered by the slight of the ReVival era’s first Universal champion, he doesn’t make it noticeable when he addresses the intruder.

Coral Avalon: Brandon.

By his side, Cancer Jiles looks like he’s one wrong word away from a literal volcanic eruption.

Does that matter to the Tower of Babel? What do you think?

Brandon Youngblood: Lunchbox is stronger than he looks. Just took a good stare and he moved this all by himself.

No shift in tenor or emotion. This is either one hell of a joke or deathly serious. He reclines upon the throne, knuckle drawn to his chin.

Brandon Youngblood: Comfy set up. You earned it. Figured you’d give it up after you settled things with him, though.

That draws an expression. Disdain. Disgust. As if even the most casual of references to the COOLymian is sour upon his lips.

Brandon Youngblood: I get it. You’ve done the work. You’ve stayed at the top, and anything that might rattle the cart, that might break the harmony. The superstition. But you and I…

He stands up from Coral’s throne.

Brandon Youngblood: We started in this sport nearly at the same time. We go back longer than anyone else in PRIME. Before PRIME. And we’ve been on the same side for a very…very long time. But I do remember. I and I don’t forgive.

A few steps forward.

Brandon Youngblood: A year ago. After shitcanning Tony. You stood and we had a nice conversation. About you and your wife. Your new baby girl. And then, my lights went out.

He snarls as he glowers in the direction of Jiles.

Brandon Youngblood: I lost the chance to be Universal Champion this summer because of Jonathan Christopher-Hall’s bullshit circus. I want your word…as a man…as a wrestler…that come Colossus…it’s ONLY you and me on the biggest stage–

A lot of things happen at once right around this time, so let’s break these all down. The first? Well, Brandon Youngblood has entered a radius of influence around Cancer Jiles that fires off his “superkick or flee” response. Like a coiled rattlesnake, Jiles goes for the former part of that response.

Youngblood flinches, ever-so-slightly, at the motion. He sees the foot coming for his head. He’s been on the business end of these salt shoes, and he’s had his off switch toggled because of said shoes. He knows what it’s like to be at the wrong end of Terminal Cancer.

Only, it never reaches him.

With an almost casual movement, Coral Avalon pushes Jiles just enough that instead of his superkick knocking Youngblood flat, it passes harmlessly over his shoulder and into the empty air that occupies the space just to the side of Youngblood’s head.

Jiles stumbles, barely recovers, looks COOL in the recovery, and then glares at Avalon with something resembling shock from what could be seen from behind his T-shades.

Avalon returns the glare.

Coral Avalon: I know. Yell at me about this later.

Then he turns to Youngblood while Jiles seethes nearby.

Coral Avalon: I get it. You don’t want there to be any funny business. God knows, there’s a lot of it that follows this belt around.

Avalon holds up the Universal championship.

Coral Avalon: Tell you what, then. Just for old time’s sake. Just for an old friend…emy. I will be the only Bandit allowed in the Universal Championship match. All the others are barred from ringside. And until that night, not a single Bandit touches you before the end of that match.

He looks at Jiles, then he looks at an empty space where he thinks Tony Gamble is before his gaze centers on a snoring Bobby Dean.

Coral Avalon: Everybody clear on that?

You can’t hear Jiles’ actual response because it’s delivered with clenched teeth, but it sounds like a begrudging affirmation. You know, the kind made when he half-hopes that this blows up in Avalon’s face.

Coral Avalon: …Cool.

He turns back to Youngblood.

Coral Avalon: Lots of people trying to dictate terms to me lately like I’m some sort of doormat who’ll readily agree to everything. I don’t. So think of this as a sign of good faith. I’m trusting that you’re not going to suddenly join the Whoresmen between now and Colossus.

The Tower of Babel folds his arms across his massive chest, his head tilting ever so slightly.

Brandon Youngblood: I need to beat you, Coral. More than anything you can ever imagine. And I know you want to beat me. Your career is on the line. Your legacy. My legacy. We might not have been the rivals I thought we’d be all those years ago in The Squared Circle…

There’s nary a glance at Jiles. It’s as if he has melted away. Been taken care of. Under control. There’d be much to run from this. But that’s the future. Now?

An extension of the hand.

Brandon Youngblood: But that doesn’t mean we can’t make up for lost time. Or that we can’t put on the fight to close that chapter for good and all. For Harvard. For PRIME. For us.

Avalon pauses, a moment’s hesitation.

Coral Avalon: Hadn’t heard that name in a while. Alright.

Then he takes the handshake.

Coral Avalon: For us.

There’s a long moment before Avalon looks slightly past Youngblood.

Coral Avalon: Tony, put down the potted plant.

Behind Youngblood, Tony Gamble is struggling to find a good way to hold up an entire potted palm tree over his head, ready to smash it over the back of Youngblood’s head. It’s too big and awkward, though, and Gamble falls over before he can get it in a good swing on Youngblood’s dome.

Coral Avalon: Bandits, I swear…

Crash. Bam. Zing. Stuff and sounds. Maybe a little tinkle? Oh yeah, that’s a big tinkle. It’s okay, baby Gamble. You got the plant up 3 whole feet!

The levity, however, is very short lived, given the sudden jerk from Youngblood to Avalon. There is respect, but at the same time, with everything on the line? There is a palpable tension. Brandon stares the champion in the eye.

Brandon Youngblood: You…are going to get the absolute best I have. No matter what it means. No matter what it costs you…or me.

Coral Avalon: You’d better. I’m doing the same. Including what I’ve saved for a rainy day.

Cancer Jiles is looking for the nearest cable or sharp object right about now, don’t worry about it.

The tension builds.

It is very palpable.

Is our beloved Cancer Jiles going to live? Does he want to?

Ha.

Champion and challenger stare each other down…and we…go elsewhere.

Nick Stuart: We’ve reached the penultimate event of ReVival 60, ladies and gentlemen! The Tag Team Champions, Anglo Luchador and Zapp Scatino, are set to face off against the duo of Crunch and Punch–Paxton Ray and Sage Pontiff–in a non-title contest!

Richard Parker: A battle that will finally give us the long-awaited answer to the eternal question… which team here is the odder couple?

Nick Stuart: Unlikely partners forming unlikely partnerships has been the story in PRIME’s tag scene as of late! Even without the titles on the line tonight, I feel we’re going to witness a barnburner! Let’s take it to our man Vince Howard for the introductions!

The raging riffs of “Electrode” by NOLA’s own Mystick Krewe of Clearlight groove through the PA as two figures emerge from behind the curtain. The lights come up revealing the pair of Paxton Ray and Sage Pontiff.

The Bayou Butcher is all intensity and taped fists while the Bodhisattva carries with him an aura of serenity not unlike the calm before a storm. The reunited tandem of Crunch and Punch bump knuckles before advancing down the rampway side by side.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following NON-TITLE contest will be a tag team competition! Introducing first, fighting at a combined weight of four-hundred and fifty-six pounds… the team of PAXTON RAY and SAGE PONTIFF… together, they are CRUNCH and PUNCH!!

Nick Stuart: It’s been a while since we’ve seen Paxton and Pontiff fighting in the ring together, but this unusual pair seems to be as tightly knit as ever!

Richard Parker: You would kinda think their two personalities would cancel each other out… make Sage a bit normal and Paxton somewhat less uhhh, murdery?

Sage slips and Paxton slides under the ropes as they hit the ring. Pontiff scales a turnbuckle to entreat the crowd to a cursory fist-into-palm-and-bow “Namaste” gesture. Ray, on the other hand, forgoes the usual prematch posturing and keeps focused by shadowboxing in the corner.

The music switches over to “Cynic” by Local H, and the fans come alive. The stage lights come up as the Anglo Luchador and Zapp Scatino appear, tag team titles proudly secured around their waists. TAL marches to the edge of the stage, unstraps his belt, and holds it up high to get a pop from the fans! He looks to Scatino who, although at first reluctant, steps up and does the same, earning another (albeit slightly less enthusiastic) pop.

