COLOSSUS 2024 NIGHT ONE

https://prime-wrestling.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/Colossus-24-Night-1.mp4

From Opening Video to Pyro…

TO FAN SIGNS!

FRED DICK’S LASAGNE IS WORTH EVERY PENNE
PLACE BETS ON HOW FAR IVAN CAN YEET ROSE @ WWW.IVANYEETSFLOWERS.RU HAVE SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER READY
BRING A BUCKET AND A MOP FOR THAT WEIRD ASS LASAGNA
LOTS OF DEAD RELATIVES THIS TIME OF YEAR
BOOK KENNY FREEMAN YOU FUCKING COWARDS
ADAM ELLIS INVENTED REBROADCASTING MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL GAMES WITHOUT EXPRESS WRITTEN CONSENT FROM THE COMMISSIONER’S OFFICE
BRYAN DAWKINS EATS PINEAPPLES THE LONG WAY
HEY HAYES, YOU HANLON? / HANLON DEEZ NUTS! SKRRT SKRRT
I’VE COME TO WATCH A MURDER. I’VE CAME TO SEE A MURRDURR. I’VE CUM TO A HOMOCIDE!
H.O.W.S MY SIGN FLOWING?
MY FAVORITE TYPE OF LASAGNA IS FRED DICK
ROSE MAY TURN RED, VIOLETS ARE NOT BLUE, IN SOVIET RUSSIA, POEM WILL WRITE YOU
NOW THAT ANNA IS THERE, SHOULDN’T THEY BE THE POOR WHORESPEOPLE?

Nick Stuart: WELCOME EVERYONE TO SOFI ARENA, WHERE THIS SOLD OUT, CAPACITY CROWD IS ON THEIR FEET, FOR THE BIGGEST WRESTLING SHOW OF THE YEAR!!!

Richard Parker: WOOOOOO HOOOOOO!!! COLOSSUS, BABY!!!

Nick Stuart: To kick things off, what an incredible opportunity tonight for the young up and comer, Black Sheep Baez!

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: Introducing first… 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 passed the camera and leaps in the air. Orange and blue fireworks explode from the stage as the sole of his Nike’s hit 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 Hayes Hanlon to come to the ring.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

Distorted guitar heralds a black hole emerging on the PRIME*View, dangerously close to the screen; hanging in the void among planets and nebulas.

Sirens accompany as the screen shakes, pulling us in violently, until the lyrics scream throughout the PA system.

“WHEN MY BACK’S TO THE WAAALLLL!!!”

And huge, white block letters fill the screen:

I!!!

WILL!!!

CON!!!

QUER!!!

The speakers and amplifiers hold on for dear life as “Daggers” by We Came as Romans absolutely bludgeon the eardrums. And speaking of explosions, those planets and stars on the PRIME*View do just that, bursting into blinding eruptions of violent light. It carries into the arena, rumbling flashbulbs explode in various points throughout the building; in the ceiling, in the stands, one after another.

And then, from the ramp, The Event Horizon. He marches forward, those dark eyes focused, ‘stache on point. The eruption of lights and noise makes the building feel like a mosh pit. If the fans are booing, you’d never know.

Vince Howard: FROM WEST LINN, OREGON! STANDING SIX FEET, THREE INCHES AND WEIGHING IN AT TWO-HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE POUNDS!!

Hayes climbs the apron, steps through the ropes, and b-lines for the turnbuckle.

Vince Howard: The Event Horizoonnnnnnn… HAAAAAYESSSS!! HAAANNNLLOOOONNNNN!!!

Up one rope, then the second, chest and jaw jutting out, and a thumb across his neck.

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!

CUT OUT THE PAIN! TO FIND THE POWER!”

He hops down, making way to the next post to repeat the process one more time.

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!

CUT OUT THE PAIN!”

He remains on the ropes, and in timing with the song, beats his chest four times while roaring out the crescendo.

I!!!

WILL!!!

CON!!!

QUER!!!

The Comeback Kid stays for a moment, eyes scanning the arena, allowing the music to reach its breakdown. He hops to the mat and takes his place in his corner, ready to go.

DING DING

At the sound of the bell, Black Sheep Baez explodes out of his corner, fires across the ring and nails Hanlon in the chest with a high knee, which sends Hanlon tumbling backwards towards the ropes!

A SHORT ARM CLOTHESLINE BY BAEZ IMMEDIATELY SENDS HANLON OVER THE TOP ROPE!

Nick Stuart: WOAH!

Hanlon lands on his feet outside the ring, as Baez signals for the crowd to get up on their feet. Hanlon pounds the ring with his fist, puts his hands on his hips. A little nod, a cocktail or acknowledgement that Baez got one over on him, a splash of embarrassment and a dash of grit.

Baez beckons Hanlon back in the ring.

Hanlon obliges.

He slides under the ropes and quickly gets to his feet!

Then he slaps the god damn taste out of Baez’s mouth.

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: Baez didn’t like that, Richard! Not one bit.

Richard Parker: Ya Boi better do something ‘bout it then!

And he does.

A stiff right hand by Baez.

A follow up left jab from Hanlon.

Right from Baez.

Left from Hanlon.

Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Right. Left. Left. Left. Left. Left.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon taking the advantage here!

Indeed! The barrage of lefts is accompanied by a slew of rights from Hanlon, who is shuffling, shucking, jiving, ever-entertaining, ever-performative, as he pounds Black Sheep Baez into the corner of the ring.

A desperate uppercut from Baez ALMOST lands flush, but Hanlon weaves – straps his arms around Baez’s waist, and – SNAP Belly-to-belly suplex!

And now, as if to put an exclamation mark on his point, Hanlon drags Baez up to his feet and throws him over the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Reckon that initial offense by Baez got under his skin at all, there?

Richard Parker: Does he LOOK like a man who has any troubles, Nick?

To Richard’s point, you wouldn’t know based off of Hanlon’s expression that he has a care in the world, an arrogant smile on his face as he showboats in the ring for the crowd.

Meanwhile, Black Sheep Baez has made his way onto the ring apron!

Hanlon moves towards Baez, but is met with a headbutt! Hanlon staggers back, before once again advancing. This time Baez puts a shoulder through the middle rope to Hanlon’s guts!

SUNSET FLIP!!!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THR – NO!!!

Hayes somersaults backwards through his kick out, and meets Baez at their feet.

Drop toe hold by Baez, which he cleanly transitions into an STF!!!

Nick Stuart: An absolutely impressive series of offense from Baez, and now Hanlon is in a lot of trouble!

Richard Parker: Yeah, the kid’s impressive, but it’s gonna take more than an STF to put Hanlon away! For fucks sake we’re talking about a former Universal champ, here!

Nick Stuart: And yet you can see in Black Sheep Baez’s performance so far exactly why LT gave him this opportunity, to open Colossus against a former champion! And so far, Richard, he’s holding his own.

Technically, he’s holding Hanlon’s chin, and he’s wrenching the fuck out of it in the center of the ring! Hanlon is extending his arms out for ropes that might as well be light-years away.

Hanlon doesn’t have a fucking choice.

He’s gonna have to tap!

Just kidding. A well placed thumb right into Baez’s left eye sends the young star reeling, breaking the hold and rubbing his eye.

Nick Stuart: COWARD MOVE!

Richard Parker: That’s not a coward move, Nick, it’s a veteran move! He’s teaching Ya Boi a lesson tonight.

Hanlon scrambles to his feet and moves towards the turnbuckle while Baez is still distracted with his eye.

Suddenly, Hanlon starts jogging in place in the corner and winding up his arm.

Nick Stuart: We’ve seen this before, Richard!

Richard Parker: Yes we have!

As Black Sheep Baez reaches his feet, the Comeback Kid charges forth!

MASSIVE LARIAT BY HANLON!!!

Nick Stuart: JESUS GOD HE JUST TURNED BLACK SHEEP BAEZ INSIDE OUT!!!

Richard Parker: LIKE A T-SHIRT!!!

Hanlon makes the cover.

But instead of hooking the leg, he looks for the camera and smiles.

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREEEEEEEEE!!!

.

.

.

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!! A FOOT ON THE ROPE BY BLACK SHEEP BAEZ!

Nick Stuart: Should’ve hooked the leg, Richard!

Richard Parker: sHoULd’Ve hOoKeD tHe LeG, RiChArD!

Nick Stuart: …

Richard Parker: …

Nick Stuart: …No.

Hanlon has a disappointed look on his face, but it’s quickly wiped away. He knows just what to do, and that’s embarrass Black Sheep Baez.

So Hanlon stands to his feet.

He takes a batting stance. Wipes his feet in the “dirt,” has a couple practice swings.

Nick Stuart: Looks like Hanlon’s showboatin’ ass is planning on knocking one right out of the park here.

Richard Parker: Oh yeah. We’re looking for that grand slam, baby! That pancake breakfast!

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Black Sheep Baez starts to ascend to his feet. To his hands and knees first. Then one knee. Then another.

Baez stumbles up to his feet and–

THE WALK OFF BY HAYES HANLON–

NO!!! BAEZ DUCKS UNDERNEATH, GRASPS THE ARM!!!

CRUCIFIX PIN REVERSAL!!!

HAYES’ FEET KICK WILDLY!!!

ONE…

TWO…

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEE– OH HE KICKS OUT JUST IN TIME!!!

Black Sheep Baez scrambles to his feet!

Hayes Hanlon does the same!

They meet in the center of the ring!

Hayes sends a haymaker towards Baez, but Baez weaves around it!!! He leaps in the air!!!

HURRICANRANA!!!

Baez hooks both legs!!!

ONE…

TWO…

THREEEEEEEEEE!!!

NOOOOOOOOO!!! Again, the narrowest of kickout by Hayes Hanlon!

Nick loop to back close calls for Baez! Twice he’s nearly pulled off an absolutely unbelievable upset!

Richard Parker: Well almost only counts in hashbrowns and hand waves.

Nick Stuart: WHAT???

Again, both men meet in the center of the ring.

But this time, it’s Hanlon who takes control with a scoop slam.

Baez back to his feet.

Another scoop slam by Hanlon!

Baez back to his feet again.

Yet another scoop slam by Hanlon!

Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam!

Richard Parker: BY GAWD IT’S A SCOOP SLAM PARTY!!!

Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam!

Richard Parker: AND THE PARTY DON’T STOP TIL EIGHT IN THE MORRRRNIN’!

Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam! Scoop slam!

SCOOP FUCKING SLAM!

Richard Parker: Black Sheep Baez is dead. Has to be.

Nick Stuart: How could one man survive that many scoop slams? How could one man take 38 scoop slams, and kick out before three?

Hayes, exhausted, simply falls on top of Black Sheep Baez for the pin.

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREEEEEEEEEEE!!!

.

.

.

.

.

NO!!!!!!

KICKOUT BY BLACK SHEEP BAEZ!!!

Richard Parker: HOW!?!

Nick Stuart: I HAVE NO CLUE!!! BUT BAEZ IS ALREADY UP TO HIS FEET!!!

Hayes exhaustedly reaches his feet. He sends a haymaker into Baez.

But Baez shakes his head.

Hayes sends another right into Baez.

Baez shakes his head again. It seems he can’t feel it!

Another right from Hanlon – BLOCKED by Baez.

Another right from Hanlon – AGAIN, blocked by Baez!!!

The crowd is on their feet. There’s a feeling in the air.

By god…

By god it’s…

Black. Sheep. Mania!!!

Black Sheep Baez sends a jab to the Hanlon. Another jab. Another jab. Spinning back fist! Uppercut! SPINNING KNIFE EDGE CHOP!

LEAPING CLOTHESLINE!!!

Hayes hits the mat like a sad sack of taters, and Baez is feeling it. He turns to the crowd. Roars for them to get up and they do. SoFi loves themselves some Black Sheep Baez!!!

Nick Stuart: These are the moments you dream of when you begin your wrestling career – and Black Sheep Baez is on the verge of it!

Richard Parker: Not for long! Hanlon’s up on his feet!

Baez turns around–

RIGHT INTO THE FLASH POINT BY HANLON!!!

NO!!! HEADBUTT BY BLACK SHEEP BAEZ!!!

Baez sets Hanlon Up!!!

NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX INTO A BRAINBUSTER!!!

Nick Stuart: HE HIT IT!!! THE DIVINE INTERVENTION!!!

Richard Parker: NOOOOOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: MAKE THE COVER KID!!! MAKE A NAME FOR YOURSELF!!!

Richard Parker: YOU ARE BEING SO BIASED RIGHT NOW!!!

Black Sheep Baez makes the cover! He hooks the legs!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

DING DING DING

It’s over.

Nick Stuart: Black Sheep Baez has just opened Colossus with one of the biggest upsets of 2024!!!

Richard Parker: NIGHT ONE FUCKING SUCKS ALREADY!!!

“Cisco Kid” hits the speakers, and Vince Howard makes the announcement.

Vince Howard: HEEEEERE IS YOUR WINNER! …BLACK! SHEEP! BAEZZZZZZ!!!

Black Sheep Baez has his hand raised as the victor, and as he soaks in this moment?

We cut elsewhere.

A marble fireplace glows with a warm, red blaze that shares its glow with two golden chairs with red velvet padding. The soft cracking of the burning wood is joined by the heavy tread of Wilhelm Kael’s boots as he makes his way to the center of the stage.

He is adorned in his black Lord-Commissar uniform though there are splashes of gold and ruby, giving him a regal, aristocratic look with that hardened military brass. A pair of welders glasses completely obscure his eyes behind black tinted glass and leather. He has a twitchy quality about him, not normal for the usually composed Wilhelm.

Wilhelm Kael: Welcome, friends, to the final episode of the Red Manifesto in the year 2024. A seminal episode before the Red Army marches forth to victory or death. My special guest tonight will be none-other than the current leader of the Red Army, Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Stanislav.

Turning, Wilhelm retrieves a fire poker from beside the fireplace, prodding the logs. One or two of the prods feel more like a stab.

Wilhelm Kael: It’s been quite a ride, hasn’t it friends? Max Kael arrived in PRIME a year and a half ago. Most of you didn’t believe in him, most of you didn’t understand him. That’s fine, he’s a confusing, strange little man. But..

Looking toward the screen Wilhelm smiles a rare, unpleasant smile. The normally perfect white teeth look stained with… blood?

Wilhelm Kael: That lack of understanding or interest allowed him to fester and grow. Evolving, learning and eventually… well… Here we are. The end of 2024 and I, Wilhelm Kael, am Main Eventing Night One of Colossus against that arrogant child, Cecilworth Farthington. And speaking of Main Events… allow me to introduce the Co-Main Event holder for tonight, the Russian Bear…

Setting the poker down, Wilhelm flourishes his arms to his left.

Wilhelm Kael: …Leader of the Red Army… Ivan Stanislav.

As our view zooms back, the overall visual weight of the scene shifts drastically to Wilhelm’s left as former Universal Champion, Ivan Stanislav, stands tall in his own crimson military uniform. Stanislav’s beard, normally bedraggled and relatively unkempt, is actually cut tight for the occasion. Gold buttons gleam along the double breasted uniform and his barrel chest is covered with various medals and commendations from a life of service to his Motherland.

Stanislav grins wide and moves closer to Wilhelm and brings a huge hand to the back of his neck and squeezes as the two of them look at the camera and Stanislav’s voice booms.

Ivan Stanislav: It has been long time since Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav has been on Red Manifesto!

Stanislav looks positively elated to be next to Wilhelm, his roaring laugh booming off the walls. Wilhelm defers to the much larger Ivan, inclining his head as he allows the Russian Bear to take up the space.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAAHAA!! Here we are, PRIME, the Crimson Colossus! Where The Red Army headlines Co-Main Event! Wilhelm Kael finally sticks it to PRIME’s boy-in-glue, Cecilworth Farthington, and also tonight The Red Army gains a thorny “Rose” in our ranks… whether she likes it or not, courtesy of Russia’s favorite son… myself! DYAAHAAHAA!!

Kael motions to the chair opposite his own, waiting for his guest to sit before he did. He doesn’t seem to share Ivan’s jovial mood but then Wilhelm was never an overly happy man.

Wilhelm Kael: Indeed, Starshy Praporschchik Stanislav, it is an auspicious night tonight. The #1 Night of Colossus, perhaps the most important night in PRIME history, wouldn’t you say?

Ivan grins as he looks down proudly at Wilhelm Kael. If he’s thrown off by the goggles or the crimson teeth, he shows no sign of it, before looking back at the camera.