While TAL takes his time down the rampway, slapping hands with fans, Zapp scurries past him to ringside and hurries over to where Vince Howard is seated, handing the ring announcer a note before rejoining his partner.

Vince Howard: And the opponents, weighing in at a combined weight of four-hundred and fifty-nine pounds… they are the TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS of PRIME WRESTLING… the ANGLO LUCHADOR… ZAPP SCATINO… they are… the WIIIIIISE GUUUUUYYYYSSS!!!

Richard Parker: Wait… what happened to TWINS?! Doesn’t any have any RESPECT for the legend Danny DeVito anymore?!

Nick Stuart: What an ovation for the Tag Team Champions! The Anglo Luchador and the erstwhile “Spanglo Luchador” Zapp Scatino are going into together for the first time since their monumental win at UltraViolence over two months ago, and these fans can’t wait to see them in action!

TAL scales a turnbuckle, posing heroically with the championship held high overhead. He points across the ring to Zapp, who halfheartedly does the same. When the music cuts a few moments later, they hand off their belts to the timekeeper and regroup in their corner while Jimmy Turnbuckle begins his final checks.

Richard Parker: Points to whoever completes the Venn Diagram these four would create.

Nick Stuart: The champions are undoubtedly on edge tonight, because while they went through hell and back together in the Tag League to win those titles, they’re facing off against an untested challenge here tonight! A team who they have plenty of history wwHOAH LOOK OUT!

Without warning, Zapp streaks across the ring!

Nick Stuart: FOREARM to the head of Sage Pontiff! The Bodhisattva is DOWN! Zapp Scatino JUMPED THE BELL!

Richard Parker: Saw his shot and went for it, you mean.

Pontiff collapses on the spot. Ray watches his partner fall, stunned, and then turns several shades red as he levels his glare on Scatino. In a flash, he pounces… only to be intercepted by the Anglo Luchador!

Nick Stuart: OH BOY, HERE WE GO!!

The crowd begins ROARING at the sight of longtime rivals TAL and Ray absolutely tearing into each other with a relentless exchange of rights and lefts. Scatino breathes a sigh of relief, shortly before his legs suddenly collapse out underneath him courtesy of a legsweep by Sage. Before he can react, Pontiff is on top of him and slugging away!

Nick Stuart: The match hasn’t even started and ALREADY things are descending into chaos!

Official Jimmy Turnbull, seeing he has absolutely no way of containing this situation, cues for the bell.

DING DING

The bell signalling the start of the match goes ignored by all involved parties. TAL and Paxton continue the savage dance of close-quarters fisticuffs, punching and wrangling their way from one corner to the next while Zapp and Sage ground and pound each other on the mat.

Nick Stuart: We’ve got an all-out brawl on our hands here, ladies and gentlemen! The match has started, but I think it’s safe to say that the official is going to have a hell of a time restoring order here!

Richard Parker: Ah, yes… the good ol’ “let God sort ‘em out” style of officiating.

A sharp backhand by Scatino gives the erstwhile Mortimer K a window to pull Sage up to his feet and throw him into the other melee. In the middle of landing haymakers, Ray stops himself as soon as the Bodhisattva suddenly bumps into his back.

Nick Stuart: Zapp Scatino is trying to break things up here, shoving Sage Pontiff into his own partner!

Though the distraction stops him from throwing more deadly punches, it buys him just enough time to duck a roaring elbow thrown at the last minute by TAL. The whiffed shot leaves the Luchador briefly unbalanced, and Paxton shoves him right back into Scatino.

Nick Stuart: And Paxton Ray goes tit-for-tat! The Tag Team Champions bump heads!

Zapp and TAL stumble into the ropes off the impact. Paxton and Sage exchange a look, and spring forward.

Nick Stuart: DOUBLE LARIATS send the Anglo Luchador and Zapp Scatino to the outside, and now Crunch and Punch are standing tall in the ring!

The Wise Guys hit the floor, and the crowd cheers on Sage and Paxton standing alone in the ring, ready for more of a fight. TAL recovers quickly. Zapp sputters and staggers around ringside, potentially looking for the rampway to make his escape, until his partner hooks him by the arm and throws him back into the action courtesy of a whip under the ropes.

Nick Stuart: I think Scatino had eyes for the back, but the Anglo Luchador is keeping his partner right in this fight!

Richard Parker: Just a brief bout with disorientation! Zapp can’t let his twin brother hog all the glory, after all!

TAL slides in after him, and immediately, both tag team champions are on their feet, exchanging blows once again with the waiting Pontiff and Ray! Yet again, the fans

Nick Stuart: And there they go again! The champs rally, and get right back into the thick of things!

Richard Parker: This is madness! Who’re the legal men here?!

Nick Stuart: I couldn’t tell you, and I doubt Turnbull could tell you either!

The combined might of unfraternal union of Anglo and Spanglo put the Bruiser and the Bodhi on their heels, backing them up against the ropes. The Wise Guys push them off together…

Nick Stuart: Double whips send Crunch and Punch into motion–no, Pontiff with the REVERSAL, sends Zapp running!

Paxton hooks his arms around the top rope to stop himself from rebounding. Scatino does the same. Clinging to the ropes, they both exchange a brief look of bewilderment before their respective partners charge in. TAL drills Paxton in the mush with a running dropkick while Zapp narrowly ducks a running crossbody block by Pontiff.

Nick Stuart: Paxton and Sage sent over the ropes to the outside, and now the CHAMPIONS are standing tall in the ring!

Richard Parker: Notorious Tee-Aye-Ell and Emcee Zapp, the masters of turning the turntables!

Nick Stuart: …not sure that’s how that expression goes, Rich.

Richard Parker: Would you just let this peacock fly, partner?

The fans continue to roar loudly as the action shows now signs of slowing down. TAL looks to Zapp. Scatino seems to know what he’s thinking, as he concurs with a nod. Together, the Wise Guys throw themselves into the opposite set of ropes to get matching heads of steam, and come streaking back across the ring…!

Nick Stuart: Luchador and Scatino off the ropes… and here come the WISE GUYS!

…only for Zapp to dip out halfway through.

Richard Parker: Zapp WISELY bows out…

Nick Stuart: Unbelievable… but the Anglo Luchador still charging full steam ahead, right into a TOPÉ SUICIDA through the ropes!

Paxton pulls himself off the ringside floor and looks up in time to see an Anglo-sized BATTERING RAM coming right for him… only to suddenly be PUSHED ASIDE as Sage Pontiff comes in to take the impact in his place!

Nick Stuart: NO!! Sage Pontiff stepped in and saved his partner from that one!

Richard Parker: Never thought I’d live to see the day someone taking a bullet for Paxton Ray!

The Luchador’s suicide dive blows the Bodhisattva into the barricades, but before he can turn his wrath back on the Bayou Butcher, Paxton Ray slips his way under the ropes to reenter the ring, catching Scatino off-guard with a hook that nearly rearranges his face in a way even his own mother wouldn’t love.

Nick Stuart: What a wild start to this match! These fans have not started screaming since the fists started flying! But at long last, we might finally have some sense of order in this match!

Richard Parker: We’ll see how long it lasts…

Paxton cries havoc and lets slip the dogs of war in the form of his fists, trapping Zapp in a corner and unleashing a punishing flurry of rights and lefts. Scatino turtles up and weathers the storm, until the Lafayette Bruiser snags him by the wrist and whips him across the ring as though the safe-word was “cucumber”.

Richard Parker: Zapp is getting MOID-ered in there! Absolutely MOID-ered! Where’s his good-for-nothing tag partner?

Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador is still brawling away with Sage Pontiff out at ringside. Meanwhile, Scatino in motion, and–OH MY!!

Zapp crashes headfirst into the middle turnbuckle, his momentum forcing him to flip over and rack himself on the top turnbuckle. The former Morty’s eyes pop wide and his mouth hangs agape momentarily before gravity pulls him backward, and onto the waiting shoulders of Paxton Ray.