Ivan Stanislav: It is most important night in PRIME history, indeed! A red night for all of those who have dared to stand in our way!

Ivan points a finger at Kael while staring at the viewers.

Ivan Stanislav: Every one of you discounted this man. You thought him a fool. You thought him some… buffoon. But myself, with Mother Russia’s grace, saw the true fire of man willing to fight for communist cause and for our great national cause! One year ago, Universal Title was torn from my hands by malfeasant forces. A Frenchman who, at one time, was given opportunity to stand side by side with myself and my comrades. What did he choose? He chose Glue instead.

Ivan turns with Wilhelm and the two of them walk towards the wall off to the side of the fireplace, which slowly lowers to reveal that The Red Manifesto is being filmed high above the SoFi Stadium. Far below, the ring and all the attendees sit. The PRIMEtron and other screens around the arena show Stanislav and Kael, who stand so far high above them.

Ivan waves a large, slow hand out at the mass below them, and the ring.

Ivan Stanislav: You, Wilhelm Kael, have fulfilled every requirement that I, and Mother Russia, have put forth. To scatter the glue and demoralize their ranks while I busy myself with more important matters! Homerun Hayes has just had a fantastic opening match against some no-name newcomer!

Ivan smirks at Wilhelm as the two share a laugh.

Ivan Stanislav: Dear FLAMBERGE is not even at Colossus! After you soundly thrashed him and destroyed his will to fight, that lizard has shed his skin to reveal his yellow belly to entire world! And now, tonight, Cecilworth Farthington will be crushed under the heel of your boot! Each and every one of those little Americans down there shall watch it, live, on The Red Army’s grandest night! DYAAHAAHAA!!

His voice echoes throughout the arena as the duo’s images are broadcast everywhere in the SoFi stadium. As Ivan speaks, Wilhelm carefully pulls a cigarette from his silver case, slipping it between his lips.

Wilhelm Kael: It is also fitting that Cecilworth Farthington, the so-called Mister Finish-Line, and I share the exact same record. Eleven wins. Four losses. One tie. Tonight, I will rectify that this and leap beyond the Lord of Farthington Manor. Some might say it’s my God given Destiny. Others might call it a Legacy that I help forge tonight.

Snapping open his silver zippo, Kael lights his cigarette, taking a quick puff. Tucking the lighter away, the Red Manifesto stage is starting to look like a 1980s Soviet control room filling with smoke.

Wilhelm Kael: But let us not forget that tonight you will bring to heel a wretched little thing named Rose. It’s been a long year of her nipping at the heels of power, desperate to sink her teeth into anyone or anything. I dare say she’s bitten off far more than she can chew, let alone swallow.

Ivan nods his head.

Ivan Stanislav: Indeed, she most certainly has. And all those words and threats and barbs our dear Rose has thrown our way? She will choke on them this night. And after she has been subjugated and learns where the true power lies in PRIME, Commissar Kael, she will be ours!

Ivan’s voice booms through the arena. He glowers down at the masses beneath himself and Kael, while his face fills the various screens and dominates their vision and hearing. His words echo through the arena into the backstage area.

Ivan Stanislav: PRIME! Tonight is Crimson Colossus! Tonight, The Red Army shall continue to dominate PRIME as we have all year! We have terrorized your ranks and destroyed your heroes! We have demolished your tag teams! We have shaken your stables! Ever forward! Never stopping! For the glory of the Motherland!

Ivan booms in proclamation.

Ivan Stanislav: Tonight! Glue dies! A death knell heard around the world courtesy of Commissar Kael! Tonight! KING is shattered and thrown into the dustbin of history as Rose joins The Red Army! And, next year, PRIME? You will all be casualties of our Great Patriotic War!

Standing, Wilhelm offers the booing crowd below a half-felt royal wave, a bitter sneer smeared across his face.

Wilhelm Kael: That is all for tonight, misbegotten pathetic worms. Now all there is left to say is… Dasvidaniya Lord Cecilworth Farthington.

We get a parting shot of Ivan Stanislav and Wilhelm Kael, standing side by side lording high above the Sofi Stadium masses. Ivan Stanislav proud, jovial and bearing a wide grin as he laughs uproariously. Wilhelm on the other hand is as grim as the acts he promises.

Let Crimson Colossus officially begin.

Colossus moves on.

Nick Stuart: Coming up we have two men competing for the vacant Alias Title! There’s a lot more on the line as well. Dawkins! Crash! And it’s coming up now!

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: The following contest is for one fall and is for the Alias Title! First, coming to the ring…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.

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: And his opponent! From Buffalo, New York, weighing in at 238 pounds…CRASH!

FEEL THE FIRE, HE’S ENTERING THE RING

HIS MINDSET KNOWS ONLY HOW TO WIIIIIIIN

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

UNLEASHING HIS HELL

YOU WON’T EVEN HEAR THE BELL

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

FEEL THE POWER OF THE WAAAAARRIOOOOR!

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

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

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

LET’S GET READY TO RUUUUMBLE

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

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

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

DING DING

Nick Stuart: And we’re underway here. These two men are competing for the Alias title vacated by Kerry Kuroyama after three successful defenses. He’ll challenge for the Five Star Title tomorrow night, but tonight is all about these two men and this championship.

Richard Parker: It’s also about some weird and wacky Herald Hijinx!

So commonly in supershow matches we have two men who hate each other, who can’t wait to tear each other apart. It doesn’t seem these two have that same energy, though, as they circle slowly, waiting for the other to make a move. Stuart, ever the professional, catches on quick.

Nick Stuart: You can tell each man is really interested in winning this title, they don’t want to charge in and make a mistake that may cost them a shot at wrestling glory.

Richard Parker: Yes, because there are so many matches where someone leaps in and gets pinned immediately.

Dawkins gets closer and reaches out, but Crash slaps his hand away and feigns in for a grapple. Dawkins moves back, and again they begin to circle. The standoff is finally ended as Dawkins lunges forward and wraps his arms around Crash’s shoulders. He quickly shifts behind him, but Crash is ready, sending a back elbow that causes Dawkins to stagger back. Crash presses the advantage, grappling The Former Flyin’ Hawaiian and forcing him towards the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Crash has Dawkins tied up in the ropes, and he’s going to hit him across the chest with a huge chop! I can hear Dawkins’ teeth chatter from here!

Richard Parker: I mean, yeah. We’re not far away.

Nick Stuart: Now Crash is going to launch him into the ropes!

Richard Parker: Not really a launch. More like a toss.

Nick Stuart: Here comes Bryan like a house on fire!

Richard Parker: Barely. A wisp of smoke coming out of a chimney at best.

Nick Stuart: Will you stop already! Dawkins hits him with a clothesline!

Crash falls to the ground.

Nick Stuart: What, nothing to say?

Richard Parker: I’d call it a lariat.

Nick Stuart: Moving on!

Dawkins, knowing he needs to weaken his opponent to get him to submit, starts the process by dropping to the mat and wrapping Crash in a headlock. New York’s Finest gasps and reaches for the ropes, but the veteran Dawkins rolls backward, keeping him away. The problem is he uses a lot of momentum to roll him, and he can’t stop Jackson from landing on top of him with his shoulders down. Ashley Barlow, ever the professional, is quick with the response.

ONE!

TW…

Dawkins realizes quickly his mistake and lets go, swinging his shoulder up. Jackson bounds to his feet and he’s ready for Dawkins when he gets to his.

Nick Stuart: Quick kick…DDT! Crash just planted Dawkins with a big DDT! This match means a lot to Crash. Not just because of the title, but because of the stakes. Apparently the location of Violent Purple is on the line, and Crash is on a quest to be with his beloved!

Richard Parker: I don’t know anything about any of that.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: I prefer to focus on the in-ring goings-on of our competitors, thank you very much.

Nick Stuart: Richard, this confrontation about Violent Purple happened in the ring.

Richard Parker: Uh…I prefer to focus on the things the Red Army does in the ring, thank you very much.

Crash drags Dawkins to his feet and slams him into the turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: This whole thing is tangentially related to The Red Army!

Richard Parker: Goddammit, Nick, I just want to pay attention to Ivan!

Ivan is not in this match, but Dawkins is still in a lot of trouble as Crash is seizing the momentum. Dawkins tries to protect his body, but Crash is wailing on him in the corner.

Nick Stuart: There’s respect between these competitors, but you can see the fire in Crash’s eyes! He wants to win this! He wants to prove he’s a champion!

Dawkins begins to slump in the corner. Crash backs up, then delivers a knee to his face. He lifts Dawkins up, then Irish whips him into the other turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: Bryan Dawkins needs to find some way to turn the tide of the match or this one will be over quick!

Richard Parker: Folks, my partner just activated the patented momentum reverse-o-meter.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: By saying the magic words, he has ensured that Bryan Dawkins will indeed turn the tide of this match soon!

Nick Stuart: No I didn’t.

Richard Parker: Watch. Pineapple Man is going to take control in three…two…one…

Crash sizes up Dawkins, then runs into the corner and hits him with an avalanche splash.

Nick Stuart: You were saying?

Dawkins is out on his feet. Crash hits him with a suplex, then goes to the corner and climbs the rope. When he gets to the top, he begins to mimic smoking a joint. The stoners in the crowd are greatly amused.

Nick Stuart: You know what this means! He’s looking for the 420 splash!

Crash launches…and misses.

Richard Parker: Looks like there was a delay in the momentum reverse-o-meter.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins rolled out of the way! He was playing possum, because he looks fresh now!

Indeed, The Bruh is up quicker than you’d expect from someone who looked so out of it less than a minute ago. Crash hit the canvas hard, clutching his stomach, and as soon as he is on his feet Dawkins grabs him and hits a gorgeous belly to back suplex. Crash tries to get to his feet, but Dawkins begins to stomp on his legs.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins trying to get back on his gameplan now. It’s well known that he likes to target different parts of the body to weaken them, as he has become something of a submission specialist at this stage of his career.

Richard Parker: Indeed, the Grounded Hawaiian doesn’t like to go up top anymore.

Crash screams and tries to escape the stomps. He pulls himself up and Dawkins grabs him up, then leans him against the ropes. Dawkins tries an Irish whip, but Crash plants his feet and reverses it.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins coming back, Crash looking for a clothesline…Dawkins rolls under!

Richard Parker: He went King on that one!

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: King’s Hawaiian.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: KING’S HAWAIIAN ROLLS, DAMMIT, YOU MISSED DAWKINS TAKE OUT CRASH WITH A GERMAN SUPLEX!

Dawkins covers Crash and Barlow is quick to get into position.

ONE!

TWO!

TH…

Nick Stuart: Crash Jackson gets the shoulder up, but Bryan Dawkins has seized all of the momentum here!

Richard Parker: All thanks to you, partner.

Nick Stuart: I had nothing to do with it!

With Crash a little slow to get up, Dawkins continues his focus on the legs, wrapping up the ankle and wrenching on it. Crash screams, but makes no motion to tap. Barlow gets in position, asking Crash if he gives up, but he shakes his head no.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins trying to get Crash to tap out, but Crash has come too far for that! The championship is within his grasp, so he won’t give it up without a fight!

Crash lunges forward and grabs the ropes. Dawkins, visibly frustrated, holds the lock for a few extra seconds before Barlow muscles in and forces Dawkins to release the hold. The Hawaiian looks a little angry at Barlow before calming down. But that distraction of focus gives Crash the opportunity he needs to get to his feet and…

WHACK!

Nick Stuart: WIDE LEFT! Crash just levelled Dawkins with that superkick!

Dawkins falls like he’s been shot, and Crash rolls over for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Bryan gets the shoulder up.

Nick Stuart: Both men battling so hard here! The title is on the line! Violent Purple is on the line! Who’s going to give first?

Crash picks Dawkins up, then scoop slams him to the canvas. He drags him towards the top right corner, then walks towards the turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: Crash looking for an aerial move again! He’s pulling out all the stops!

Dawkins begins to stir as Crash climbs. By the time Crash is about to stand, Dawkins gets to his feet and knocks his legs out, causing Crash to fall onto the turnbuckle post.

Nick Stuart: And so is Dawkins! He’s climbing up too!

Richard Parker: I thought he didn’t do this anymore?

Dawkins grabs Crash, lifts him in the air, and falls backward, creating an enormous thud.

RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: Bryan Dawkins with a huge suplerplex! And it could be over here if he goes for the pin!

But he doesn’t go for the pin.

Dawkins bends down, grabs Crash, and locks in.

Nick Stuart: HEEL HOOK! HE’S GOT THE HEEL HOOK LOCKED IN!

Richard Parker: Crash is miles from the ropes! Nowhere to go!

Indeed, Crash is in a world of pain. He is screaming. He is fighting. He is yelling. But he is not tapping.

Over a minute goes by with Crash struggling. Making progress towards the ropes, inching along. But no matter how hard Dawkins wrenches on the foot, Crash refuses to tap.

Nick Stuart: What strength from Crash Jackson! He is not giving up!

You can tell that Dawkins is growing more and more desperate. He’s looking over, telling Barlow to ask Crash if he’s quitting. The sweat is dripping down both of their faces. And finally, after a few minutes of attempting to end the match with the Heel Hook, Dawkins releases the hold.

Nick Stuart: Incredible resilience from Crash! Dawkins worked on Crash’s lower extremities to make him weak enough to tap, but he just wouldn’t! And now what is Dawkins going to do?

Dawkins is wondering that same question. As Crash lies on the ground, trying to breathe, Dawkins leans against the turnbuckle, breathing heavily. Then, he looks behind him. And after a moment of checking that Crash is still not moving on the ground, he nods to himself and begins to climb.

Nick Stuart: Wait! Dawkins is going up top! He’s abandoned this part of his offense! He used to finish off opponents with the Hawaiian Hangover, but he hasn’t done that since joining PRIME!

Richard Parker: But here he goes, partner! The Grounded Hawaiian is grounded no more!

Dawkins stands on the turnbuckle, breathing heavily. He looks down. He closes his eyes for a moment…

And then he leaps.

WHAMMM!!!

Nick Stuart: He hit it! Hawaiian Hangover! COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: He did it! Dawkins is the new Alias Champion! He had to dig deep, and go back to his roots, but he did it!

Richard Parker: Big ups to Crash though. He didn’t tap!

As Dawkins celebrates with the title, Crash begins to get to his feet. He looks disappointed, but as he and Dawkins lock eyes, there’s no way Crash is going to do anything but the right thing.

And the right thing is hold his hand out for the champion to shake.

Without any hesitation, he shakes Crash’s hand, leading to another wave of cheers.

Nick Stuart: Congratulations to Bryan Dawkins, who scores a big title win on Colossus Night One! Now let’s go to a quick commercial!

The house lights dim. Silence. The high top camera pans around the stadium.

Suddenly, a spotlight bursts onto the COLOSSUS entrance as “The Riches” by Jane’s Addiction plays over the PA.

♫ I love standing by the water
And just knowing what it’s for
It’s all right, swim and sip it
Let me have a little more ♫

As the slow beat rolls on, the crowd watches, trying to clue in as to who’s theme music this is. It’s never played in PRIME.

 ♫ Like my woman, like my shower
Get them hot until they’re steaming
Love to find a little spot
Nice and shady that’s for dreamin’ of the riches ♫

Golden sparkles fall from the rafters, showering the entranceway. Dollar, dollar bills fall from the rafters next and into the crowd. But as the camera zooms in on a lucky fan who’s able to catch one, he reveals nothing more than a frowny face.

Because he’s got a George Washington in his hands.

In fact, as the camera catches more and more fans snatching the dollar, dollar bills, they are nothing but George Washingtons.

WAIT!

One lucky fan has caught the hot ticket! He’s got a Benjamin Franklin!

Snatch.

Make that TWO Benjamin Franklins! Holy shit!

…Hold on just a second here. The Benjamin Franklin starts disintegrating in his hands! The only real ones are the George Washingtons!

More fans catch the fake money, and as they figure it out, the stadium starts to boo.

1:14 minute mark of the song, the entrance spotlight becomes a GORGEOUS GREEN™.

♫ Oh, tell me where are you hidden?
‘Cause ready or not man, I’m comin’ in ♫

1:23 mark, the PRIMEview reveals whom some of the fans were catching onto.

R E E D Y O U N G

♫ Into the life
INTO THE LIFE!!!
INTO THE LIFE OF RICHES! ♫

Reed Young saunters out, sporting this ridiculously over-the-top GORGEOUS GREEN™ jacket, with a green top hat and a golden cane. Dollar, dollar bills are posted all over his jacket and pants. Like actual dollar bills. George Washington’s fall out of his pockets, jammed full of money, as he struts down the rampway like he owns the joint. The crowd boos along, but Fred Dick’s most honest companion doesn’t even register the boos. It runs in his family, clearly.

Halfway down the ramp, Reed stops. He puts a finger to his chin like he forgot something but can’t figure it out. Needless to say, he continues towards ringside. He arrives at the apron, raises his hands and BOOM, firecrackers go off from the ring posts and more George Washington’s explode from them. His pockets continue to drip money, as Reed marches up the stairs and into the ring.

Richard Parker: Hey, Nick, you mind if I leave the booth for a second? I’m late on my rent and any little bit would help…

The camera pans over to Stuart “owl-ing” Parker. The color commentary guy decides he better not go anywhere.

With Young in the ring, he asks for a mic and his theme music dies down. The crowd boos as Young receives the mic from Vince Howard. He scans over the PRIMEates. He giggles to himself. With that SICCCCCKK BRO ENERGY (not to be confused with Crash Bro Energy) he pulls the mic to his face, opens his mouth-

And remembers what he forgot! He points to the entrance!

The lights dim.

“Applause” by Lady GaGa surfaces.

Nick Stuart: (Knows what’s coming) Oh no…

♫ I stand here waiting for you to bang the gong
To crash the critic saying, “Is it right or is it wrong?”
If only fame had an I.V, baby could I bear?
Being away from you, I found the vein, put it in here ♫

Strobe lights flood the stage. White and black, black and white. The lights completely switch off.

♫ I live for the applause, applause, applause
I live for the applause-plause, live for the applause-plause, live for the-
Way that you cheer and scream for me
The applause, applause, applause ♫

PRIMEview confirms everyone’s worst nightmare.

V I C K I E F U C K I N G H A L L ! ! ! ! ! ! 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

If you thought Reed got boos…

This place is about to cause a riot.

♫ Give me that thing that I love (I’ll turn the lights out)
Put your hands up, make ’em touch, touch (Make it real loud)
Give me that thing that I love (I’ll turn the lights out)
Put your hands up, make ’em touch, touch (Make it real loud) ♫

Nick Stuart: Tell me why!?

Richard Parker: No, those are the wrong lyrics, you want Lady GaGa, not Nickelback.

Nick Stuart: First of all, “tell me why” it’s The Backstreet Boys. Second, I wasn’t saying a lyric, you stooge. Why is Vickie Hall here when she’s LITERALLY SAID SHE’S QUITTING.

Richard Parker: She said that!?

Nevertheless, Vickie appears to a CHORUS of boos. She’s wearing this absolutely outrageous blown up PRETTY PINK© plastic fucking thing. It can’t even be described. Watch the Lady GaGa music video, it’s in there somewhere. Of course, Vickie’s “outfit” is PRETTY PINK©.

Walking out like she owns the place, Hall stops at the top of the ramp, leans down (but struggles to do so because of this blow-up suit) and picks up a George Washington. Realizing it’s only a one dollar bill, she rolls her eyes and playfully says “oh, daddy” before discarding it to the floor and descending the rampway.

Nick Stuart: She’s ruined Jonathan-Christopher’s life, among others. She is so annoying. I’ve lost all respect for her.

Richard Parker: This implies you once… had respect?

Vickie continues down the ramp, dry humping the air without a fuck in the world.

Richard Parker: Obnoxiousness at its finest! I love it!

Nick Stuart: I-

Richard Parker: Listen, you might not want to admit it and LT definitely won’t, but this place GOES HARD with people like Vickie and Reed.

Nick Stuart: It goes something, alright.

Vickie arrives at the bottom of the apron. However, she’s actually never been able to walk up the stairs by herself. In fact, there are gambling lines on it and the odds give a terrific payout if she ever went solo. Her father catches on, so he scoots over to the edge of the ring, leaps out and stands on the apron. He offers his hand as Vickie takes it and daintily walks up the stairs.

Richard Parker: Thank god for dads.

Young also opens the ropes for his daughter as she slips in- wait, she can’t do it. This nonsense blow-up outfit is way too big.

So she deflates the outfit, just enough for her to wiggle in-between the ropes.

Mercifully, her theme song comes to a close. Sadly, however, we are only beginning…

Reed’s eyes dart around, a manic energy radiating from his body as he grabs the microphone.

Reed Young: Ladies and gentlemen!

Reed’s voice drips with artificial charm.

Reed Young: I stand before you today to defend the honor of my precious daughter!

Vickie rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Well, she tries to cross them. Her outfit is still 50% inflated. Either way, she knows this routine all too well.

Young continues, gesticulating wildly.

Reed Young: My Vickie is a paragon of virtue! A shining example of—

A sudden deafening cheer erupts and drowns out the rest of Reed’s sentence..

Nick Stuart: Hold on!

All eyes are drawn to the stage, where the crowd has noticed that a fiery redheaded figure has emerged from the back.

Nick Stuart: Oh my God!

Richard Parker: Oh no…

Nick Stuart: Ginny Van Lear’s here!

Ginny Van Lear, with her signature mane of hair blazing behind her, steps onto the stage to a roaring ovation.  She is momentarily taken aback by the overwhelming reception from the LA fans.

Richard Parker: Is she packing any firearms tonight?

Nick Stuart: I don’t see any.

Richard Parker: Thank god for that!

Ginny stares out at the capacity crowd and feels gratitude in her heart for the fans’ welcome.  A slight, brief smile appears on her face but it only takes a moment for her to lock her gaze squarely on the lady in pink in the ring- Vickie Hall.

Vickie takes a split second to glance over at her father but this doesn’t remove Ginny’s stare, looking directly at the woman who’s caused her so much hurt and anguish over the past two months. Ginny knows her life has been a whirlwind since ReVival 56 and she has had ample time to process and come to terms with everything that’s happened to her. With a deep breath, she begins her descent down the ramp, never once breaking eye contact with Vickie.

It’s like Vickie wants to break the gaze and find her father again, but she can’t do it.

Nick Stuart: Vickie, welcome to hell.

Richard Parker: Listen, I wouldn’t be so sure. How many times have we seen Vickie a couple steps ahead and wiggle her way out?

Nick Stuart: You can’t tell me what’s happened to Vickie over the last four months has been her… being steps ahead.

Richard Parker: We’ll see.

Every inch closer to the ring builds anticipation and tension among both fans and the young woman standing behind her father inside the ring. Ginny finally reaches the ringside area and rolls under the bottom rope and springs back up to her feet.

Reed steps in-between Vickie and the approaching Ginny. Reed’s smile widens, revealing too many teeth.

Reed Young: Well, hello there!

He extends a hand.

Reed Young: What can I do for you today!? Perhaps we can discuss this over a nice, friendly lunch! My treat, of course-

Without a word, Ginny launches into a spinning heel kick, her foot connecting solidly with Reed’s testicles!

The crowd POPS as Reed’s face contorts in agony and he crumples to his knees.

Nick Stuart: Did Vickie see that coming!?

Richard Parker: Well, no…

Ginny delivers a second spinning heel kick, this time to his head. He collapses in a heap as Vickie scrambles to the corner of the ring!

Nick Stuart: Or that?

Richard Parker: Well… um….

Ginny snatches up the fallen microphone and the arena goes silent when she points her finger toward Vickie.

Ginny Van Lear: You.

Her chest heaves as she glares at Vickie.

Ginny Van Lear: You tried to ruin my marriage…

Vickie shakes her head frantically ‘no’.

Ginny Van Lear: …yeah y’all did and I oughta do the same thing to you…

Vickie tries to beg off in the corner.  Ginny points down at Reed.

Ginny Van Lear: … that I just did to your daddy.

Ginny pauses and takes another deep breath.

After several seconds pass by and with the crowd holding their collective breath…she shakes her head.

Ginny Van Lear: But I ain’t like you.

Ginny closes her eyes and shakes her head again.

Ginny Van Lear: And I ain’t gonna lower myself to your level.

Ginny’s voice trembles with emotion.

Ginny Van Lear: My daddy… my late daddy… always said to turn the other cheek…and let God…

She pauses, swallowing hard.

Ginny Van Lear: …that God… He will sort it all out in the end.

Ginny looks up to the ceiling and breathes. For a moment there, it looks like Vickie is laughing off the thought of the fictitious character called “God”. However, another glance back into Ginny, who doesn’t move and stands DIRECTLY in front of her… well, it switches Vickie’s demeanor back into seriousness.

Ginny Van Lear: So that’s what I’m gonna do.

She looks Vickie straight in the eyes.

Ginny Van Lear: Ima gonna let God judge you and you oughta get on your knees and thank the Lord right here an’ now that I ain’t gonna do to you what Ivan Stanislav did to my husband last month.

With one last contemptuous look at Vickie, Ginny drops the microphone and exits the ring.

Nick Stuart exhales a sigh of relief.

Nick Stuart: Well folks… that could have got real ugly.

Richard Parker: Yes. Vickie handled it perfectly like the princess she is.

Nick just sighs.

Nick Stuart: Ginny said her peace and she is walking to the back.

Slowly walking up the ramp, Ginny’s mind races and she can’t wait to get out of there.

As she reaches the top of the ramp, Vickie’s shrill voice cuts through the stadium.

Vickie Hall: Hey, Gin.

Ginny freezes mid-step, her body tensing like a coiled spring.

Vickie Hall: How’s Adam doing, by the way?

Meanwhile, Vickie’s body now shakes with intensity. She will not be one-upped on the biggest stage like this… and with Ginny literally removed from the ring, the confidence in the PRETTY PINK© girl has come back in full.

Vickie Hall: Still talking about our… special night?

Vickie’s words slice through the air like a knife, causing Ginny’s body to tense, every muscle coiled tightly as she turns to face Vickie. But instead of a playful retort, Ginny’s face contorts into a mask of rage, her red hair whipping around as she clenches her fists at her sides.

Richard Parker: Oh shit.

Nick Stuart: Vickie…Vickie…Vickie…

In that moment, Vickie can feel the heat radiating off of Ginny’s seething glare and grabs onto the ropes for support.

The crowd rises to their feet… they WANT IT, the entire stadium is frothing at the mouth for it to happen.

Nick Stuart: C’mon, Ginny. Let her have it!

Richard Parker: Since when do we condone violence, partner?

Nick Stuart: Little newsflash for you, Rich. We’re a wrestling company!

Ginny storms back towards the ring with purpose, her anger fueling each step. She slides into the squared circle like a force to be reckoned with and snatches up the microphone.

Ginny Van Lear: Well, bless your heart…

Ginny’s voice is as sweet as can be… that is, until she channels her late father’s Baptist preacher, fire and brimstone edge.

Ginny Van Lear: …you home-wreckin’ whore!

Vickie’s eyes widen.

Richard Parker: Run Vickie! Run!

Ginny steps over the fallen Reed Young and Vickie scrambles out of the ring, but not before deflating her “outfit” completely. Her designer heels click frantically against the floor, as Vickie has both arms tightly wrapped around her deflated outfit so it doesn’t fall off and leave her naked.

Ginny Van Lear: Oh…you ain’t gettin’ away that easy.

Ginny vaults over the top rope to the floor and immediately gives chase to Vickie sprinting up the ramp to the back. Stunningly, Vickie is super quick but then again, so is Ginny. They make a mad sprint behind the COLOSSUS logo.

Nick Stuart: Vickie’s big mouth…

The two women tear through the backstage area, knocking over equipment and startling crew members.

Vickie rounds a corner and collides with a broad chest.

Vickie Hall: GET OUT OF MY WAY!

The world stops. The crowd GASPS!

She realizes it’s Jonathan-Christopher, her husband.

Vickie Hall: Jonathan-Christopher!

Vickie’s panicked breaths come in short gasps.

Vickie Hall: Baby, please!

Vickie clutches at his shirt.

Vickie Hall: Honey… my Amazing Love Partner… you gotta help me!

She looks behind her and hears the footsteps coming.

Vickie Hall: That crazy hillbilly is going to kill me!

Jonathan-Christopher looks down at his wife, his eyes cold and unfeeling.

Vickie Hall: Jonathan-Christopher?

Without a word, he walks away. The crowd… watching on the video screen… pops!

No… HUGE POP!

Vickie Hall: Wait, baby? BABY!? BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!

Vickie is alone and vulnerable and, because of this horrific disposition, her demeanor changes on a dime.

Vickie Hall: Noo! GET BACK HERE! YOU DID THIS TO ME, JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER. YOU’RE THE REASON. I WILL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING WHEN-

The sound of running footsteps grows louder, and Ginny appears, her eyes blazing with fury.

Vickie lets out a shriek. She takes off running again, disappearing around another corner with Ginny in hot pursuit.

Vickie Hall: LEAVE ME ALONE!

The red-headed vessel of righteous vengeance gains on her but Vickie finds a room and dives sharply into it. She tries to slam the door behind her, while her blow-up dress starts falling off RIGHT as the door moves past her to shut.

However, another little known fact… just like Vickie’s inability to walk up the steel steps on her own, she’s also never been able to show significant strength, either. As a result, the door doesn’t close completely. The latch is still open.

Ginny arrives and follows Vickie inside. She SLAMS the door hard behind her.

Watching all this unfold are two stadium security guards who just happen to be a few feet away.  They hear the commotion that erupts inside the room.

One security guard looks at the other.

Security Guard #1: Think we should go check that out?

The other security guard mulls it over… flinching at the sound of all hell breaking loose.

Shuddering, he turns to the first security guard shaking his head.

Security Guard #2: No…

Both walk away at a brisk pace as we cut away elsewhere.

Nick Stuart: Well folks, it’s been a wild night so far here in SoFi Stadium but things are about to get downright brutal!

Richard Parker: Fred Dick and the Poor Whoresmen have been gaining a lot of notoriety since forming a few months back, with Dick deciding that wasn’t enough…he’s called out Clay Byrd, and he’s about to get him here at Colossus!

We turn our attention to the ring, where Vince Howard is standing alongside referee Elvis Nixon for our next contest.

Vince Howard: The following is a Bull Rope Match, with the winner being the last man standing! Introducing first…from Chicken City, Georgia, he is the Street Cat, the King of Wrong Style, and a member of the Poor Whoresmen…FREEEED DIIIIIIIIICK!

The lights in SoFi Stadium go out.

The crowd is bathed in pitch darkness.

Then, suddenly.

FLASH.

A spotlight in the center of the ring.

And under that spotlight is a stool, with Daytona fuckin’ Diamonds sitting on it while holding a guitar.

Daytona Diamonds: Good evening.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Indeed, the boos are downright violent and oppressive the way they fill the arena.

Daytona doesn’t give nary a single shit.

Daytona Diamonds: I wrote a little ditty for y’all this evenin’. Mind if I play it?

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Daytona Diamonds: Fuck y’all too. Hope ya like it!

Daytona clears his throat. He begins strumming the guitar.

A folky little ballad doth lift from Daytona’s lips and fill SoFi like a nice warm dick.

Daytona Diamonds:

🎶 In a small town south of nowhere, lived ol’ Fred,
Known for his quirky ways and lasagne bread.
But one night he got a little too wild and mad,
And he peed on poor Clay Byrd’s dad. 🎶

Fred steps out from the back and does the Whoresman salute.

The crowd only boo louder.

Daytona Diamonds:

🎶 Fred baked lasagne with a crazy kind of flair,
A wild recipe none could compare.
But that fateful evening, why’d he act so bad?
No one expected what he did to Byrd’s dad. 🎶

Fred skips down the entrance ramp, frolics even. He loves this song, you can tell.

Daytona Diamonds:

🎶 Oh Fred, what have you done?
Turned small-town nights into tales unsung.
Lasagne man with your troubled head,
Why’d you mess with Byrd’s old dad? 🎶

Fred stops on the steps to the ring, turns to the crowd, and begins clapping to the beat of the song. Very few people join in – those who do are marked by those around them, make no mistake.