Nick Stuart: INVERTED FRONT POWERSLAM by Paxton Ray, plucking Zapp Scatino off the top rope! Now he rolls him over and makes the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

BROKEN UP at the last second by the Anglo Luchador!

Richard Parker: Sure took his sweet time!

Ray powers back to his feet, and for a moment, the fans anticipate he and the Anglo Luchador picking up right where they left off. But before that can happen, Jimmy Turnbull interjects himself between them in a desperate bid to maintain order. But as he ushers the Luchador back to his corner, a recovering Scatino sees an opportunity unfold before him…

Nick Stuart: LOW BLOW by Zapp!

Richard Parker: WISEly done!

Zapp smiles wide as Paxton curls up in agony… and suddenly rears up. Scatino’s smile quickly fades the moment the Bayou Butcher turns around with an absolutely murderous look on his reddened face.

Richard Parker: Uh oh…

Nick Stuart: Maybe not as wise as you thought, Rich!

Before Ray can crush his head like a melon, the ever-so-greasy Zapp slips through his legs to escape. He does the same stunt through Turnbull’s legs as well, suddenly appearing on his knees before his Aztecan-inclined fellow champon on the apron and catches his hand while TAL is waving off the ref.

Nick Stuart: Like a slippery eel, Zapp Scatino slinks away from having his arms ripped off, and now the tag is made to the Anglo Luchador!

Richard Parker: A brilliant move! If there’s anyone who loves a good ol’ fashioned beating at the hands of Paxton Ray, it’s TAL!

Jimmy Turnbull inexplicably finds himself between TAL and Ray once more. While Paxton attempts to brush him aside, Scatino suddenly grabs the official by the collar and tugs him down, giving his partner an open window to pounce over the ropes.

Nick Stuart: SPRINGBOARD LARIAT by the Anglo Luchador, coming into the ring in style!

Paxton bumps off the mat but quickly scrambles to his feet. He charges, only to run right into a monkey flip. He’s quickly back up, though visibly wincing, but this time the Anglo Luchador is waiting with a hurricanrana!

Nick Stuart: Picture perfect hurricanrana by the Anglo Luchador! He hooks the legs for the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

PAXTON KICKS OUT!

TAL falls one way and Paxton rolls in the other, finding his corner where the Crunch to his Punch has found his way on the apron. He tags out to Sage, who enters the ring by flipping the ropes and stopping the charging TAL in his tracks. A smile forms on the Bodhisattva’s face as the two face off.

Nick Stuart: Here comes Sage Pontiff into the action!

Richard Parker: Angles better Nama-stay the hell back, cause this guy knows how do the flippy stuff too!

Nick Stuart: Sage, right out of the gate with a BIG outside wheel kick… but it’s DUCKED by the Anglo Luchador! The Luchador with a ROARING ELBOW now… DUCKED by Sage!

Pontiff grabs TAL from behind and scoops him up into a back suplex, only for the former Intense Champion to drop safely onto his feet. TAL hops to his opponent’s shoulders and rolls forward with a Victory Roll, but Sage escapes by way of a forward somersault to his feet. Pontiff immediately backflips, catching TAL’s head between his legs and twisting his body into motion.

Nick Stuart: Pontiff with a Headscissor Takedown… NO!! The Anglo Luchador cartwheels through! He runs… Pontiff catches him… TAL countering with a HEADSCISSOR of his own–BUT PONTIFF CARTWHEELS out of THAT!

Richard Parker: Pass the Dramamine, Nick! I’m getting dizzy over here!

Nick Stuart: Reversals left and right between these two athletes! Sage coming in with a lariat–DUCKED by the Anglo Luchador… and countered into a BACKSLIDE pin!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Sage rolls through onto his feet. TAL gets on top of him and wraps his arms into a tight waistlock. Pontiff reacts by pushing off his feet and flipping over, sending TAL onto his back with the Bodhisattva on top of him.

Nick Stuart: Now the Luchador’s shoulders are down!

ONE!

TWO!

TAL BRIDGES OUT!!

The crowd cheers the feet of strength. Back on their feet, TAL and Sage twist out of their predicament and get back to being vertical. TAL spins, going for a step-up enzugiri, but Sage once again ducks.

Nick Stuart: DRAGON SUPLEX by Sage Pontiff… NO WAIT!

Fighting spirit spurns the Anglo Luchador into rolling right back to his feet. Pontiff is momentarily stunned to see him back up, leaving him open for the Spear of Huitzilopochtli’s counter attack.

Nick Stuart: AND THERE’S A DRAGON SUPLEX BY THE ANGLO LUCHADOR! MY GOD!

Richard Parker: Wow… FINALLY, they stopped moving!

The crowd roars once more as the bodies of the Anglo Luchador and Sage Pontiff lie prone on the canvas. Paxton Ray starts slapping the turnbuckle in support of his partner. Somewhat surprisingly, the fans join in. Across the ring, not to be outdone, Zapp Scatino does the same, urging on his fellow tag team champion.

Nick Stuart: This match has been a non-stop battle right from the onset!

Richard Parker: And the titles aren’t even on the line!

Steadily, both TAL and Pontiff crawl to their respective corners. TAL reaches Zapp first, and immediately tags him in. Then Sage tags out, prompting Paxton Ray to step through the ropes. Scatino sees him, and…

Nick Stuart: Zapp ALREADY TRYING TO TAG OUT!!

Richard Parker: Can you blame him??

Zapp is sweating in panic as Ray crosses the ring, bearing down on him. Even with the mask, the exhausted TAL’s expression clearly says “c’mon, man”. Still, he reaches for the tag… until Scatino’s hand suddenly falls away. Seizing him the head, the Bayou Butcher whips him to the canvas and introduces him the hard way to his swamp-stained boots.

Nick Stuart: Paxton puts Zapp Scatino right on the mat, and begins STOMPING A MUDHOLE INTO HIM! The tag champs could very well be in trouble here!

Richard Parker: Why would TAL ever put his partner in a situation like this?

The crowd is cheering, although it’s more in delight of seeing a scumbag like Scatino taking a  beating. Paxton moves in, seizing Zapp by the ankle and holding up his leg. Clenching a fist and wondering if he should give the erstwhile Morty K some comeuppance for the shot to his grits earlier in the match, he briefly looks to the fans for a second opinion.

Richard Parker: Don’t listen to THEM, Paxton! These people HATE you! Remember??

The brief hesitation gives Zapp the opportunity he needs to land a kick into Ray’s breadbasket with his free leg. He pops to his feet while Paxton doubles over, clutching his gut. Instinctively, he reigns in the Lafayette Bruiser in, clutches both arms, and falls backwards.

Nick Stuart: DOUBLE-ARM DDT by Zapp Scatino! Rolls him over and makes the cover!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THR–NO!! There’s the kickout!

Suddenly feeling confident in himself, Scatino forgets any idea he once had of tagging out and pulls the groggy Bayou Butcher back to his feet. Paxton swings, but Zapp deftly slips under and comes back around with an arm-trap neckbreaker!

Nick Stuart: And there’s the BUST OUT! Zapp Scatino, against all odds, seems to have momentarily tamed the beast that is Paxton Ray!

Richard Parker: He’s just setting him up for the slaughter!

Scatino is rubbing palms like a desperate man at the craps table, stalking Ray in his blindspot. Paxton is slow to get up and out of sorts, barely registering calls from Sage, standing by in his corner. Before he can react, Zapp slips up behind him and puts him into a full nelson.

Richard Parker: GOT EEM!

Nick Stuart: Zapp looking for AS IF… NO!! PAXTON BREAKS FREE!!

Paxton spins.

Nick Stuart: DISCUS ELBOW!!!

A wad of effluvia jettisons from Scatino’s mouth and arcs across the arena, with fans hastily scattering from its point of impact. Somehow, Zapp remains on his feet, but goes stiff as a utility pole while his vacant eyes roll back into his head. Ray wastes no time tagging in Sage while Scatino slowly pivots around to his own corner.