Daytona Diamonds:

🎶 The town folks gathered at the diner next morn’,
Whispering ’bout the scandal that had been born.
All over coffee, they tried to understand,
Fred’s odd behavior, and Clay Byrd’s reprimand. 🎶

Fred steps through the ropes and into the ring. He joins Daytona for the final chorus

Daytona Diamonds & Fred Dick:

🎶 Oh Fred, what have you done?
Turned small-town nights into tales unsung.
Lasagne man with your troubled head,
Why’d you mess with Byrd’s old dad? 🎶

A few final strums to indicate the song is over.

The song itself went over with the audience as puppy murder. No one is happy in the arena except for Daytona and Fred, who put their fingers through each other’s fist holes.

Fred moves to his corner, while Daytona takes his stool and guitar and heads back up the ramp, shouting profanities at fans along the way who think they wanna give him a piece of their mind.

Nick Stuart: The Whoresmen really digging in deep on riling Clay Byrd up here, and…Richard, why are you humming?

Richard Parker: I’m sorry, that was a damn catchy tune!

Vince Howard: And his opponent…making his way to the ring from Plainview, Texas, weighing in at 295 pounds, he is a member of Vae Victis…he is Cowboy Colossus…he is…CLAAAAY BYRRRRRRRRD!

The lights go out in the stadium, and the PRIMEview lights up. The scene is backstage and focuses on Clay Byrd’s face. It slowly fades out to reveal Hunter and Kuroyama walking down the hallway beside Byrd. Clenched in Clay’s left hand is the rope. The men make it to the Argyle position,  Byrd exchanges handshakes and half hugs with both men before turning.

Nick Stuart: Clay Byrd looks stern in the back.

Richard Parker: Daytona sure can sing can’t he?

A single spotlight illuminates on the ramp while guitar and harmonica wails through the public address system at SoFi Stadium.

My gun is loaded, it’s gettin’ time

Two shots of whiskey and I’m takin’ what’s mine

“Gunning For You” by Nick Nolan opens properly and the crowd erupts as The Behemoth steps out into the spotlight, black cowboy hat, the vest traded up for a long black duster. He stands at the top of the ramp, staring down at the ring and at Fred Dick.

Nick Stuart: Oh, it’s apparently this type of night.

Richard Parker: Is he supposed to be mad or something? What a dickhead.

There’s desperation deep in your eyes

No turning back now, no compromise

Cause only one of us walks out that door

Byrd shrugs the black duster off his shoulders and begins swinging the rope like an absolute lunatic. The scene zooms out as fireworks shoot off around the top of the arena and up and down the entrance ramp. Clay half twirls his way down part of the ramp, a snarl across his face.

Nick Stuart: Colossus! What a show.

Richard Parker: Could have fed forty-seven starving children with that explosion.

Nick Stuart: It’s all part of the show, Richard. Christ.

The Behemoth marches furiously to the ring, his right arm already bound by the rope. He storms up the ring steps, wipes his feet, and is up to the middle turnbuckle on the outside. Another few rope twirls while staring at The King of Wrong Style, and he steps over the top, dropping down into the ring. He snaps the free rope end like a whip, towards Nixon and points at Dick.

Nick Stuart: Clay Byrd is a man on a mission here, Richard. That look on his face says it all.

Richard Parker: That’s a face that is sure about to change when the bell rings.

Nick Stuart: It may be worth noting here, that Vae Victis and the Poor Whoresmen have opted to stay away from ringside for this bout.

Richard Parker: At the end of the day, this is all about Fred Dick and Clay Byrd…so it’s the right call in my book! Let these men settle things the right way.

Nixon calls both men to the middle of the ring before tying the rope around Fred’s wrist, the King of Wrong Style yapping until Nixon calls for the bell!

DING DING

And we’re off to the races as both men charge at each other, trading lefts and rights! Dick gets the upper hand when he takes Byrd to the mat with a forearm strike, stomping away at the back of Clay before part of the rope and bending it in half to whip Cowboy Colossus across the back. The crowd boos in disapproval, but Dick couldn’t care less as he goes back to laying in the boots on Byrd…only for the cowboy to fight his way back to his feet with some right hands that send Dick reeling!

Clay continues to pummel the King of Wrong Style with more strikes, sending him to the corner for good measure…and now it’s the Monster of Plainview who is in control, stomping a mudhole right into the abdomen of Fred Dick to the delight of the Los Angeles crowd!

Byrd keeps at it, with nothing Nixon can do aside from check on Dick until the Behemoth brings him out of the corner. He follows up with some heavy forearm strikes that keep Fred loopy, eventually sending him toward the ropes before nailing him with a clothesline that forces Dick over the top rope…knowing full well the rope they’re attached to sends both men tumbling to the floor outside!

Nick Stuart: Things are already getting chaotic here as Byrd and Dick are laid out on the floor!

Richard Parker: With a match like this, and the way these two have acted, anything goes and it sure as hell looks like EVERYTHING is about to go!

Nixon steps outside, checking on the pair as Byrd begins to stir. He gets to a standing position as Dick begins moving as well, but he doesn’t get the same luxury as Clay goes back to pummeling him with his fists. Byrd eventually changes tact, opting to give Fred a receipt from earlier by whipping the rope across his back. Dick finally manages to get back up, shoving Byrd away before trying to get away from Cowboy Colossus as he heads to the ramp…but the rope goes taut, forcing him to remember he’s trapped.

Dick turns around, just in time to duck a clothesline attempt by Byrd. He catches the Monster from Plainview with a right jab, a left hook, and another right jab for good measure. Byrd seems barely fazed by this, but a big forearm from Fred manages to take him off his game for just a moment. This gives the King of Wrong Style the opening he needs, following up with more lefts and rights before sending Clay into the barricade…and dumps him over into the crowd! The fans disperse from the area as Fred climbs over the barricade to continue the attack, Nixon following close behind.

Nick Stuart: The crowd getting up close and personal with the action here as these two continue to go to war!

Richard Parker: Not TOO close though, I hope…don’t think anyone wants a lawsuit!

The two men go at it, trading lefts and rights as the action makes its way deeper into the crowd. Dick manages to turn the tide with a right forearm to the head of Byrd, before pulling him down to the floor with the rope. Clay crashes down hard, allowing Fred to wallop him with some more punches before wrapping the rope around Byrd’s arms…and then around the man’s feet!?

Nick Stuart: Wait a minute, is Dick…

Richard Parker: He’s trying to hogtie Clay Byrd with the bull rope! Get ‘im, Fred!

Nixon is trying to tell Dick to stop what he’s doing, but Fred is having none of it as he starts yelling at Byrd to squeal…but the Behemoth refuses, rushing to break free before the tie is complete! Clay gets to his feet once more, sending the King of Wrong Style right back over the barricade to return to ringside. Byrd sees his opportunity to lay Dick out, setting him up for a powerbomb onto the floor…but Fred manages to sneak out of the grip of Cowboy Colossus! Dick yells out to the crowd, who boo at him as he proclaims…

“BLOODM–”

…only to be shut up the hard way with a massive haymaker by Byrd! That doesn’t take Fred off his feet, but a lariat from the Behemoth sends him crashing to the floor!

Nick Stuart: Fred Dick taken down hard by that lariat!

Richard Parker: The thing about Dick is that you cannot keep him down for long…and that’s a lesson Clay’s gonna learn firsthand, just you watch!

Nixon checks on the fallen Dick before beginning the count.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…

Fred starts to stir, very gingerly as Nixon continues.

FOUR…

FIVE…

Suddenly, the King of Wrong Style gets to a knee…and flips Clay off! This enrages the Monster from Plainview, as Byrd rocks Dick hard with a right hand in retaliation followed by a boot right to the face. Fred collapses on the floor from the impact, but Byrd isn’t finished just yet.

He starts to slowly drag the limp Dick along the floor, sliding into the ring before pulling the Street Cat up toward the ropes…where he begins wrapping the rope around Fred’s neck!

Nick Stuart: Clay’s going all out to keep Fred Dick down!

Richard Parker: Surely this has got to be too much, isn’t it Nick?

Nick Stuart: After what Fred did to the tombstone of Clay’s father, I think nothing is off the table!

The ref is shouting at Byrd to relent, but the Behemoth refuses as he starts pulling back on the rope, trying to strangle the King of Wrong Style! Fred, for his part, remains defiant even as he can be heard struggling to breathe…switching off between giving Byrd the bird and trying to loosen the rope from his neck. Suddenly, the sound of clanging grabs Dick’s attention as he takes hold of the cowbell within his reach…and smacks Byrd on the head with it! The cowbell knocks Clay loopy, sending him down hard.

Nick Stuart: Clay Byrd taking an absolute beating with that cowbell.

Richard Parker: I guess Fred had a fever that he needed to take out on ol’ Byrd!

With the Behemoth at rest for the moment, Fred finishes unraveling what rope is around his throat before stepping into the ring himself. He stares at the grounded Byrd, mocking him by ringing the cowbell as if trying to wake him back up…but with no response from Clay, Nixon starts the count.

ONE…

TWO…

We catch a glimpse of movement from the Monster from Plainview, much to Fred’s chagrin.

THREE…

Clay starts to get to a vertical base, but before he gets any further he’s blindsided with another cowbell shot by Dick! Byrd drops to the mat once more, his head busted open…something Fred latches onto like a leech, mounting up for a series of punches targeting the wound and laughing along the way. Dick is the one leaving the ring this time, dragging Byrd along to force the Behemoth to drop to the floor.

Nixon leaves to follow the pair, as Fred pulls Clay up the ramp before bringing him to his knees. He begins taunting Byrd once again, before slapping him in the face…much to the disgust of the crowd, who boo the man relentlessly. Fred just laughs it off before dropping Clay with a big elbow smash to the head, leading to Nixon starting the count back up.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…

Byrd is still out, the crowd trying to will him back into this match as Nixon continues.

FOUR…

FIVE…

The roar of the crowd seems to be doing the trick, as Clay finally starts to stir while the count goes on!

SIX…

Fred yells at the Behemoth, calling him a coward…and this riles Byrd up enough to rise quickly to his feet! The crowd cheers as a snarling Clay goes back on the warpath, the crimson mask doing little to keep him from unleashing a flurry of punches on the King of Wrong Style! Fred tries to fight back, but the pair find themselves brawling up the ramp and onto the stage.

Nick Stuart: This situation is getting completely out of hand, Richard!

Richard Parker: You heard the announcement, this match doesn’t end till only one man is left standing…assuming either of them can do that much when this is all over!

They continue to trade punches until Dick catches Byrd with an open hand chop followed by a headbutt…but Clay responds with a headbutt of his own, followed by a right jab right to the jaw of the Street Cat! Fred looks rattled as Byrd charges at him with a lariat…but Dick manages to duck just in the nick of time to avoid sure disaster! Fred isn’t finished, however, as he pulls the rope to draw the Behemoth toward him, yelling…

“GIT OVER ‘ERRRE”

…as Clay finds himself running right into a Stan Hansen lariat by the King of Wrong Style, who just as quickly takes the Monster from Plainview down to size with a palm strike, shades of Bas Rutten right to the neck of the cowboy!

Nick Stuart: Bloodmode connects, and down goes Clay Byrd!

Richard Parker: You’ve got him dead to rights here, Fred!

Byrd drops to a knee as Dick looks to finish him off…only to be met with a massive spear by the Behemoth! The crowd roars in approval as Clay slowly gets to his feet once more. Nixon starts up the count.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…

Fred is not moving here, Byrd staring him down with further bad intent as the count continues.

FOUR…

FIVE…

SIX…

But somehow, Dick begins squirming…much to the chagrin of the crowd, hoping to see him stay down.

SEVEN…

EIGHT…

Alas, the crowd does NOT get their wish as Fred barely manages to get to a vertical base just in time! He rises to his feet, staring Byrd down as he can just barely utter “fug you man” with a nasty smirk. Clay wipes some of the blood away from his face, giving Fred a murder stare before clocking him with the cowbell! The man’s face is covered in a crimson mask all his own, but Dick does not care as he goes back on the attack with a knife-edge chop…and another…and a third one for good measure!

But these do not take Cowboy Colossus down easily despite the damage he’s already suffered tonight, and Clay makes sure Fred realizes this by answering back with some chops of his own. These send Dick closer and closer to the edge of the stage…but not for long, as Clay pulls him by the rope to draw the King of Wrong Style in for a powerslam, absolutely sandwiching Fred against the stage!

Nick Stuart: Holy smokes, that took a lot out of Fred Dick!

Richard Parker: Clay’s struggling to get up after that as well, makes me think maybe that was a baaaad idea Byrd!

The crowd is electric for this, as Bryd slowly pulls himself up by the proverbial bootstraps. Nixon looks ready to start the count back up, but Clay shouts at him to stop…as the Behemoth looks to a table set up just off to the right of the stage. The crowd is cheering him on as Byrd gives a knowing nod, bringing Dick up to his feet.

He brings him over to the edge of the stage once more, the Street Cat t-t-t-t-teetering as Clay winds up for a Texas Lariat at full force…connecting flush, the momentum and impact sending both men off the stage, through the table and onto the floor all in one fell swoop!

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

The crowd is beside itself, chanting in unison in amazement at the spectacle that has unfolded before them as both men lay in the wreckage that remains. Nixon drops down to the floor below, checking on both men with a worried expression on his face before calling for fellow officials to help assess the situation.

Nick Stuart: This is absolute bedlam! We need all the help we can get out here!

Richard Parker: Honestly, I agree wholeheartedly Nick. Good lord has this gotten messy.

We see a couple officials along with a trainer and a medic rush to the stage, trying to offer Nixon a helping hand with the absolute chaos we’re witnessing right now. The crowd inside SoFi Stadium goes deathly silent in anticipation, mixed in with a bit of fear as the staff drop down beside Nixon to pull away pieces of the broken table.

Before they can be of much more assistance, however, we see one man crawling away from the scene of the crime…Clay Byrd. The crowd erupts in appreciation as Byrd finally makes it to his feet, looking to finally put this match to an end. Nixon checks on a beaten, bloodied, and bruised Fred Dick before starting the count once more.

ONE…

TWO…

The man who pissed on Robert C. Byrd’s grave to get under the skin of the man’s son is NOT moving an inch right now, and the count continues.

THREE…

By the looks of it, Fred Dick is still not moving…in fact, the King of Wrong Style seems to barely be breathing as Nixon presses on.

FOUR…

FIVE…

Finally, finally Fred Dick starts to stir. The crowd looks on, dreading the possibility of the Street Cat still holding onto eight more lives.

SIX…

SEVEN…

Fred is crawling away from the rubble himself now, trying his damnedest to get back up just to spite Clay Byrd after all they’ve been through.

EIGHT…

Dick gets his feet underneath him, looking wobbly as all get out as he slowly rises up…

NINE…

…only to collapse once again, falling right back into the ruins from whence he came.

TEN!

With that, Clay can’t help but drop to a knee himself, exhausted and worn out…but ultimately, victorious as Nixon calls for the bell to bring this brutal bout to an end!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner…CLAAAY BYRRRRRRD!

The officials come to the aid of both men, Nixon removing the binds keeping Byrd and Dick together before raising the arm of Byrd in victory. The crowd cheer, showing their appreciation for the Monster from Plainview…but all Clay can do is stare at Fred, still being attended to by a medic.

Nick Stuart: What an absolute war this was, Richard! Both men tore into each other, but it’s Clay Byrd who is the last man standing!

Richard Parker: These two went to hell and back, and damn did they put up a fight.

Nick Stuart: And this crazy night is far from finished, as in just a few moments we will see Nate Colton and Paxton Ray square off!

But before we get there, we cut away from ringside…

Back at ringside, the crowd is buzzing for their next match.

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton is going to take on Paxton Ray next and you know the animosity is boiling over for Nate Colton.

Richard Parker: Look, he subjected us to musicals. I have no sympathy for him.

Nick Stuart: That’s because you’re uncultured.

In the ring, Vince Howard is ready to go.

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall! Introducing first…

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

The chunky guitar riff of “Fistfight” by The Ballroom Thieves kicks in as Paxton Ray walks out under the PRIMEView. Paxton sneers as the fans boo, then slowly holds his hand up in the air.

The day I finally met you like I knew I would

You raised me from the wreck of my doubts

You were smiling to yourself as if we both understood

The silent language of the anguish of a heart that sings but doesn’t make a sound

Paxton slowly walks towards the ring, looking around as the crowd rains hate down upon him. He steps up to the apron and steps over the ring ropes, then leans back against them and closes his eyes.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, weighing in at 245 pounds…he is The Bayou Butcher…PAAAAAXTOOOOONNNN RAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!

Richard Parker: That is a man who has bad intentions tonight.

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton wants a fight and there’s no man better equipped for that then Paxton Ray.

Back in the ring…

Vince Howard: And his opponent… from Evansville, Indiana… weighing two-hundred-forty pounds… NATE COLTON!

The arena’s lights go out and the fans erupt in anticipation. Soon their energy is rewarded as the PRIMEView springs to life. On a field of white, three words appear:

THE

NEW

DIAMOND

These fade away, replaced by a logo. It’s the letter C in the shape of a diamond, with a smaller N inside. The logo is framed by the name.

NATE

COLTON

A classic rock riff signals the beginning of “Tryin’” by the Eagles and the fans give out a raucous cheer. Moments later, Nate Colton emerges from the curtain. He looks laser focused and ready to go, clearly wearing his trademark jacket.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nate marches down the long ramp toward the center of SoFi Stadium. With every step, he picks up speed.

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton’s already at a jog, and he’s only halfway there! He can’t wait for this fight to get started!

Richard Parker: Neither can I! I haven’t seen anyone lose teeth all night!

Nick Stuart: Do you have a preference?

Richard Parker: Not really. Paxton’s going a little soft; Colton’s showing more of an edge…right now I’d put them tied for second.

Nick Stuart: Second? Then who’s got the top–it’s Jiles, isn’t it.

Richard Parker: Of course it’s Jiles.

Colton undoes the snaps of his jacket and peels it off, tossing it aside well before he reaches the ring. A lucky stage hand grabs it from the floor; the New Diamond will have to sign a lot of autographs to get it back later.

It’s clear he doesn’t care. He skips his usual entrance ritual, instead sliding under the bottom rope. He’s on his feet in a flash, and wastes no time getting into the Murdergator’s face. It’s all Jimmy Turnbull can do to keep them separated before he calls for the bell.

They’re not interested in waiting. Neither are the fans.

Richard Parker: C’mon, let’s see some blood!

Neither is Richard.

Here. We. Go.

DING DING

When the bell rings, Nate doesn’t wait for the traditional feeling-out process – he explodes across the ring with a ferocity that catches even the veteran brawler off guard. A flurry of wild punches drives Ray into the corner as the crowd erupts, surprised by this deviation from his usual wrestling style. Turnbull tries to establish order, calling for a clean break, but Nate’s fury is evident as he ignores the official’s warnings, continuing his assault until he’s forcibly pulled away. Paxton, rather than being hurt, simply wipes a trickle of blood from his lip and lets out a sinister laugh. The sound pushes Colton over the edge, and as he breaks free from Jimmy Turnbull, Ray catches him with a devastating headbutt that stops him in his tracks.

Nick Stuart: We’re seeing a complete departure from Colton’s wrestling philosophy here, folks. All those years training with his father, all that technical prowess his father instilled in him – Nate’s throwing it all away for raw emotion.

Richard Parker: Hallelujah! I’ve been saying for months that all that fancy wristlock stuff was holding him back. Sometimes you need to let the beast out of the cage, Nick!

Nick Stuart: That “fancy stuff” earned his father respect around the world and cemented the Colton legacy in this sport, Richard.

Richard Parker: Yeah, and look where that got him – training his kid to lose his cool the moment his feels-feels got hurt. Real championship material there. I’m sure Jake’s real proud watching junior turn his technical showcase into a bar fight.

The Murdergator immediately capitalizes on Nate’s stunned state, delivering a series of methodical mounted punches that target the same spot on Colton’s temple. Each strike is delivered with surgical precision, the product of Ray’s bare-knuckle fighting experience. The New Diamond tries to cover up, but his defensive technique is sloppy in his enraged state. Recognizing Colton’s compromised position, Ray transitions smoothly into a grinding side headlock, using his free hand to dig his knuckles into Nate’s already tender temple. The crowd tries to rally behind Colton, but their cheers only seem to fuel his anger rather than his technique. He attempts to power out of the hold, but Ray shifts his weight perfectly, using Nate’s own momentum to snap him down to the canvas with a short-arm clothesline that echoes throughout the arena.

CRACK!

Richard Parker: (chuckling) Ladies and gentlemen, what we’re witnessing here is the difference between learning moves at daddy’s wrestling school and learning how to fight in the swamps of Louisiana. You’d think someone from such a prestigious wrestling family would know how to defend against basic strikes.

Nick Stuart: That’s what happens when you abandon your fundamentals and let emotions dictate your strategy. The New Diamond’s playing right into Ray’s hands with this approach.

Richard Parker: Hey, at least he’s showing some fire! Usually we get bland, vanilla, soybean boy and now… he’s got some life and soul in him.

Nick Stuart: There’s a difference between showing fire and letting your opponent get in your head. Ray’s turning this into exactly the kind of match he wants, and Colton’s temper is writing checks his technique can’t cash.

Showing remarkable resilience, Nate rolls to the outside, but his anger won’t let him take the moment to regroup. He circles the ring like a caged animal, jawing at Ray the entire time while Jimmy’s count begins.

ONE!

TWO!

The Bayou Butcher taunts him from inside the ring, making pointed comments about the Colton family legacy that make Nate’s face redden with rage. When Ray mockingly executes a perfect technical wristlock motion, Colton snaps. He slides back in at the count of seven and immediately charges, but Ray sidesteps and sends him crashing into the turnbuckle chest-first. Before Colton can even turn around, The Murdergator is on him with precise elbow drops to the base of his skull, each one drawing a more sadistic smile as the crowd watches The New Diamond’s gameplan continue to backfire.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: That wristlock mockery from Ray is absolutely despicable. There’s a rich history behind the Colton family’s technical style, and The Murdergator’s making a mockery of decades of tradition.

Richard Parker: (sarcastically) Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t realize we were in a museum tonight! What legacy are we talking about exactly? Because all I see is a kid throwing away years of training faster than your wife trying to find a new gym trainer that she can spend five mornings a week with.

Nick Stuart: Shut your face. You can’t deny the Colton name means something in this business, Richard. Jake Colton set the standard of technical wrestling in the 90s with discipline we still see today.

Richard Parker: Yeah, and right now it means Ray knows exactly which buttons to push! Face it, Nick – the only thing Nate’s doing is finding new ways to disappoint his father.

Despite the punishment, Nate refuses to return to his technical base, staggering to his feet and throwing wild haymakers that draw surprised murmurs from the crowd. One catches Ray by surprise, snapping his head back and causing him to stumble into the ropes. The New Diamond presses his advantage with more punches, each one wilder than the last, driving Ray back toward the corner. The Murdergator covers up, methodically studying Colton’s increasingly sloppy form through his defensive shell. Just as Nate seems to be building momentum, Ray ducks under a particularly wild swing and counters with a perfectly timed uppercut that lifts Colton clean off his feet. The impact when he crashes to the canvas is sickening, but Ray isn’t done – he grabs the dazed Colton and delivers a thunderous scoop slam, following it with a series of methodical stomps to Nate’s chest.

Richard Parker: (laughing) Look at the so-called “New Diamond” now – throwing haymakers like a frat boy at closing time! I’ve seen better technique in a gas station parking lot at 2 AM.

Nick Stuart: One of those wild swings just sent The Murdergator reeling into the ropes, though. Sometimes raw power can overcome technical deficiency.

Richard Parker: Even a blind squirrel finds an uppercut sometimes, Nick. But I’ll tell you what that squirrel doesn’t find – a way to capitalize on it. Watch this train wreck unfold.

Nick Stuart: The question is whether he can harness that power while maintaining the technical precision that made his father a legend. Right now, he’s fighting Ray’s fight, and that’s a losing proposition.

Richard Parker: (snorting) The only thing he’s harnessing right now is his inner toddler. I haven’t seen someone this determined to punch their way out of trouble since you tried to argue your way out of that speeding ticket last month.

Ray continues his methodical assault, dragging Nate up by his hair and launching him into the ropes. The Murdergator catches the rebounding Colton with a massive shoulder tackle that flips The New Diamond end over end. Rather than going for the cover, Ray pulls Nate to his feet and delivers three sharp knee strikes to the forehead, each one more devastating than the last. Turnbull warns Ray about closed fists, which causes The Lafayette Bruiser to mockingly switch to open-handed slaps that seem to hurt Nate’s pride more than his body. Colton’s fury erupts again as he tackles Ray to the mat, raining down wild punches until The Murdergator catches him with a thumb to the eye behind Jimmy’s back, following up with a perfectly executed Dragon Sleeper that has The New Diamond in serious trouble.

Nick Stuart: Jimmy Turnbull needs to get this match under control immediately! That was a blatant eye rake from Ray, and this whole contest is descending into chaos.

Richard Parker: Oh, NOW you want rules enforced? Maybe if Colton spent less time throwing a fit and more time protecting himself, we wouldn’t need Jimmy playing kindergarten teacher out there.

Nick Stuart: There’s no excuse for that kind of cheap shot, Richard. Ray’s proven he can win matches clean – this is pure intimidation tactics.

Richard Parker: In PRIME wrestling, winning is the only excuse you need. Besides, where was all this moral outrage when Colton was throwing those wild haymakers earlier? At least Ray’s eye rake had some precision to it.

Nick Stuart: Are you seriously defending eye rakes now?

Richard Parker: I’m defending effective strategy, Nick. Something your boy Colton might want to look into between temper tantrums.

Nate’s initial struggles against the hold show flashes of his technical training, working to create space and relieve pressure. However, Ray’s continued taunting about the Colton legacy causes him to abandon technique in favor of desperate thrashing. The Murdergator simply readjusts his grip and drops to a seated position for maximum leverage, cranking back on Nate’s neck while mocking his father’s teaching ability. Just when it seems Colton might pass out, he manages to push off the mat with his feet and roll backward, forcing Ray to release the hold. Both men scramble up, but The Bayou Butcher recovers first and catches Nate with his trademark rope swing into shoulder tackle combination that leaves both men down as the crowd tries to process The New Diamond’s continued refusal to rely on his technical expertise.

Richard Parker: Well, stop the presses and alert the media – the kid actually remembers some of his training! I was beginning to think he left his technical ability in his other tights.

Nick Stuart: That counter shows what Nate can do when he stays focused and relies on his fundamentals. The Colton Academy produces some of the most technically sound wrestlers in the business.

Richard Parker: Don’t get too excited there, sunshine. One counter doesn’t make him the next Jake Colton. Though I will admit, it’s nice to see him actually wrestle instead of auditioning for a street fighting tournament.

Nick Stuart: It might be enough to turn this match around if he can maintain his composure. Ray’s shoulder has to be feeling that technical precision right now.

Richard Parker: Yeah, and I’m sure his daddy’s real proud he remembered how to do something besides punch wildly. Let’s see how long this technical renaissance lasts before Ray mentions the family name again.

Both wrestlers struggle to their feet, with Ray reaching his vertical base first. He moves in to capitalize, but walks into a surprise dropkick from Colton – one of the first actual wrestling moves he’s attempted in the match. The crowd comes alive as Nate follows up with a series of running forearm strikes that finally drop The Murdergator to one knee. Instead of transitioning into his usual technical offense, however, The New Diamond allows his fury to take over again. He begins raining down punches, each one becoming sloppier than the last, until Ray suddenly surges upward with a massive headbutt that stops Colton’s momentum cold. Before Nate can recover, The Lafayette Bruiser grabs him in position for a devastating powerslam that shakes the entire ring.

Nick Stuart: Now THAT’S the Nate Colton we’ve been waiting to see! Textbook dropkick with perfect elevation, followed by those precisely targeted forearms. This is what happens when you combine the Colton technical base with controlled aggression.

Richard Parker: (yawning) Ah yes, followed by his new signature move: the Temper Tantrum Tackle with a side of Hereditary Hysteria. You know what impresses me more than a dropkick? Someone who can stick to their gameplan for more than thirty seconds.

Nick Stuart: You can’t deny the effectiveness of those strikes, Richard. Ray’s having trouble maintaining his vertical base after that combination.

Richard Parker: I can deny the intelligence of abandoning what works for what feels good. It’s like watching someone trade in their Ferrari for a monster truck because they’re mad at traffic. Sure, you might run over a few cars, but you’re not winning any races.

Nick Stuart: That’s… actually a surprisingly apt analogy.

Richard Parker: Don’t sound so shocked, Nick. I’m full of wisdom. Just ask my ex-wives.

The impact leaves Colton writhing on the canvas, clutching his lower back in agony. Ray takes a moment to play to the crowd, soaking in their hatred before returning his attention to his fallen opponent. He attempts to pull Nate up, but The New Diamond suddenly comes alive with a desperate rolling cradle that catches The Murdergator off guard. Ray kicks out at two, but the near fall seems to have renewed some of Colton’s fighting spirit. He charges at the rising Ray, only to be caught and launched overhead with a massive belly-to-belly suplex. The Bayou Butcher transitions smoothly into a Cobra Clutch – a deliberate mockery of the Colton family’s signature move that draws immediate boos from the crowd and causes Nate’s eyes to fill with rage once again.

Richard Parker: Now THIS is psychological warfare at its finest! Using the family’s own move against the prodigal son – that’s the kind of strategy they don’t teach at the Colton Academy. Though they probably should, might help their students handle real-world situations.

Nick Stuart: There’s a difference between strategy and mockery, Richard. Ray’s not just trying to win a match here – he’s deliberately trying to tarnish a legacy that spans decades in this sport.

Richard Parker: The only thing being tarnished here is my respect for the Colton family’s emotional control. Ray knows exactly how to get in someone’s head and set up shop there. It’s like he’s paying rent, and the landlord’s having a meltdown!

Nick Stuart: At some point, this disrespect is going to come back to haunt him. You can only push someone so far before…

Richard Parker: (interrupting) Before what? Before they throw another tantrum? Face it, Nick – Ray’s playing chess while Colton’s playing “try not to cry in front of your dad.”

The submission attempt seems to awaken something in Nate as his technical training briefly shines through. He begins working the hold properly, creating space and applying pressure to Ray’s wrist to force a break. The Murdergator, sensing this dangerous return to technique, quickly drives an elbow into Colton’s temple and follows up with a harsh verbal jab about Jake Colton’s supposedly overrated career. The words hit their mark as Nate’s fury returns, causing him to abandon the technical counter in favor of wild elbow strikes that mostly hit air. Ray simply readjusts his grip and cranks back harder, watching with sadistic pleasure as Colton’s movements become increasingly desperate until a last-second surge of strength allows him to reach the bottom rope.

Nick Stuart: Just look at that technical expertise – the way he’s creating space in that hold, working the leverage points. This is what the Colton Academy curriculum is built on!

Richard Parker: (sighs dramatically) Oh please, a fish doesn’t get credit for swimming upstream, Nick. And right now, our young friend is swimming in very dangerous waters. You think Jake Colton teaches a class on “What To Do When The Mean Man Hurts Your Feelings 101”?

Nick Stuart: That “natural ability” almost got him out of Ray’s clutch. For a moment there, we saw the real Nate Colton – technically sound, focused, and in control.

Richard Parker: Key words there being “almost” and “for a moment.” Then daddy got mentioned and suddenly we’re back to watching a Colton family highlight reel – starring their most emotionally unstable graduate.

Nick Stuart: You’re being unnecessarily harsh on a young athlete who’s clearly-

Richard Parker: (cutting in) I’m being realistic, Nick. The kid’s got all the tools, but his toolbox is about as stable as my first marriage.

Both men are showing early signs of fatigue as they rise, but Ray’s measured approach has clearly given him the advantage. He catches the still-recovering Colton with a big boot that sends him staggering into the corner. The Murdergator follows up with a series of shoulder thrusts to Nate’s midsection, each one driving more air from his lungs. When The New Diamond tries to fight back with wild hooks, Ray simply absorbs them before delivering a devastating uppercut that leaves Nate slumped in the turnbuckle. The Lafayette Bruiser pulls him out and hits a picture-perfect scoop slam, followed by his trademark triple elbow drops. Each impact draws a sadistic smile from Ray as he systematically targets Colton’s sternum, clearly enjoying the destruction of his opponent.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call “reaping what you sow.” Or in wrestling terms, “what happens when you bring your daddy issues to a Murdergator fight.”

Nick Stuart: Colton needs to dig deep and remember his training before these elbow drops do permanent damage. We’ve seen flashes of brilliance tonight – he just needs to maintain his focus.