The Anglo Luchador stares back at him, dumbstruck.

Richard Parker: DO SOMETHING! You’re a tag champion, damnit!

Zapp slowly raises a hand, as though reaching out for a tag…

…before swiftly being flattened on the canvas under the weight of Sage Pontiff!

Nick Stuart: Pontiff with a SPRINGBOARD LEGDROP BULLDOG into the ring! Zapp Scatino was completely defenseless! Sage rolls him over… HOOKS THE LEG…

ONE!!

TWO!!

THR–NOO, that’s a kickout! He had to dig deep for that one!

Richard Parker: Yeah, and no thanks to his tag partner!

As it were, the Anglo Luchador has one leg through the ropes and looks poised to break things up. He pulls it back out to the apron, while Paxton Ray watches him closely from across the ring.

Meanwhile, a commotion picks up within the crowd, once it’s being noticed that two individuals are making their way down the ramp…

Nick Stuart: Hey, HEY NOW! What do we got going on over HERE now??

The ringside camera swoops over to the aisle, catching the lopsided sight of TONY GAMBLE and HESSIAN approaching the ring.

Richard Parker: BANDITS! I can’t believe I couldn’t smell them coming!

Nick Stuart: We’ve got Tony Gamble and Hessian out here at ringside, fans! And I doubt it’s for more than just a closer look!

Richard Parker: Hopefully, they’re here just to politely acquiesce to Zapp’s demands for Colossus right before kindly effing off!

Nick Stuart: Somehow, I doubt that’s the case, partner… but back to the action, Sage Pontiff could be in a prime position to put this match away! He’s setting Zapp up for the SHAMANIC DREAMWEAVER!!

Sage waits for Zapp to full rise up in his stunned and confused state, before tagging him with a bare foot to the gut. But rather than doubling over nicely into a Canadian Destroyer, Warhammer Morty K drops even LOWER and once again slips under his opponent’s legs!

Nick Stuart: Scatino DUCKS…

By the time Pontiff rebalances himself, Zapp springs up behind him and slaps him into a full-nelson, right before putting his face to the mat!

Nick Stuart: AS IF!! He NAILS it this time!

Richard Parker: Never doubted him for a second!

Scatino rolls Pontiff over for the cover. Ray hits the ring. TAL hops the ropes and cuts him off.

Nick Stuart: Scatino FOR THE WIN…

ONE!!

TWO!!

THR–NOO, BROKEN UP BY PAXTON RAY!! The Anglo Luchador was there to hold him off, but somehow, he slipped around him!

Richard Parker: Dangit, Angles! Zapp had this thing WON! How hard is it to hold back Paxton Ray? He’s only the most dangerous man in PRIME!

The shot briefly cuts back to Gamble and Hessian watching the action unfold from ringside. The Murdershow’s glare briefly catches the camera…

Richard Parker: Ulp… well, I mean, one of the most dangerous…

TAL and Ray do what gators and luchadors do in their natural environment, and immediately begin tearing into each other. Once again, Jimmy Turnbull finds himself faced with the near impossible task of breaking them apart and sending them back to their respective corners.

Nick Stuart: Turnbull should be getting hazard pay for this! There is no love lost between the Anglo Luchador and Paxton Ray!

Meanwhile, Zapp Scatino, still halfway to the Hamptons from the beating he’s sustained at the hands of team Crunch ‘n’ Punch, rolls under the ropes to escape the ring and regain his bearings.

Richard Parker: Oh no, LOOK OUT ZAPP!

Unfortunately, he happens to roll out on the side where the eGG Bandits are standing. He turns around, instantly walking into the Murdershow’s CHOKE!

Nick Stuart: HESSIAN AND GAMBLE ARE ATTACKING ZAPP SCATINO!! The Anglo Luchador has his hands full with Paxton Ray, and the official has his hands full with the two of them!

Richard Parker: This is OUTRAGEOUS! Damnit, Angles, stop punching Paxton’s fists with your stupid, stupid face and help your partner!

While Scatino gasps for air and struggles to escape, Gamble relieves the timekeeper of the PRIME Tag Team Champions. The Murdershow holds the defenseless Zapp into position. Smirking, Tony savors a moment to taunt his one-time associate before pasting him with the face of the belt!

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: NO!!

In the ring, Paxton and TAL are throttling each other against the turnbuckles. At ringside, Gamble drops the belt… and then takes hold of its partner.

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: GOOD GOD! Zapp Scatino just took BOTH TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS to the face!

Richard Parker: NO!! How can you DO this, Tony?! He’s a MADE MAN (i think)!!

Gamble lets the second belt hit the ground as Hessian rolls Scatino’s nearly lifeless husk back into the ring. Right then, Turnbull finally pries his way in between TAL and Paxton, and sends them back to their corners under threat of disqualification.

Nick Stuart: Finally, the official Jimmy Turnbull restores some order into the match!

Richard Parker: What’s the point? The damage has already been done!

Paxton quickly checks on Sage, groggy but still pulling himself back to his feet, before going back to the apron. Only now does the Anglo Luchador see what’s become of Zapp…

…along with the grinning Grin and the murderous Murdershow staring back at him from ringside.

Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador sees what’s going on, and he’s putting two and two together here!

Richard Parker: Took him long enough!

Nick Stuart: Cut him some slack, Rich! It’s hard to take note of much of anything when Paxton Ray is brutally punching your face in!

In a flash, the Anglo Luchador pounces through the ropes and chases the Bandits halfway back up the rampway. But while Gamble and Hessian swiftly disappear back through the curtain, back in the ring, Sage Pontiff peels Zapp Scatino back off the mat.

Nick Stuart: Sage with a boot to the gut… SHAMANIC DREAMWEAVER!!

Richard Parker: Get back in the ring, you fool!

TAL sees what’s happening, and runs back to the ring. At the end of the aisle, Paxton suddenly launches himself from the apron and intercepts him. Between the ropes, Sage Pontiff folds Scatino into a prawn hold and leverages his shoulders down.

Nick Stuart: FOR THE WIN…

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!

DING DING DING

Sage rolls off of Zapp. Ringside is immediately filled with Enemigos and extra officials to split apart Paxton and TAL before their fighting rips a hole in the time-and-space continuum. Meanwhile, “Clearlight” hits the PA, signalling the winning team’s victory.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of the match, by pinfall… SAGE PONTIFF… PAXTON RAY… TEEEEEEEEAAAAAAM CRUNCH-N-PUUUUUUNNNNNCCHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: A harrowing and hard fought victory for this unlikely duo of Paxton Ray and Sage Pontiff, capitalizing on the interference and scoring the win over the reigning tag team champions!

Richard Parker: If this had been a title match, it would have been all over! And Angles would have been solely to blame!

Nick Stuart: Well to be fair, Rich, he didn’t exactly anticipate the eGG Bandits coming out here and screwing them over!

Richard Parker: That’s no excuse! A proper partner is supposed to have the other’s back! Zapp goes to the plate for this Anglo Lummox, and THIS is how he repays him?! By abandoning him to vultures?!

Nick Stuart: Things may be coming to a head soon between the Wise Guys and the nefarious eGG Bandits, and you can bet there will be repercussions for this. For tonight, however, the spoils of victory go to Team Crunch ‘n’ Punch, proving they may be THE force to be reckoned with in PRIME’s burgeoning tag team division!

Paxton joins Sage in the ring. The partners “Namaste” bow to each other before celebrating their victory. At ringside, TAL slings Zapp’s arm over his shoulders to help him to the back… only for Zapp to shove him aside.

TAL is momentarily stunned, until Scatino scoops up their tag team championships off the floor and rejoins him, “courteously” returning his arm over his shoulders so that his partner can support his weight. With their belts in hand, they limp back up the aisle.

Nick Stuart: A massive main event still to come in this go-home edition of ReVival! Don’t go anywhere, ladies and gentlemen!

ReVival moves on.