Richard Parker: The only thing he’s remembering right now is which way is up. And maybe questioning his career choice. You think the Colton Academy offers refunds?

Nick Stuart: You know, for someone who claims to appreciate effective strategy, you’re awfully quick to dismiss one of the most technically gifted young athletes in PRIME.

Richard Parker: Technically gifted? Sure. Emotionally stable? About as much as my investment portfolio. And before you start – yes, I know you told me to stay away from cryptocurrency.

As Paxton goes for a fourth elbow drop, Nate manages to roll away and staggers to his feet, running purely on adrenaline. He catches The Murdergator with a series of forearm strikes that drive him back toward the ropes. The New Diamond attempts to whip Ray across the ring, but The Lafayette Bruiser counters, sending Nate instead. As Colton rebounds, Ray leapfrogs over him in a surprising display of agility. When Nate turns around, The Bayou Butcher catches him flush with the One Day Blinding Stew, the impact causing Colton’s knees to buckle as he collapses face-first to the canvas. The crowd holds its collective breath as Ray makes the cover and Turnbull begins his count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Somehow, Nate gets his shoulder up just before the three count. The look of frustration on The Murdergator’s face shows that he’s beginning to realize putting away The New Diamond might be harder than anticipated.

Nick Stuart: The One Day Blinding Stew from Ray! That discus elbow is deadly, but somehow Colton’s still in this fight!

Richard Parker: Yeah, like a crash test dummy is still in the car after impact. Technical wrestling’s not going to help much when you can’t remember which way is up.

Nick Stuart: The resilience of the Colton family lineage showing through here – Jake instilled that never-say-die attitude in all his students.

Richard Parker: Oh spare me the family history lesson, Nick. The only thing Jake Colton instilled in his son was an inability to control his emotions when someone questions daddy’s legacy.

Determined to maintain control, Ray yanks Nate up by his hair and launches him with tremendous force into the corner turnbuckle. The impact causes Colton to flip over the top rope, crashing hard to the floor below as Turnbull begins his count. The Murdergator follows him out, methodically stalking his prey while playing to the hostile crowd. In a calculated show of brutality, Ray rams Nate’s head into the ring post, the sickening thud drawing gasps from nearby fans. Not content with this punishment, The Lafayette Bruiser drags his dazed opponent toward the timekeeper’s area, clearing the table with one sweep of his massive arm. He attempts to lift Colton for a powerbomb, but The New Diamond suddenly comes alive, back body dropping Ray onto the unforgiving concrete. Both men are down as Jimmy Turnbull’s count reaches five.

Richard Parker: Well, that’s one way to rearrange the timekeeper’s furniture! Though I have to admit, watching Ray eat concrete is always a joy.

Nick Stuart: For all his calculated brutality, Ray’s showboating might have just cost him the advantage in this match.

Richard Parker: Cost him? Please, Nick. That was just his way of testing the structural integrity of the floor. Always thinking ahead, that Murdergator.

Nick Stuart: Is that what we’re calling arrogance these days, Richard? Because from where I’m sitting, Ray’s theatrics just gave Colton the opening he needed, but they better get back in the ring if they don’t want this match to end with a double countout.

Both wrestlers barely beat the count back into the ring, their bodies already showing significant wear from the brutal encounter. Ray is first to his feet, still favoring his back from the concrete impact. He attempts to pull Colton up, but The New Diamond suddenly explodes upward with a jumping knee strike that catches The Murdergator flush on the jaw. The crowd erupts as both men stagger backward, equally stunned by the impact. Nate follows up with wild haymakers that drive Ray into the ropes, but his form is increasingly sloppy as exhaustion sets in. The Bayou Butcher weathers the storm before catching one of Colton’s wild swings and transitioning smoothly into his second Dragon Sleeper of the match, using his superior size to wrench back on the hold while continuing to target Nate’s injured neck.

Nick Stuart: That Dragon Sleeper locked in for the second time tonight! Ray’s systematic dismantling of Colton’s neck is textbook strategy.

Richard Parker: Unlike anything coming out of the Colton Academy textbooks, am I right? Love watching the kid flail around like a fish out of water.

Nick Stuart: You have to wonder if those earlier shots to the head are affecting Colton’s ability to execute his technical counters.

Richard Parker: Oh, NOW you’re looking for excuses? Face it, Nick – your boy’s got all the technical prowess of a demolition derby right now. And about the same amount of control.

The submission attempt forces Nate to momentarily tap into his technical training as he works to relieve the pressure. He manages to create enough space to throw a series of back elbows, but Ray simply readjusts the hold and drops to a seated position for maximum leverage. The New Diamond’s face begins to redden as The Murdergator applies more pressure, whispering more taunts about the Colton family legacy that cause Nate to abandon technique in favor of desperate thrashing. Just when it seems he might pass out, Colton manages another surge of strength, executing a forward roll that forces Ray to release the hold. Both men scramble to their feet, but The Lafayette Bruiser recovers first and catches Nate with a massive big boot that sends him crashing face-first into the middle turnbuckle.

Richard Parker: (laughing) You know what they say about the Colton family motto – “technically sound, emotionally unbound!” I just made that up, by the way.

Nick Stuart: That’s not even clever, Richard. But speaking of sound technique, that forward roll counter showed what Nate can do when he stays focused.

Richard Parker: Oh yes, one whole technical move! Alert the wrestling journalists, we’ve got a five-star classic on our hands!

Nick Stuart: You’re dismissing the fact that Colton’s showing remarkable resilience despite Ray’s relentless psychological warfare.

Taking advantage of Colton’s vulnerable position, Ray delivers a series of brutal shoulder thrusts that drive the air from Nate’s lungs. Jimmy Turnbull begins counting for a break, but The Murdergator simply switches to choking Colton with his boot, releasing just before the five count. When The New Diamond slumps to a seated position, Ray backs up to the opposite corner and charges in with with an eye to connect with a basement dropkick, but this time Nate manages to pull himself up at the last second. The Bayou Butcher crashes into the canvas as Colton rolls out of the way, buying himself precious moments to recover while Ray writhes in pain on the canvas, clutching the back of his neck.

Nick Stuart: Crash and burn! That’s the kind of impact that can change the entire complexion of this match!

Richard Parker: I haven’t seen someone crash that hard since you tried doing pushups at the company picnic.

Nick Stuart: The real question is whether Colton can overcome his emotional state long enough to get things back on track.

Richard Parker: If his track record tonight is any indication, he’s got about as much chance of that as you have of winning our fantasy football league.

Sensing a potential shift in momentum, Nate returns to his feet and immediately targets Ray’s injured shoulder. However, rather than applying a technical submission hold, he opts for wild stomps and kicks that allow The Murdergator to roll away and create space. When both men regain their vertical base, they begin trading shots in the center of the ring. Ray’s precision is compromised by the throbbing pain in the back of his head, but he’s still landing the cleaner strikes as Colton’s fury continues to result in sloppy technique. The Bayou Butcher creates separation with a knee to the midsection before bouncing off the ropes, but his attempt at a running clothesline is countered when Nate instinctively drops down and catches him in a textbook schoolboy rollup.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Well well well, look who remembered they went to wrestling school! Though I’m pretty sure “wild haymakers 101” wasn’t on the Colton Academy curriculum.

Nick Stuart: That schoolboy rollup was picture perfect – the kind of technical wrestling Jake Colton made famous throughout his career.

Richard Parker: One counter doesn’t change the way things are going, Nick. Though I will admit, it’s nice seeing him actually wrestle instead of trying out for UFC.

Nick Stuart: Credit where credit’s due – Colton’s showing he can still execute when the opportunity presents itself.

The near fall seems to awaken something in The New Diamond as he smoothly transitions from the pinfall attempt into a hammerlock, targeting Ray’s shoulder with proper technical wrestling for the first time in the match. The crowd comes alive, recognizing the shift in strategy, but The Murdergator quickly shuts it down with a handful of Nate’s hair and a devastating back elbow that rocks Colton. Ray follows up with his trademark triple elbow drops, but the tweaked shoulder causes him to grimace with each impact. Taking advantage of this hesitation, Nate rolls away from the fourth elbow and catches the rising Ray with a perfect Russian legsweep that finally gives him his first sustained control of the match.

Nick Stuart: The hammerlock! Finally targeting the shoulder with the kind of technical precision we’ve been waiting to see!

Richard Parker: (sarcastically) Stop the presses – Colton remembered a move from chapter one! Next thing you know, he’ll figure out which foot goes first when he walks.

Nick Stuart: That Russian legsweep was textbook perfect. This is what happens when emotion meets execution.

Richard Parker: Yeah, and I’m sure it’ll last about as long as your New Year’s resolutions, Nick. Five bucks says he’s throwing wild punches again before I finish this sentence.

Rather than following up with chain wrestling, however, Colton allows his anger to take over once again. He mounts Ray and begins raining down punches, showing none of the technical acumen he displayed moments ago. The Murdergator weathers the storm before catching one of Nate’s wild swings and smoothly transitioning into a cross armbreaker. Paxton shows his versatility as he wrenches back on the hold, causing Colton to cry out in pain. The New Diamond’s raw power allows him to power up to his feet with Ray still attached to his arm, but The Lafayette Bruiser simply uses the momentum to drop back down, pulling Nate’s arm at an even more severe angle.

Richard Parker: And there it is! Faster than Nick can blow his paycheck at the track, Colton’s back to his greatest hits album: “Wild Swings & Missed Things!”

Nick Stuart: Ray’s experience showing through here – that cross armbreaker is locked in deep, and he’s targeting the same arm Colton’s been favoring.

Richard Parker: You want to talk about targeting? How about we target the real issue – like how the Colton Academy’s star pupil can’t keep his cool for more than thirty seconds?

Nick Stuart: That’s a bit harsh, Richard. We’re watching a young athlete learning some hard lessons about controlling his emotions in the heat of battle.

Colton’s face contorts in agony as Ray continues to apply pressure to the arm, but his pride won’t let him submit. He manages to fight his way to the ropes with sheer determination, forcing the break at the count of four. The Murdergator releases the hold but immediately catches the stumbling Nate with a snap suplex that leaves both men down in the center of the ring. When they return to their feet, they begin trading shots once again, but now both men are showing signs of their respective injuries – Ray favoring his shoulder while Colton protects his arm. The exchange eventually ends when The Bayou Butcher counters one of Nate’s wild hooks with a perfectly timed knee strike to the midsection.

Nick Stuart: The toll of this match written clearly on both men’s faces. Ray’s shoulder compromising his offense, while Colton’s arm has clearly seen better days.

Richard Parker: My medical expertise suggests they’re both suffering from a severe case of “what were you thinking?”

Nick Stuart: That shoulder injury could be the opening Colton needs to turn this match around – IF he can maintain his composure.

Richard Parker: IF being the operative word there, Nick. Like IF I had a dollar for every time Colton lost his cool tonight, I could buy out your fantasy football team. And actually win some games.

Taking advantage of Colton’s doubled-over position, Ray quickly applies a front chancery and drops him with a perfectly executed DDT. The impact leaves The New Diamond lying motionless as The Murdergator makes the cover, hooking both legs for maximum leverage. The crowd holds its breath as Jimmy begins his count.

ONE!

TWO!

TH– NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Somehow Nate manages to get his shoulder up just before the three count. Frustration finally showing on his face, Ray drags his opponent to his feet and attempts to whip him into the corner. This time, however, Colton counters with an Irish whip of his own, sending The Lafayette Bruiser crashing into the turnbuckles instead, giving the crowd some hope of the momentum shifting!

Richard Parker: (whistling) Now THAT was close! I haven’t seen something that close since the last time Nick tried parallel parking.

Nick Stuart: The heart of Nate Colton on display – kicking out of that perfectly executed DDT when most competitors would have stayed down!

Richard Parker: Heart? More like hardheadedness. Though I’ve got to admit, the kid’s making Ray earn this one.

Nick Stuart: Both men are running on fumes – but something tells me neither one is ready to concede this fight!

Both men are showing significant wear and tear as they reengage in the center of the ring. Ray’s shoulder injury has barely slowed his assault as he catches Colton with a series of short-arm clotheslines, each one driving The New Diamond closer to the mat. When Nate finally drops, The Murdergator follows up with his signature rope swing into shoulder tackle combination, but the damaged shoulder hampers him. Colton capitalizes with a desperation spear that drives both men to the canvas. Turnbull begins counting as both wrestlers struggle to their feet, their exhaustion evident. They begin trading shots from their knees, Ray’s strikes still technically sound while Nate’s grow increasingly wild, allowing The Lafayette Bruiser to eventually gain the advantage with a perfectly timed uppercut.

Nick Stuart: The physical toll of this match is becoming more evident with each passing minute. Ray’s shoulder injury would have most competitors scaling back their offense, but The Murdergator’s still executing with remarkable precision.

Richard Parker: Unlike your boy Colton, who’s throwing punches like he’s trying to swat flies in a hurricane. At least Ray knows how to work through an injury without completely losing his mind.

Nick Stuart: That’s a bit harsh, Richard. Colton’s showing tremendous heart despite being systematically picked apart by one of PRIME’s most ruthless competitors.

Richard Parker: Heart? Please. The only thing he’s showing is why Daddy should’ve spent less time teaching wristlocks and more time teaching anger management.

The Bayou Butcher pulls himself up using the ropes and drags Colton to his feet, immediately attempting to lock in another cobra clutch. The New Diamond, running purely on instinct, drops his weight and snaps Ray over his shoulder in a perfect Greco-Roman takedown. The crowd erupts at this flash of technical brilliance, but Nate’s fury quickly returns as he mounts Ray and begins throwing wild punches. The Murdergator covers up, weathering the storm until he spots an opening, then counters with a swift knee to the midsection that creates enough space for him to scramble up. Both men are breathing heavily as they square off again, their bodies showing the toll of this grueling contest.

Richard Parker: Well, would you look at that – the kid actually remembers something from those expensive Colton Academy lessons. Though I wouldn’t get too excited just yet.

Nick Stuart: That takedown was textbook perfect, Richard! The kind of technical expertise Jake Colton built his entire legacy upon.

Richard Parker: Legacy? The only thing being built here is my tab at the sports book. I’ve seen longer technical sequences in a TikTok video.

Nick Stuart: You can’t deny the effectiveness of that maneuver. Even Ray looked surprised by the sudden display of technical prowess.

Ray attempts to whip Colton into the ropes, but Nate counters with his own Irish whip. As The Murdergator rebounds, he ducks under Nate’s clothesline attempt and catches him with a perfectly executed One Day Blinding Stew that turns The New Diamond inside out. Rather than going for the cover immediately, Ray takes a moment to play to the hostile crowd, allowing Colton precious seconds to recover, before making the pin attempt.

ONE!

TWO!

TH– NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nate gets his shoulder up just before the three count. The look of frustration on Ray’s face is evident as he pulls his opponent up, clearly ready to end this match.

Nick Stuart: The One Day Blinding Stew connecting with devastating impact! But Ray’s showboating might have just cost him a decisive victory.

Richard Parker: When you’re dismantling someone this systematically, you earn the right to take a victory lap, Nick. It’s called ring psychology.

Nick Stuart: There’s psychology and there’s arrogance, Richard. That delayed cover might have just given Colton the precious seconds he needed to recover.

Richard Parker: Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t realize we were watching a Ted Talk on efficient time management. The Murdergator’s putting on a clinic in domination, and you’re worried about his scheduling?

The Murdergator positions Colton for the Lafayette Lullaby, but Nate blocks it with a series of desperate elbow strikes to the injured shoulder. Ray staggers backward, and The New Diamond follows up with wild haymakers that drive The Bayou Butcher into the corner. Instead of backing off at Jimmy Turnbull’s call for a break, Colton continues his assault until Ray suddenly surges forward with a massive headbutt that stops his momentum cold. Before Nate can recover, The Lafayette Bruiser catches him with a massive short-arm clothesline that flips The New Diamond end over end, leaving both men down as the crowd tries to process the sheer brutality they’re witnessing.

Richard Parker: You know what they say about fighting fire with fire? Well, The Murdergator just brought a flamethrower to this family barbecue.

Nick Stuart: That headbutt would have knocked out most competitors, but Colton’s showing remarkable resilience despite Ray’s increasingly brutal assault.

Richard Parker: Resilience? More like a complete inability to recognize when you’re outmatched. Though I’ve got to admit, the kid takes a beating better than your investment portfolio.

Nick Stuart: Coming from someone who just last month tried to convince me cryptocurrency was the future of sports broadcasting.

Both wrestlers struggle to their feet, with Ray reaching his vertical base first despite his injured shoulder. He immediately charges at Colton, looking for another big boot, but The New Diamond manages to catch the leg. Instead of executing a technical takedown, however, he simply spears Ray’s other leg, sending both men crashing to the canvas. They begin trading strikes from the ground position, each man looking for any advantage they can find. The Murdergator eventually wins this exchange by grabbing Nate’s head and delivering a series of short headbutts that leave him dazed. Ray transitions smoothly into another cobra clutch attempt, once again mocking the Colton family’s signature move.

Nick Stuart: The disrespect from Ray is absolutely staggering. Using the Colton family’s own signature hold to break their prodigy’s spirit.

Richard Parker: Now THIS is what I call educational television! Ray’s giving the kid a master class in his own family’s technique.

Nick Stuart: There’s nothing educational about this systematic dismantling, Richard. Ray’s targeting Colton’s pride as much as his body.

Richard Parker: Maybe if the kid spent less time defending the family honor and more time defending against submissions, we wouldn’t be watching this impromptu tutorial.

The hold is locked in tight as Ray wrenches back on Colton’s neck, watching with sadistic pleasure as The New Diamond’s face begins to redden. Nate’s pride won’t let him submit, but his attempts to fight the hold become increasingly desperate and uncoordinated. The Murdergator simply adjusts his grip and continues applying pressure, whispering taunts about the Colton legacy that cause Nate to thrash even more wildly. Just as his arms begin to go limp, Colton manages to summon enough strength to reach the bottom rope with his boot, forcing Ray to break the hold.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Richard Parker: Oh, give me a break! He’s literally crawling to safety like a toddler at naptime, and you’re going to try to spin this as some kind of moral victory?

Nick Stuart: That’s called survival instinct, Richard. When you’re trapped in your own family’s signature hold by someone like Ray, you do whatever it takes to break free.

Richard Parker: Survival instinct? The only thing surviving here is my faith in Ray’s ability to expose every flaw in the Colton Academy curriculum.

Nick Stuart: Say what you will about his technique, but Nate’s showing the kind of determination that made his father a legend in this sport.

Ray maintains his methodical pace, allowing Nate to struggle to his feet before moving in for another big boot. This time, The New Diamond’s muscle memory kicks in as he catches the leg and executes a perfect dragon screw leg whip, causing The Murdergator to crash to the canvas. The crowd erupts at this flash of technical brilliance, and something shifts in Colton’s eyes – a glimpse of clarity breaking through the rage. He follows up with a textbook vertical suplex, the kind that earned his father accolades, before transitioning smoothly into a side headlock. When Ray powers to his feet, Nate switches to a hammerlock, targeting the shoulder injury with the kind of precision that would make the Colton Academy proud. The Murdergator tries to counter with his trademark elbow strikes, but Colton maintains his technical advantage with a snap mare into a rear chinlock, working Ray’s neck with calculated pressure instead of raw emotion.

Nick Stuart: Now THAT’S the Nate Colton we’ve been waiting to see! The technical precision, the focused execution – this is what the Colton Academy was built on!

Richard Parker: (begrudgingly) Well, would you look at that. Junior finally remembered which end of the opponent to grab. Though let’s not start planning the hall of fame induction just yet.

Nick Stuart: You can’t deny the effectiveness, Richard. Every move targeting that injured shoulder, each hold flowing seamlessly into the next. This is scientific wrestling at its finest!

Richard Parker: Scientific wrestling? Please. One good sequence doesn’t make up for an entire match of wild swings and daddy issues. Though… (adjusts tie) …I suppose there might be something to this “technique” stuff after all.

The Murdergator eventually powers out of the hold and creates separation with a short-arm clothesline, but Colton rolls through the impact and springs back with a textbook arm drag. The crowd’s energy builds as The New Diamond maintains his technical focus, following up with a series of chain wrestling moves that keep Ray off balance. When The Lafayette Bruiser attempts to counter with brute force, Nate smoothly transitions into an arm wringer, continuing to target the injured shoulder. Ray manages to reverse an Irish whip attempt, sending Colton toward the ropes, but this time The New Diamond is ready. He ducks under The Murdergator’s leapfrog attempt and catches him with a perfectly timed Russian legsweep. The impact causes Ray to clutch his damaged shoulder, but his veteran instincts allow him to catch the approaching Colton with a desperate One Day Blinding Stew. The discus elbow finds its mark, sending The New Diamond crashing to the canvas, but is slow to react to it. Eventually, he crawls over and drapes an arm across Colton’s chest.

ONE!

TWO!

THR– NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: (exasperated) For crying out loud, what does Ray have to do to keep this kid down? I’ve seen less resilient cockroaches in my first apartment!

Nick Stuart: That’s the fighting spirit of a Colton, Richard! The same never-say-die attitude that made Jake a multiple-time world champion.

Richard Parker: Oh, here we go with the family history lesson again. Next you’ll be telling me his great-grandfather invented the wristlock.

Nick Stuart: Mock it all you want, but that legacy of technical excellence is what’s keeping Nate in this match despite Ray’s relentless assault.

The frustration finally boils over for The Murdergator as he drags Nate to his feet, positioning him for the Lafayette Lullaby. The New Diamond’s instincts suddenly kick in, his body remembering years of technical training at the Colton Academy. He ducks underneath Ray’s attempt and, in one fluid motion, captures The Bayou Butcher in the Cobra Clutch position. Before Ray can counter, Nate summons his last reserves of strength and hits the Colton Clutch Suplex with perfect technical precision. The impact leaves both men lying motionless on the canvas.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: The Colton Clutch Suplex! Perfectly executed when it mattered most! This is what happens when technical excellence meets raw determination!

Richard Parker: (adjusting glasses) Well, even a broken clock finds a wristlock twice a day. Though I’ve got to admit, that was… adequate execution.

Nick Stuart: “Adequate?” That was textbook perfect, Richard! The kind of technical precision the Colton name was built on!

Richard Parker: Don’t get too excited, Nick. One good move doesn’t make up for twenty minutes of emotional breakdown. Though at least he finally remembered which end of the opponent to grab.

After what seems like an eternity, Nate manages to drape an arm across Ray’s chest. Jimmy Turnbull drops down to count

ONE!

…

…

…

TWO!

…

…

…

THREE!

DING DING DING

Both men lie on the mat, with Paxton having a look of disbelief on his face as he realizes that his systematic destruction of Nate’s gameplan was ultimately undone by one perfectly executed technical move. Meanwhile, Colton is barely moving, exhaustion taking over his body even in victory.

Vince Howard: Your winner… NATE! COLTON!

Richard Parker: Well, I suppose even The Murdergator can’t overcome dumb luck and genetic predisposition to technical wrestling. Though if he’d spent less time showboating…

Nick Stuart: This wasn’t luck, Richard! This was about Nate Colton finally finding the perfect balance between his fighting spirit and his technical foundation!

Richard Parker: Oh please, he spent most of the match fighting like he was trying to win a parking lot brawl at a Chuck E. Cheese.

Nick Stuart: Yet in the end, it was that Colton Academy training that proved to be the difference maker. Sometimes you have to go through the fire to remember who you really are.

Before we move on though…

The match is over. Jimmy Turnbull made his count. Vince Howard made his call.

All that remains is to raise the winner’s hand…but that will have to wait until he stands up.

That might take a while.

Nick Stuart: Fans, we have witnessed an absolute war between these two men. So much bad blood…

Richard Parker: And regular blood!

Nick Stuart: We knew this was going to be brutal…Colton and Ray definitely knew that…but I don’t think anyone was prepared for this.

Indeed, with both men cake in blood and barely conscious, it’s tough to tell who emerged victorious.

The record books might say otherwise, but let’s be honest. Nobody won this fight.

The cheering crowd, the claps and stomps, are finally enough to stir them.

Colton rolls over onto his stomach, desperate to push himself back up. He grinds his teeth and shoves his body off the mat, only for it to come right back down.

The mind has strength enough, but the arms do not.

Across the ring, Paxton Ray struggles toward the ropes. Every movement brings a grimace of pain, though there’s little difference from his usual angry scowl.

Nate bangs his fist on the mat in frustration, willing his body into action. Paxton grabs the bottom rope, pulling himself up slightly.

Nick Stuart: Can you believe this? Both men are gutting it out like the match was still going on!

Richard Parker: Do you think they don’t know? Are we going to see more?!

Nick Stuart: I hope not.

Richard Parker: You hope wrong.

One rope at a time, one hand after the other, Paxton pulls himself up to his feet. He slumps into the corner, where he sees Colton finally bring himself up to one knee…but as soon as he puts weight on it, the joint buckles and he collapses back to the mat.

From his corner perch, Paxton Ray looks down on his opponent. A man who wishes him harm, but is helpless to actually commit it.

He now finds himself faced with a choice.

The open hand, or the closed fist?

Paxton Ray is a man who has only ever chosen the closed fist. And now, he looks down at his fallen opponent–a man who has given him absolutely no reason to reconsider.

But that’s not all he sees in Nate Colton.

He sees the all-too-familiar rage, yes. But underneath that…the shame. The guilt. The sense of loss…of being lost.

Paxton Ray knows all too well where that road leads.

Does he hate Nate Colton enough to send him on that path?

His fists tell him the answer.

Paxton takes an unsure step out of the corner, then another, each one bringing him closer to the New Diamond. Colton looks up with defiance…as if begging, pleading…but not for mercy.

Do it, you son of a bitch.

Get it over with.

The Lafayette Bruiser

All right, ya prick. I’ll give ya what ya need.

And so, with all that swimming around in his head, Paxton Ray brings his hand down toward Nate Colton…

RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!

…and makes a different choice.

Nick Stuart: Now I’ve seen everything! After the war they just went through, Paxton Ray–*Paxton Ray–*is offering a hand to Nate Colton!

It takes a moment for Nate to realize that the brutal retribution he expects isn’t coming. He’s shocked at first, and there’s a moment where the confusion might turn to outrage.

He closes his eyes. For a man so keen on doing the right thing, it’s hard to know what that is when it’s so loud. In the arena. In his head.

But if he can find the quiet…

He lies there, eyes still closed, hands still balled into fists. But for the first time in months, the constant tension in Colton’s hand dissolves, at last allowing him to reach out.

RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!

Paxton Ray gingerly pulls Nate Colton back to his feet. They lock eyes for a moment, and Colton throws an arm around Paxton’s neck, pulling him into a hug.

Maybe he’s having trouble standing.

Nick Stuart: It looks like these two bitter rivals have finally buried the hatchet, Richard!

Richard Parker: BOO! WE HATE SPORTSMANSHIP!

Nick Stuart: Knock it off, Richard. There’s going to be plenty of violence tonight; let’s just enjoy the moment.

There is a whispered exchange that the camera’s can’t pick up. Then, Colton brings his arm back down, pats Ray on the shoulder, and the two men break it off.

Colton staggers back into the corner, where he’s attended by Jimmy Turnbull and the ringside medic. Meanwhile, amidst all the cheers and adulation…Paxton Ray quietly rolls out of the ring and walks up the ramp.

This isn’t the love he needs.

Colossus moves backstage.

Backstage, Angelica Brooks stands poised like a cobra ready to strike – her pantsuit a second skin of predatory elegance, each crease telling its own story of ambition. The microphone in her perfectly manicured hand isn’t just a tool – it’s a loaded weapon waiting for its target, and that smile… that smile speaks volumes. It’s the kind of smile that says she’s not just about to witness history – she’s about to midwife chaos into existence.

Angelica Brooks: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Second Coming… Rose.

The universe, with its impeccable sense of dramatic timing, decides this is the perfect moment to demonstrate the law of cause and effect. Through steel and concrete and whatever pathetic barriers separate backstage from the seething mass of humanity in SoFi Stadium-

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Well, well. Apparently, the promise of watching Ivan Stanislav’s ego get surgically removed really packs them in. The roar ripples through the corridors like a tidal wave of anticipation, each echo carrying the weight of thousands ready to witness an execution.

Into frame stalks Rose, a walking apocalypse dressed for a funeral – her funeral wear from ReVival 60, to be precise. The black hoodie isn’t just clothing, it’s war paint, draped over a white shirt that might as well be a ceremonial shroud. When you’re planning to dissect someone’s legacy on live television, you dress for the aftermath, and Rose has come prepared for carnage. Those blue jeans? They’re not fashion, they’re functional. You need range of motion when you’re planning to rearrange someone’s worldview through their face. Every thread screams purpose, every wrinkle tells a story of impending violence.

Angelica Brooks: Colossus 2024. Here in Los Angeles. You’re about to step out and face the Russian Bear himself… how are you feeling?

Rose’s nod could make hell itself check the thermostat. The air around her seems to crystallize, molecules themselves deciding whether to flee or bend to her will.

Rose: You know, Angelica, while San Diego might be my home… Los Angeles is where I was born. Coming home here… to the place my father was born and loved… it feels like I’ve come full circle. These fans, they know what’s at stake. But, Angelica, I would be remiss to not answer your question. Ivan Stanislav. Oh boy, oh boy. I read your bargain-bin newsletter, you know, that rag where the Soviet yard sale reject gets to spew whatever delusional manifesto dribbles out of his vodka-soaked brain. You call yourself the Hero of the Russian Federation but I think a more apt name is the Hero of Historical Irrelevance. You’re a Communist theme park mascot come to life, desperately hawking your moth-eaten ideology to an audience that can’t decide whether to laugh or check their phones. Quoting Stalin? How painfully predictable – though I suppose when you’re a walking Cold War reenactment, you have to stay in character.

Angelica’s mouth opens, but Rose’s raised hand might as well be Death calling for silence. The gesture isn’t just commanding – it’s absolute, the kind of movement that could halt charging armies in their tracks. Even the air seems to hold its breath.

Rose: Dramatic effect, Angelica, you get it. You see, Ivan wants to teach Rose humility. As if there’s something you could teach me. You see, Ivan, I’ve been humbled. I’ve been destroyed. I’ve been ravaged. I’ve been knocked down on the ground more times than your vodka-addled brain can count. Do you think when my husband died, when my father died, that I just took it on the chin and kept moving forward? Nyet. I was laid out on the ground, emptied of everything but grief, choking on ashes where my life used to be. And you know what I had to do? I crawled my way back, finding my footing in the process, one agonizing step at a time. You actl ike you’ve done something special in 2024 and yet, the reality is you’ve stumbled from one embarassment to the next, like a drunk looking for their keys. Where are your titles? Your accolades? You know who is going to be remembered in 2024? Coral Avalon. Daytona Diamonds. Don Winters. Kerry Kuroyama. Nate Colton. You? Well, it’s a good thing you had 2023 because that will be the moment historians mark as your last gasp of relevance before the long slide into footnote status.

A laugh escapes her lips like a blade being drawn across silk, the sound both beautiful and promising violence. The temperature in the room drops several degrees, as if winter itself is paying attention.

Rose: I watched your little Red Manifesto earlier. The world’s saddest puppet show. I have to ask… who’s really pulling the strings in this circus of the damned? Wilhelm? Ivan? Or is it really Alexei in the background, playing you both like marionettes while you dance yourselves toward obsolescence? Power doesn’t interest me, though. Nipping at it is such a joke, especially when you’re nipping at the heels of better men night in and night out, Wilhelm. Chasing after Cecilworth… and I hope you slam face first into the back of the car you’ve been chasing for the better part of a year. Because watching you wake up to reality is going to be sweeter than morphine, and I promise you, when I’m leading The Red Army in the new year, I’ll teach you exactly how to reach for what you want – and miss, spectacularly, every single time.

The smile evaporates like vodka in a Russian summer, leaving behind something far more dangerous – purpose, crystallized into pure intent. The air crackles with the kind of electricity that precedes lightning strikes.

Rose: And Ivan, oh my, tell me, how are you going to explain to your comrades back home when a woman pins your shoulders to the mat? When they have to replay the match and watch how I dismantled their great hero piece by pathetic piece? Don’t worry though, Ivey, I’m going to fix you all up when it’s said and done. I’m going to return you to greatness. You lost sight of it somewhere between delusion and decay, but when I’m done with you and you have to listen to my wisdom, it’ll hit you like a sledgehammer to that thick skull. But until then, please, continue your little performance – it’s not often we get to watch someone so thoroughly convince themselves they’re still relevant while simultaneously proving they’re nothing but a walking museum exhibit of failed ideologies.