Fading in, a familiar, yet recently absent mustache greets us. It’s lost a little sheen, a bit of its form, overlapping dark stubble on a square jawline. The dark eyes and slicked hair have lost a little luster, and the chiseled body attached to this distressed visage looks very uncomfortable in the chair it occupies.

In short, our boy looks tired.

Hayes Hanlon: (rubbing the back of his neck) I…uhh…thanks. Thanks for meeting me.

The camera turns, and lands on the only person in PRIME worthy of the desk she sits at. Long legs crossed, sitting back in her leather office chair. Her hazels are stern, but perhaps hiding some concern.

Lindsay Troy: Can’t say you’ve got the best timing since the show’s about over…

She takes a beat, her eyes rigid.

Lindsay Troy: But at least you’re here, and this is part of the job. So I’m going to be direct with you right now, Hayes…

The Event Horizon readies himself for the oncoming tongue-lashing, ready to take his medicine.

Lindsay Troy: …are you okay?

He blinks. Not exactly the whipping he was expecting, and it takes him a moment to respond.

Hayes Hanlon: It’s…been a rough year.

She nods. For as disappointed as she’s been with the young man, The Queen remains keenly aware of his struggles. The Incident on Skyline Drive this time last year, and some health issues he probably isn’t aware that she’s clued into.

A mom first, the GOAT second.

Lindsay Troy: You don’t have to go into details. All I want to know is if things are on the upswing for you.

Hayes exhales through his nostrils, and shrugs.

Hayes Hanlon: I really don’t know if they are.

His breathing quickens for a minute, and his hands lightly slap the armrests.

Hayes Hanlon: (voice raising, just a touch) But man, why’d you give up on me?

The Queen raises an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

Lindsay Troy: What makes you think I gave up on you?

Hayes opens his hand, and starts counting on his fingertips.

Hayes Hanlon: I haven’t been booked in almost two months, you threw freakin’ monsters like Hessian and Clay to try and learn some lesson, nobody lifted a finger when JC Hall thought I was bangin’ Vickie, I’m a TWO-TIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION and I haven’t had a title shot in a YEAR AND A HALF, and I don’t even know if I’m gonna be booked at COLOSSUS!!

He sits back, breathing quickly again, before throwing up his hands.

Hayes Hanlon: I know we butted heads a bit, but…it feels like you kinda want me to fail.

The Queen leans back in her chair and takes a deep breath. Normally, she’d be quick with a fiery retort however, in this case, it’s best to wait for the tension to dissipate, just a bit.

Lindsay Troy: Hayes, you being a student of PRIME and a two-time Universal Champion is exactly the reason why I booked you to face Hessian and Clay. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but the way you compete complements their wrestling styles and it made for great matches. Not to mention (she smiles, slightly) if you think about it, you’d find there are similarities between VV and Glue.

She reaches for her phone and taps her fingers across the screen.

Lindsay Troy: There was also the matter of Astrid not clearing you for competition after your last match with JCH. It seems as if you’ve passed medical protocols now, though.

Hanlon deflates a touch, clearly aware he’s being unreasonable, though unwilling to admit it.

Hayes Hanlon: I dunno. I’m just, lost, man.

A “light” knocking on the Steel Door O’Doom comes from behind Hayes. Black Sheep Baez calmly struts into The Queen’s office. He looks over at Hayes, smiles, and nods. His blue eyes are now on Lindsay.

Black Sheep Baez: My bad, fam. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Was told the Queen wanted to see me.  (He grins) Ya boi was excited to hear that. The Sheep hasn’t had a chance to meet the GOAT.

He sets his bag on the floor and stands at attention. Hayes looks around, wondering if he’s being pranked. He turns back to Troy, and points his thumb at Baez.

Hayes Hanlon: Is this a joke? Did you double book for…this dude?

Black Sheep shoots a look at Hanlon. He raises an eyebrow.

Lindsay Troy: No, no joke. You mentioned you were concerned about not being booked at Colossus, Hayes, and that gave me an idea. So I sent…

She holds out her hand in the direction of Black Sheep Baez.

Lindsay Troy: …”this dude” a text and invited him here.

The Queen smirks.

Lindsay Troy: Meet your Colossus opponent, Hayes. Black Sheep Baez.

Baez’s eyes widen. His jaw almost hits the floor, while Hayes raises an eyebrow, and almost looks offended.

Hayes Hanlon: Are you gonna make me jerk the curtain with this kid?

Lindsay Troy: Hey. Didn’t you just ask me without asking me for a match on the biggest show of the year? You’re a PRIME veteran now, Hayes. Time to show the youngins what it means to be a part of the big time, just like the Old Guard did to you.

The Event Horizon shakes his head back and forth, not enjoying being patronized, at least in his head. He stands, eyes still glaring at The Queen, before shifting his chest toward Baez, a snarl behind his ‘stache.

Hayes Hanlon: I haven’t lost at Colossus yet, buddy.

He leers in close, and looks his opponent up and down.

Hayes Hanlon: And I’m sure as hell not gonna start with you.

He shoulders past the Black Sheep, and calls out over his shoulder.

Hayes Hanlon: Don’t get pissed when I cut his career short.

He walks through the open door, and slams it behind him.

Maybe it’s the giddiness, but Baez doesn’t seem intimidated. He peers over his shoulder, still absorbing Hanlon’s exit, and then slowly looks at The Queen with the biggest grin since his signing.

Black Sheep Baez: Oh shit! This ‘bout to be lit. Ain’t not much more to say. Not right now, atleast. I gots work to do. This is money.

His gratitude is on high alert.

Black Sheep Baez: Queen, this is big. COLOSSUS? Gyat dayum. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

His hands clasp together and he bows before Troy.

Lindsay Troy: You’re welcome. Now get outta here. You’ve got two weeks and your work cut out for you.

Cut … to a Cromb …

The show cuts to Elsewhere, Backstage, and to King COOL himself, Cancer Jiles. He’s on the phone talking loudly enough for Zeus to hear him, and the camera he’s oblivious to. His hair looks the part, and the same goes for his T-shades and Blazer of Shame. He’s also chewing a piece of gum like an arrogant piece of shit.

Cancer Jiles: Babe, no one knows a thing. Not that idiot. Not that other idiot who can’t even get his dick hard. Not Drew Mitchell. Not Mom. Shit, not even the Bandits know. We’re free and clear, and the Convoy of COOL will be swimming with the dolphins in no time.

The former Captain of the Bandits nods and chews along to whoever is talking to him on the other end of the line. Oddly enough, this is one of those rare times he’s all by his lonesome— meaning there’s no Bandits around should someone decide to seize the day. So no Hessian to hide behind.

Cancer Jiles: Yup. Totally. You’re right, I did know it all along. I told you if it was going to be Coral and the Crumb that I’d be able to hide inside their handshaking and not get booked.

More nodding ensues.

Cancer Jiles: Yes babe, the tickets are paid for. You can thank Timo Bolamba for that— I heard he’s a street poet these days.

More incessant nodding ensues.

Cancer Jiles: No, they’ll be fine without me. Besides, they think I’m Debbie Downer right now so they’ll leave me be.

One last nod.

Cancer Jiles: Free and cle—

Suddenly, a lovely ball of blindside explodes onto the scene, tackling Jiles to the ground and sending his T-shades flying from his face.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: JILES YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!!

A flurry of rights and lefts come charging out of Hall’s body. Jiles quickly covers up, deflecting the blows to the best of his ability.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: YOU’RE A GOD DAMN DEADMAN!

Hall continues to unload on Jiles until security quickly comes swooping in to get between them.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: YOU BASTARD! I KNOW IT WAS YOU!

Jiles locates his T-shades and dusts himself off like nothing happened— unaware that the piece of gum he was chewing is now stuck in his hair. There’s no denial across his face. No sympathetic brow to furrow. No remorseful frown to be flashed. All there is a pucker, a kiss, and a goodbye.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: JILES! JILES! JILLLLLEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSS!

A beleaguered, stepped on, mocked, and most importantly scorned JCH stares intently down the hallway before releasing another bloodthirsty cry for vengeance.

Cut to the ring.

The match graphic appears and the crowd in Vegas gives a pumped up cheer!

Nick Stuart: Been waiting for this!

Richard Parker: I expect a war. Neither man is going quietly. And while both men lost to Brandon Youngblood, I can’t help but feel like this one is the most personal, given FLAMBERGE’s attack on Wilhelm a few weeks ago, the incredible shape Kael looks to be in, and, of course, the whole Cecilworth factor of whom our Lizard King is associated with.

Nick Stuart: If you provide solid color commentary like this, we might never have a problem again.

Richard Parker: I’m good at my job. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it.

Nick Stuart: See, this is the kind of thing I could go without.

The scene switches to ringside.

Vince Howard: This is the MAIN EVENT and it is scheduled for one-………………………..

Howard stops. He looks around. Because god dammit it’s not scheduled for ONE FALL tonight, oh no.

Vince Howard: THIS IS A THIRTY MINUTE IRON MAN MATCH!!!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Vince Howard: And it is for UNLIMITED FALLS in a thirty minute period!

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Unlimited you say, Vince? L. F. G.

Nick Stuart: I will say, the man knows how to work a crowd.

Vince Howard: Introducing first… from Arkham, Massachusetts… weighing two-hundred-fifty-five pounds… he is The Commissar of the Red Army… WIIIILHELM KAAAAAAAAEL!

The Long Beach Arena darkens as a full chorus assembles on the stage. A rousing series of trumpets, horns and drums flood the arena as the chorus begins to sing.

“I know the gutter and I know the stink of the street

Kicked like a dog I have spat out the bile of defeat
All you beauties who towered above me
You who gave me the smack of your rod
Now I give you the gutter
I give you the judgment of God”

As smoke slowly fills the stage a looming figure stalks forward. Piercing the fog arrives Wilhelm Kael, his long Russian officer’s coat hanging from his shoulders like a cape. Reaching the end of the stage, Kael pauses, taking in the PRIME faithful as they welcome him with boos and jeers.

“Vengeance victorious, these are the glorious days
Women of Paris come gather your bloody bouquets
Now gaze on our goddess of justice
With her shimmering glimmering blade
As she kisses these traitors she sings them a last serenade!”

Marching past the chorus, Wilhelm folds his arms behind his back as he makes his way down to the ring. His face is one of focus, intent and malice as he continues his march forward.

“Zing, swing, savor the sting
As she severs you, Madame Guillotine
Slice, some paradise
You’ll be smitten with, Madame Guillotine”

Reaching the ring, Wilhelm throws his shoulders back, dropping his coat from his shoulders to the ground. Climbing the ring steps he cast the crowd another stern look.

Richard Parker: Did I mention how ready I am to see this match?

Nick Stuart: You did, yes.

Wiping his feet off, Wilhelm steps between the ropes and moves to the center of the ring, his hands outstretched on either side.

“Flash, slash, glisten and gash
She will ravish you, Madame Guillotine
Slit, Madame just bit
Give her more to bite, she’s a hungry queen
Zing, savor the sting
As she severs you, Madame Guillotine
Slice, come paradise

Hail her majesty
Madame Guillotine”

As the chorus finishes their rendition of “Madame Guillotine”, Wilhelm drags his thumb across his throat while keeping his cold gray eyes locked on the camera. The lights rise as he slips back into his corner, awaiting the start of the match.

Richard Parker: I foresee limited violence, good for the kids, just a straight up ol’ grappling display for thirty minutes straight.

Parker is, of course, facetious but Nick is too gullible to realize it. The announcer is tongue tied. Luckily, the events move on.

♫…

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

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

Vince Howard: And his opponent… from Strasbourg, France… weighing two-hundred-six pounds… he is The Neck Collector… FLAMBERGE!

The Frenchman soaks in the loud reception from the crowd. He confidently steps forward and down the rampway, locking eyes with Kael inside the ring, neither man looking like they are going to back down.

Richard Parker: Let the mind games begin, these two are going to kill each other!

Nick Stuart: I thought you just said- oh, nevermind. It’s not worth it. (Changing course) As I previously mentioned, Youngblood got the Ws against both of these men, but there’s a hell of a lot left in FLAMBERGE and Kael. It’s personal.

Richard Parker: Listen, Wilhelm isn’t the most… uh… mentally stable person I’ve ever met. His obsession with the name Fartington will most definitely leak into this match. But he has to be careful. He has to.

FLAMBERGE stomps up the steps and slithers into the ring, in-between the top and middle rope.

The Commissar of the Red Army sprints across the canvas, leaps in the air and lands directly on FLAMBO’s right shoulder, unloading a fury of shots as the former Universal Champion tries to do the same!

DING DING

Referee Elvis Nixon has no choice but to call for the bell. You can tell by the expression on the ref’s face he really wanted to run over the rules with both men, because there’s thirty minutes he’s going to have to call, regardless. But that’s out the window now. He should’ve known better and got into Wilhelm Kael’s ear earlier. Then again, would The Guy Who Was Formerly Dead and Ultimately ReVived as a Fartington Jizz Pod or Something Like That ever be one to listen to rules to begin with? He was probably resting in the corner of the ring, eyes locked on FLAMBERGE, wondering what kinds of tricks he can pull to take the Frenchman down.

Oh yeah, by the way, the two are mercilessly wrecking each other inside the ring. Kael has mounted FLAMBERGE and he’s kneeing him wildly, perched on top with his arms pushing off against FLAMBO’s chest.

WHAM, WHAM, WHAM, these are relentless knees into the back of The Lizard King. Wilhelm peels The Bearded Dragon off the canvas and hurls him into a corner. Kael comes bursting in with a head full of steam-

But EATS an elbow to the side of the face.

Immediately, FLAMBERGE goes for the neck of his opponent.

But almost immediately after that, Wilhelm drops to the mat, on his knees, and escapes the clutches of the guy from The Glue.

Kael the Unquestionable rolls backwards and springs onto his feet. He cranks his head to the left and then with both hands he cranks it to the right. He rolls his shoulders forward, practically begging FLAMBO to make the next move.

The Frenchman leaps across the canvas like lightning and plants a STIFF AS SHIT shot square into Wilhelm’s nose. Kael’s face caves in, as he crumbles over and FLAMBERGE hits the ropes on the far end.

WHAM!, his own running knee into the same spot, Wilhelm’s nose.

Kael stumbles around on his feet, looking to be put out of his misery when FLAMBERGE hits the ropes again-

POWERSLAM BY KAEL!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Kael QUICKLY slides into position and throws FLAMBO on his back. Kael latches both hands around FLAMBERGE’s neck and begins pulling him up from the canvas… as a camel clutch is applied!

Nick Stuart: This beat RIA two weeks ago!

FLAMBERGE’s eyes are WIDE OPEN and already bloodshot, as he struggles to try breaking an arm free from around Kael’s legs. The crowd cheers on as FLAMBO… YES! He is able to free his right arm as he reaches out for the ropes.

But he’s too far away!

Kael is seething as he continues to lean back with the camel clutch locked in.

Nick Stuart: We are only five minutes into this contest but let me tell you, if Max Kael is able to get this hold locked in and take a fall so early, he’s going to have a massive advantage.

Richard Parker: You said Max.

Nick Stuart: My mistake. It’s tough to keep up with all of Wilhelm’s iterations.

Richard Parker: That’s the charm of it, isn’t it? One minute he’s Max Kael? and the next he’s Unquestionably Max Kael! and the next he’s Hey I am Russian Even Though I Wasn’t Born There Max Kael and so on and so on and so on.

During Parker’s annoying little ramble, FLAMBERGE is trying hard to fight towards the ropes. However, Kael wants FLAMBO’s right arm back where it belongs, so the submission can be completely locked in. And yet give the Frenchman all the credit in the world, he is MOVING towards the ropes.

Kael drops the submission.

THUMP.

Asiatic spike added for good measure. Camel clutch reapplied!

Nick Stuart: This DEFINITELY beat RIA two weeks ago!

FLAMBERGE looks to be DOA now as Elvis slides into position.

Nick Stuart: Our ref may have to call this. It looks like FLAMBERGE is OUT!

Nixon looks FLAMBERGE over and then reaches for Julien’s right hand, which is dangling behind Kael’s right leg. Nixon lifts it…

It drops-

NO!

HE’S ALIVE!!!!!

The crowd goes ballistic as they want to see both men f’n KILL each other. FLAMBERGE is trying to fight out of the hold, he’s trying to break that right arm free again… all the while Kael’s face is in shock. Kael’s eyes are wide and his mouth seems to fumble out the words “no” a few times. Also, probably “Fartington [something, something]”.

However, The Bane of Troy shows his clever worth inside the squared circle. Realizing that FLAMBERGE is, in fact, breaking free, he stunningly drops the camel clutch.

Yet Kael never lets go of FLAMBERGE’s neck. He peels The French Phenom off the canvas and whips him into a perfect iteration of a cobra clutch suplex! Or, in other words, The Suplex That Broke Time!

Nick Stuart: Kael with a cover!

ONE.

TWO.

SHOULDER UP!

Nick Stuart: That was a razor thin escape by FLAMBO! Max Kael has been in complete control so far!

Richard Parker: It’s Wilhelm Kael.

Nick Stuart: Yes, but Max is so much easier to type.

Richard Parker: Who’s typing what???

Nick Stuart: Sorry, I mean say. SAY.

Anyway, inside the ring, a ruthless Wilhelm Kael keeps going. He’s stomping the ever living piss out of FLAMBERGE, working the Frechman into a corner of the ring. More stomps come. They are as relentless as Alexei Ruslan’s love for everything Russian.

Suddenly-

FLAMBERGE SPRINGS UP AND JUDO CHOPS KAEL IN THE SIDE OF THE HEAD!

Everyone is all OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH and the announcers are all like WHATTTTTT.

Kael is DOA.

The only thing is, so is FLAMBERGE.

Nick Stuart: Both men are out! My god, a perfectly placed strike by FLAMBERGE, right at the nerve on the side of Kael’s neck, knocking him out.

Richard Parker: While FLAMBERGE may not be able to get the pin right now, he’s going to be given time to recover.

Nick Stuart: We are a SOLID ten minutes in and there’s not been a pinfall yet! We’re at zeros!

Richard Parker: I love a good goaltenders duo!

Nick Stuart: This is wrestling.

Richard Parker: I love pitchers throwing no hitters!

Finally, and albeit not really surprisingly, Wilhelm Kael is the first to his feet. He cracks his head to the left and right again, he rolls his shoulders back and merely moves like Samara in The Ring. He collects FLAMBERGE from the canvas-

Jawbreaker by FLAMBERGE!

Kael shoots in the air, kicking his feet as he falls to the mat in a heap. Then he stops moving entirely.

FLAMBERGE slides into position and goes for the neck!

The crowd gives a scream as… YES! FLAMBERGE LOCKS IN THE NECK! But is it specifically the guillotine choke? That remains to be seen. FLAMBO simply has his forearm around Kael’s neck since he figured time was of the essence.

Nixon slides into place and grabs Kael’s arm.

It drops once.

Nick Stuart: Wilhelm hasn’t moved an inch since he was hit with the jawbreaker.

Richard Parker: That jawbreaker might have rattled his brains!

Nick Stuart: You think his brains could get more rattled?

Richard Parker: You’d be surprised! Maybe two weeks from now Wilhelm is out of the Red Army and into… The Whoresmen!

Nick Stuart: C’mon.

Nixon dangles Kael’s arm in the air again…

It drops twice.

Nick Stuart: We are dangerously close to our first fall here and we are ALMOST at the halfway point!

Elvis takes hold of Kael’s arm one more time as FLAMBERGE looks like he applies EVEN MORE PRESSURE with his forearm.

Nixon raises the arm. He dangles it.

It falls!

WAIT. HOLD ON. THE HAND STOPS FALLING AT THE LAST POSSIBLE SECOND!

FLAMBO screams as he drags both arms around Kael and seemingly works into the guillotine choke! However, as Wilhelm is now alive and coming back down to earth, Kael is seething and hoping to break free from the submission entirely.

In fact, not to be out done, Kael looks like he’s trying to take hold of FLAMBERGE’s neck in the process!

Richard Parker: Neck, neck, neck. Lots of neck play here!

Nick Stuart: I did not have you saying “lots of neck play” on my bingo card today but here we are.

Both men have maneuvered into arm combat, trying to gain a better hold of one another’s neck. The only thing is FLAMBERGE actually does have hold of Kael’s neck… and is now trying to work his opponent into a north-south choke. The two continue trying to counter and battle for the best position…

When ultimately Wilhelm Kael grabs the bottom rope and pulls himself to safety, sliding out of the ring in the process with a shit eating grin on his face.

Kael goes for a stroll around the ring, a limp in his step as he tries sucking back as much air as possible. FLAMBERGE uses this “break” to collect himself, too. Eventually, the French Phenom exits between the ropes, dropping down from the apron and making a march towards Kael.

Kael sees FLAMBERGE coming and aims for a roaring back elbow smash, but FLAMBO ducks and Wilhelm’s elbow goes right into the ring post. Kael shouts out as FLAMBERGE connects with his own elbow strike and then sends Kael onto the floor with a high angle hip toss…

FLAMBERGE has a hold of Kael’s neck and begins choking him outside the ring!

Nick Stuart: As you can see in the graphic to your bottom right, folks, we’ve just passed the halfway point here and neither man has a fall to their name.

Richard Parker: We’re also seeing FLAMBERGE choke Wilhelm Kael out! This isn’t going to score a pinfall or submission since it’s not inside the ring… but it IS going to do MASSIVE damage!

FLAMBO hurls Kael back into the ring under the bottom rope, as the Frenchmen slithers in as well, like the lizard king he is. Eyes locked on Kael’s neck, he’s going to continue to choke Wilhelm out here, legally, in the middle of the squared circle and go up 1-0.

Which is exactly what’s going to happen.

North-south choke!

The crowd is on their feet as FLAMBERGE has the hold sunk in. Kael is dead to rights in the middle of the ring… he swings his arms around a few times, hoping to find someone to hit or ropes to snatch. At this point it even looks like Wilhelm is trying to knock Elvis Nixon out but nothing is possible.

The north-south choke is locked in. Kael isn’t moving. And Elvis takes the “Russian’s” arm.

Nixon dangles it.

It falls.

ONE!

Nixon picks up the arm and dangles it again.

It falls.

TWO!

For the third and final time, Nixon picks up the arm.

Dangles it.

It falls.

THREE!

DING

Vince Howard: The first fall goes to FLAMBERGE!

The Frenchman releases the hold, but not after a couple more tugs at Kael’s neck. However, Elvis Nixon orders FLAMBERGE to move towards a corner so Kael can have a moment of recovery.

Well, if Kael can recover…

Nick Stuart: We’re closing in on twenty minutes. This is a SOLID lead for FLAMBERGE. Yes, it’s one-to-nothing but with ten minutes remaining, not to mention FLAMBERGE withstood a lot of Wilhelm’s offence in the early going… and now he’s choked Kael out a few times, this one leading to a fall.

FLAMBERGE waits in a corner, his eyes never moving away from Wilhelm Kael. The Black Heart of PRIME™, on the other hand, is being checked on but it’s clear as he gains his senses he wants nothing to do with Elvis. Wilhelm pushes the referee away and slides into a corner of the ring. He cranks his head around a couple of times, as if to check and see if his body still works. Perhaps there’s psychology at play here, too, because his neck is working…

Just not that well.

But FLAMBERGE doesn’t need to know that.

Wilhelm raises his arms and latches onto the second rope above him. Like a Dry Bones Koopa Troopa coming back to life and clicking their bones together one-by-one, Kael stands in the corner of the ring, across from FLAMBERGE, ready to go.

FLAMBO charges at Kael.

Wilhelm ducks, but not before poking FLAMBERGE in the eyes.

Nick Stuart: Back slide! Back slide!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT AT THE VERY LAST SECOND!

As both men get to their feet, Wilhelm connects with a Roaring Hellbow, followed by an Arkham Hellbow, followed by the Arkham Death Grip!

Nick Stuart: He’s got the neck! Wilhelm has the neck of FLAMBERGE!

Richard Parker: Neck play. NECK PLAY!! Bingo! BINGOOOOOO!!

The Tongan Death Grip is applied and FLAMBERGE seems to be fading fast…

WHAM!

At the last second, right before falling to his knees, FLAMBERGE connects with an upper knee, knocking Kael’s arms away from his neck in the process. The damage may be done, however, as FLAMBERGE is hunched over, trying to catch his breath.

Wilhelm, on the other hand, hits the ropes and launches off with a full blown rage…

The Red Right Roaring Elbow! The Bearded Dragon is DOA.

Kael falls on top and Elvis slides in to make the count.

ONE.

TWO.

NIXON WAVES IT OFF!

Somehow, someway… FLAMBERGE got his foot on the bottom rope at the last possible second!!

Kael’s eyes shoot open. Almost as if they are bloodthirsty. Wilhelm snatches FLAMBERGE by his arms, folds him into the proper powerbomb-like position and proceeds to deliver WMD.

The ‘91 Tiger Driver. FLAMBERGE’s head makes a sickening SMACK against the canvas. Kael rolls FLAMBERGE over and hooks BOTH legs this time, making sure FLAMBERGE is far, far away from the ropes.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

DING

Vince Howard: The second fall goes to Wilhelm Kael! We are tied at one fall each!

Kael lets go of FLAMBERGE’s legs and rolls over to the ropes. Both men are absolutely spent as the clock works down into the final five minutes of this contest.

Nixon checks on both wrestlers but it’s clear they want to be left alone. Kael is struggling to use the ropes to get to his feet while FLAMBERGE has thrown his entire body into the ropes so he can use all of his limbs to help him get up.

Wilhelm is choking, albeit a little.

FLAMBERGE also spends a few moments rubbing the side of his head.

Both men find a vertical base almost at the same time and that’s good enough for Elvis Nixon to let the match continue!

Kael spins into the middle of the ring. FLAMBERGE does the same.

SIDEWALK SLAM BY KAEL!

Nick Stuart: COVER! WE GOT A COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: TRIANGLE CHOKE! MAX IS GOING FOR THE TRIANGLE CHOKE!

Richard Parker: Wilhelm!!!

FLAMBERGE attempts to fight away but Kael is relentless in his approach. Both men remain on the mat as each of them is trying to gain a submission advantage over the other. Of course, after Kael attempted to go for FLAMBERGE’s neck, what do you think FLAMBERGE is going for?

Duh.

Nick Stuart: The Neck Collector is living up to his moniker. He’s trying for the guillotine choke…

Not to be outdone, Wilhelm knocks FLAMBERGE’s hands away and aims for his own triangle choke.

But FLAMBERGE wiggles free at the last second and tries for a desperation olympic slam…

To which Wilhelm Kael lands on his feet and without hesitation, like a kid in a candy store, charges with both hands out in front of him, looking for FLAMBERGE’s neck again. It’s as if Wilhelm Kael is Homer Simpson and FLAMBERGE is Bart.

Richard Parker: NECK PLAY, NECK PLAY!

While Richard Parker lathers himself up over this notion, FLAMBERGE is able to escape Kael’s clutches and snatch Kael’s head with one arm. Julien tucks Wilhelm’s neck into his armpit. Meanwhile, whatever FLAMBERGE can do, Kael can do too…

Nick Stuart: I believe BOTH men have each other in a half-headlock choke right now with one arm each!

It’s true. As the time ticks into the last THREE minutes of the match, both FLAMBERGE and Kael are attempting to choke the living piss out of each other. Granted, they are limited in what they can do because each of them only has half their bodies and one arm to do it.

Both men fall to their knees. Both of their faces are going red in a hurry. Even though half of the typical pressure is being applied, it’s in the late stages of this one and each man is spent.

Suddenly, FLAMBERGE falls to the canvas completely. Wilhelm’s eyes BURST open with newfound life…

The Commissar of the Red Army slips his head out of FLAMBERGE’s half-headlock. He slides into the proper position: on top of FLAMBO’s back as he sinks his right arm deeper into FLAMBERGE’s neck.

Bulldog choke.

With all of his might, Wilhelm Kael pulls up on FLAMBERGE’s neck in an attempt to absolutely, positively, remove the Frechman’s head from the rest of his body.

All in the name of Cecilworth Fartington?

Probably.

Nick Stuart: We’re under TWO minutes now!

The crowd is on their feet, as Kael tugs and tugs and tugs. A trickle of blood seeps out of Kael’s mouth. Perhaps he bit his own mouth to apply even more pressure.

For as relentless as the former Universal Champion is, his eyes are starting to roll into the back of his head. But for a second there, for a split second, FLAMBERGE places both hands under his body and pushes up and off the mat, in an attempt to try moving towards the ring ropes!

…

…

…

He can’t do it. His arms give out from under him. The crowd SCREAMS.

Vince Howard: ONE MINUTE remaining!

FLAMBERGE’s lights are off. His arms go limp. His body falls to the mat, his arms now trapped underneath him as Kael continues to apply the bulldog choke.

The feisty Wilhelm Kael keeps his right arm locked around FLAMBERGE’s neck as he moves his own legs closer to FLAMBO’s neck.

Nick Stuart: What’s going on?

Richard Parker: It looks like Wilhelm Kael is… transitioning!

Parker’s right. The bulldog choke is being moved into the triangle choke. Or, in other words, the Trotsky Choke.

It’s applied.

Textbook.

The seconds tick away as Elvis Nixon slides into position.

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE is out, partner.

Nixon looks FLAMBERGE over. There’s no ability to take FLAMBERGE’s arms, either, since they are tucked up and under FLAMBERGE’s body. The way Kael has the move positioned ensures he’s on top of The Bearded Dragon this entire time.

It’s academic. Nixon is well trained to know FLAMBERGE’s lights are out, anyway.

DING

Vince Howard: The winner of this fall, by knockout… Wilhelm Kael!

Kael releases the hold and rolls into a corner of the ring. He looks up to the video screen hanging above the squared circle. He sees there’s twenty seconds left.

And the clock is just ticking down.

FLAMBERGE doesn’t move.

The crowd cheers and boos.

Nick Stuart: This was a hell of a battle!

TEN.

NINE.

EIGHT.

SEVEN.

SIX.

FIVE.

FOUR.

THREE.

TWO.

ONE.

Elivs Nixon calls for the final bell.

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Your winner of this match… by the count of two falls to one… WILHELM KAEL!!!

Kael’s theme song surfaces on the PA but in fairness, Wilhelm seems too spent to stand up. Elvis Nixon walks over and raises Kael’s hand, as the member of the Red Russian Army simply slides his right forearm across his mouth, removing reminisce of blood that was dribbling out of it.

Kael seems to be mouthing the last name “Farthington” over and over, or something along those lines, as his eyes stay locked on FLAMBERGE.

Nick Stuart: This was one hell of a battle. Lord only knows what’s coming at Colossus!

Finally, with help from the ring ropes, Wilhelm Kael stands. He cracks his neck to the left and then the right. It’s sore. He’s in a ton of pain. But he is also the victor.

He drops down on all fours and slides out of the ring, as the PRIME signature appears on the broadcast and we…

FADE.

TO.

Cecilworth Farthington standing at the top of the entrance ramp, he sneers down the aisle at Kael. Kael stares back up the aisle at Farthington.

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