She advances on the camera like winter marching into Moscow, each step measured, deliberate, promising devastation. The lens itself seems to shrink back.

Rose: When it’s all said and done, Ivan, you’re not the hammer of history, comrade – you’re its punchline. And that “angry little flower” you’re so dismissive of? She might just be the weed that breaks through your crumbling concrete empire and shows you how a real leader builds something that lasts. But, I will credit you with one thing.

The hoodie drops like the blade of a guillotine, the soft fabric somehow sounding like thunder in the charged atmosphere.

Rose: I forgot and you reminded me. I forgot, but no longer.

Beat.

Rose: (whispering) This one’s for you, Dad.

She moves toward the Argyle position like an incoming missile, each step echoing with the finality of nails being driven into a coffin. The air in her wake trembles, as if relieved to be free of her presence, leaving behind the distinct impression that someone just armed a nuclear warhead with Soviet-seeking capabilities. We cut to ringside, where history waits to be rewritten in bruises and shattered legacies, and the ghosts of fallen empires gather to witness the end of an era.

Vince Howard: Introducing first… standing at five feet and ten inches tall… born in LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA… she is the SECOND! COMING! ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSE!

Silence fills SoFi Stadium as the 80,000 in attendance wait with bated breath before the techno tones of Daft Punk will the speakers with ease.

Work it, make it

Do it, makes us
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

The words her father came out to for years echo through the stadium and immediately ilict the response you would expect.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

As quickly as the words flooded the empty air, it’s quickly replaced by a new song that opens like a deep breath in slow motion. A gentle yet deliberate electronic pulses as if it’s underwater. A soft synth pad floats in and expands, filling all of the cracks that are left behind before reverberating electronic elements creates a dreamy world.

I still got your lip balm in my Jacq
Time to throw that shit away

Stepping out from the backstage area is the Second Coming, Rose, as “bb.” by Naika plays through the SoFi Stadium. The fans are on their feet, cheering her on, as she moves to the center of the stage.

Oh, I, oh, I’m in my bag
Getting finer by the day
And I don’t ever wanna feen you anymore

She drops to one knee on the stage as the spotlight lands upon her. Her left fist touches the metal stage and she punches it twice, feeling the electricity in the air.

When you’re going through the motions
Losing focus, losing grip
Pick myself up off the floor
I’m not hurting anymore…

The buzz from the fans grows louder.

I swear, for a second there
I forgot what a bad bitch I was

She then explodes to her feet with a sudden step forward as pyro and fire go off behind her.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

What a bad bitch I am
I’m feeling good
Right on track

She marches to the ring, eyes locked and focused, ignoring everyone around her except for what lies in front of her. She rolls under the bottom rope and hits the ropes twice before moving to her corner, determined.

It feels so good to be bad

Vince Howard: And her opponent, from Arkhangelsk, Russia. He stands 7’1” tall and weighs in at 400 lbs. He is The Russian Bear!! He is the Leader of The Red Army! IVAAAAAANNNNN STAAAAANNNISSLAAAAAVVVVV!!

Crimson blankets the SoFi Stadium as the crowd turns their resentment towards the entryway. But, instead of the cacophonous blare of brass instruments which normally herald The Soviet National Anthem, instead a slow build of an orchestral score begins to play, reminiscent of the Soviet Anthem. It builds in strength before going silent.

BOOM!

Pyro erupts from the entryway as electric guitars scream through the soundsystem and “Defence of Moscow” by Sabaton roars through the arena. Multiple mushroom-cloud like explosions burst along the perimeter of the entryway, and as the smoke begins to clear, the hulking, unmistakable silhouette of the largest member of the PRIME roster lumbers through the smoke.

Nick Stuart: Here he is, The Russian Bear, Ivan Stanislav! Deemed one half of the co-Main Event by The Red Army, it looks like Ivan is changing it up on us and using special music this time around, which is very uncharacteristic of the man!

Richard Parker: You don’t get to call him by his Christian name, Nick. That’s Starsky Paperschik to you!

Nick Stuart: First off, he’s an atheist. Secondly, even if I don’t know how exactly to pronounce his title, I know how NOT to, Richard, and you just blew it!

Regardless of the grandeur of the introduction, the crowd might be impressed, but they are not happy. They boo Stanislav with resounding vitriol, several signs raising into the air espousing their support for Ukraine taunting him from afar.

But if Stanislav cares, he doesn’t show it. The lyrics blast around him as Ivan, in his typical ring attire, raises both huge arms over his head and bellows defiantly at the crowd.

Hear Marshal Zhukov’s, and Stalin’s orders

Defend the motherland, Moscow shall not fall!!

Above him, the PRIMEtron shows the swirling hammer and sickle of the former Soviet Union and then melts into several clips of archival footage of the Second World War, as well as liberal images of Soviet soldiers and a smattering of their leaders, to include Lenin, Stalin, and Khrushchev.

Stand and follow command, our blood for the homeland

Heed the motherland’s call, and brace for the storm

Moscow will never give in, there is no surrender

Force them into retreat, and into defeat!

As the heavy metal march continues to play, Stanislav trudges down the entryway. The crowd doesn’t let up, challenging the roaring music and the mammoth wrestler at every step. Some of the fans throw jeers and middle fingers, others hurl insults his way, but others cannot help but stare in awe at the largest human being they’ve ever seen.

Ivan completely ignores Rose as he steps up onto the apron as if it were a small stool, and then glides surprisingly easily over the top rope to step into a ring he’s wrestled in so many times in the past. The canvas flexes under his weight as he stands in the middle of the ring and turns his attention to the PRIMEtron. The song itself shifts to a bridge that is reminiscent to the Soviet National Anthem as images and names begin to swirl onto the PRIMEtron.

THE RED ARMY

Pedro “Speedy Riggs” Rodriguez

Cuba

Multiple quick shots of Speedy making multiple (quick) counts for Ivan Stanislav blast across the screen.

Colonel Wang Xue

China

Loyal Communist Party Member Wang Xue, sitting proudly behind the PCW announce desk some twenty-plus years ago, waves and smiles widely.

Pan Ru and Jie Rue

China

Wang Xue’s military bodyguards stand to his right in the same shot as above.

“Polish Punisher” Tom Walczak

Poland

The hulking Tom Walczak delivers a wicked front kick to the face of some poor competitor and levels them.

Chris Sloboda

Czechoslovakia

The Big Bad Boda Daddy first stands with the PCW World Champion aloft over his head and the shot quickly switches to…

…Stanislav positively obliterating him with The Iron Curtain and launching him out of the PCW ring.

Nick Stuart: How nice of Ivan to show how some members also “left” his Army…

Nikita Morozov

Russia

The muscular Russian of the PCW days stands in the ring in archival footage, holding the Rising Start Title aloft.

Alexander Popov

Russia

Popov, a smaller, technically minded Russian, lands a fisherman’s suplex on an opponent.

Oleg Slamyanovich

Russia

The burly Oleg does what he does best, and drills an opponent with a textbook, slow motion powerslam.

Michel Krieg

Germany

The big German from OSW hefts an opponent over his head with ease in a military press and dumps them out of the ring.

Kenny Freeman

Nationalized Russian Citizen

Kenny Freeman sends Rose sternum first into the corner during their match at Tropical Turmoil 2024.

Randall Schwartz 

Nationalized Russian Citizen

Randall is trying to start a slow clap in the same match as Kenny… and no one claps.

Arthur Pleasant

Former Russian Territory of Alaska

A complete shmoz of Ivan Stanislav, Alexei Ruslan, Kenny Freeman, and Randall Schwartz positively obliterate Arthur Pleasant in the middle of the ring. At least, one assumes Pleasant is there beneath all the boots.

Wilhelm Kael

Arkham, Mass. by way of Kaeloslovakia

Kael, then the Intense Champion, recklessly spears a lead-pipe wielding Rose in their match at ReVival 45 and nearly knocks her out of her boots.

Alexei Ruslan

Russia

No footage is shown of Ruslan.

Richard Parker: This is ridiculous. Did the production truck mess something up?!

Nick Stuart: Ruslan hasn’t been on PRIME programming since the summer, after Nate Colton injured him.

Richard Parker: He killed him! Arrest Nate Colton!

Ivan Stanislav

Russia

Finally, rapid images of Stanislav throughout his storied career shift through the screen. As a young soldier, an amateur wrestler, shifting to the burly, clean shaven Russian Bear from PCW holding the World Championship aloft, to the haggard, more grizzled Stanisalv from OSW with, once again, another World Champion.

It moves to the ReVolution Era, where Stanislav points and bellows across the ring at Lindsay Troy. And then jumps two decades to the Stanislav we know now. The screen shifts to a live shot of Ivan in the ring. The man has more lines on his face, more gray in his beard, but he still carries within him the intensity that’s made him famous, or perhaps infamous.

“Defence of Moscow” crescendos as it nears the end, and as it does, Stanislav raises both arms over his head and roars at the crowd. He cares not for their disgust. He cares little for their disdain. And, for the first time, he looks down at Rose on the outside and bellows for her to enter the ring. It’s been a year-long cold war, but it’s about to heat up now.

Nick Stuart: No one has ever had the audacity to challenge Ivan Stanislav for control of The Red Army. It’s unheard of! But here we go folks!

DING DING

Richard Parker: Outrageous? IT’S DOWNRIGHT ILLEGAL! SHE’S NOT EVEN A COMMUNIST! THIS COULD BE DOOM FOR THE ARMY!

Nick Stuart: I’ve heard Rose leans left…

Richard Parker: PARTY MEMBERS ONLY NICK! PARTY MEMBERS ONLY!

Nick Stuart: Why are you yelling, we just started…

Richard Parker: THIS IS SERIOUS!

It is indeed serious, and Rose immediately hits the deck and rolls out of the ring. She smirks at Ivan as Stanislav rushes to the ropes and begins shouting. Rose sticks up a middle finger for a response as she walks to the barrier. She snaps up a chair and turns as quickly as she can. Ivan is leaning between the ropes taunting Rose, Ivan manages to move from the chair swing just in time.

Richard Parker: SHE’S CROOKED! SHE’S A CHEAT!

Nick Stuart: This is anything goes, Richard.

He backs into the ring startled, he turns around to berate Rose, but he comes face to face with the daughter of Dusk. Oh, and that steel chair. Ivan manages to get his arms up but the chair still crashes into his upper chest with an audible slap. Rose pulls back and fires off a second shot with the chair that sends Ivan reeling backwards into the turnbuckle.

Richard Parker: Russia doesn’t even compete in Los Angeles. This is illegal.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think Rose gives a fuck, Richard.

Rose smashes Ivan across the left bicep with the chair, and finally a response from the Russian Bear comes forth. Ivan swings his lumbering right arm at Rose, she has to duck but it buys the Megalodon of PRIME time and he manages to shove Rose entirely across the ring, she rolls to her feet, the chair left in the middle of the ring. She darts forward, but Ivan meets her in the center of the ring with a big boot that lands flush. Rose hits the ground violently and clutches at her chest, rolling around.

Nick Stuart: Devastating boot there from Ivan.

Rose is partially gasping for air and it’s Ivan’s turn to smirk. He picks the chair up and smacks himself on the tip of the boot. The chair bounces right off of the steel toes.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!!

The laugh.

Nick Stuart: Might not be the smartest decision to gloat.

Rose explodes into action as Ivan smacks his other steel toed boot with the chair. The rebound of the chair is the weapon, and Rose unleashes an absolute scorcher of a low kick that turns the chair back and into Ivan’s legs. The big man stumbles and Rose is back in business. Rose picks up the chair from the ground on the turn, just missing catching it. Rose comes forward with a spinning strike that connects with Ivan’s midsection. Ivan continues reeling and connects with the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Ivan’s a little top heavy!

Richard Parker: That’s so rude!

Nick Stuart: IT’S FACTS!

It is, indeed, a fact and Rose charges the big man, and leaps sending the two of them spilling over to the outside. Ivan flips and crashes all the way to the floor, while Rose manages to hold on and come down on the apron. The chair, well, it landed underneath the 400 pound russian super soldier.

Nick Stuart: OUCH!

Richard Parker: Rose is just as psychotic as her father.

Rose leaps up onto the middle rope, and springboards herself backwards. A barrage of flash bulbs fly off in the arena as Rose descends from her moonsault, and smashes across Ivan’s chest. The giant Russian rolls to the side clutching his chest. Rose holds her midsection as she roots under the ring. She throws a tool box at Ivan, hammers, nails, screwdrivers, screws, duct tape, the works go flying.

Richard Parker: Steve from the ring crew is going to be so pissed.

Nick Stuart: Very upset.

She drags a heavy steel chain out finally, and she turns towards Ivan. The big man has made his way to one knee. Eye to eye finally Rose takes a wicked swing with a chain wrapped fist. Ivan sticks his massive hand out and catches it. Rose tries to pull back, but Ivan doesn’t let her get away. His other arm scoops Rose up, and he twirls quickly smashing Rose off of the concrete floor, toolbox and contents, and what was left of the mangled chair.

Nick Stuart: Ow. Ow. Ow.

Richard Parker: I’ve heard Legos are probably worse.

Ivan isn’t easily amused this time. He scoops up a limp Rose, and hurls her as far as he possibly can over the barricade. Rose crashes into the fifth row of fans. Ivan reaches down, pocketing a screwdriver into his trusty work pants.

Richard Parker: HAHA! New record!

Nick Stuart: I hope he throws you one day.

He lumbers over the barricade, and decides he’s just going to take that piece with him anyway. To the shock of the front row that parts very quickly, Ivan jerks the barricade and people go scattering. A brief wiggle, and the barricade has come free. Ivan turns and hurls the barricade piece into the now empty lower bowl, roughly where he thought Rose landed.

Nick Stuart: This man is nuts.

Richard Parker: No Nick! He’s inspired! For his beautiful, beloved, Red Army.

Ivan kicks the first, second and third rows of chairs backwards with one quick kick of the steel toed boots. He makes his way over the mayhem, and peers over the 4th row into the 5th, and Rose is missing. Ivan steps over into the 5th and as he climbs over the row of tied together chairs.

Richard Parker: LOOK OUT!

Rose comes flying in with a superman punch off of the chairs in the 7th row. Ivan reaches for his face, and Rose keeps throwing the same fist, over and over again but now to the midsection. Ivan roars and shoves Rose away, but blood is flowing down his forehead. Stanislav clutches his midsection as Rose comes back in. Ivan covers up, and Rose doesn’t care.

Richard Parker: What’s in her hand!?

Nick Stuart: I have no idea Richard.

Richard Parker: Probably a shiv.

She drives a few into Ivan’s arms and the Russian Bear swats Rose backwards again. This time he comes forward and tries to smash Rose in the stomach with another steel toe, but Rose, outside of the confines of the ring, manages to leap backwards. Ivan follows after her, smearing the blood on his arm. Rose keeps her fist clenched, and finally we can see what she has.

Nick Stuart: ARE THOSE SCREWS?!

Richard Parker: She’s stabbing him, Nick. She’s actually trying to stab him. Call the police.

Nick Stuart: He threatened her family!

Richard Parker: Crime is crime, Nick. Call them.

Ivan has realized it too, even without his glasses. Rose swings a wild, Chuck Liddell esque backward stepping right hand and Ivan keeps himself out of range. His gray shirt is riddled with holes, and small red stains are forming on the front and back. The crowd continues to separate around the valiant warriors.

Nick Stuart: He looks like he just got done fighting eighteen alley cats. Jesus.

Richard Parker: Or just one that keeps grabbing my arm while I’m trying to do shit.

The daughter of Dusk tries another swing but this time Ivan is ready, he stays out of range and waits for the swing to pass and rushes forward. He barrels into Rose, she tries to use the chairs to create a barrier and parkour runs on them, but Ivan manages to grab her by the hood, and redirects Rose like a discus.

Nick Stuart: OH!

Rose sails over the 5th row and into the fourth row. Ivan is quickly over the 4th row of chairs and is in pursuit. Rose tries to crawl away, and finally turns to fight when fleeing is no longer an option. Her screw equipped hand is caught at the wrist. Ivan yanks her arm to force her to drop the screws and throws Rose halfway down the aisle. Rose hits, skids, and then rolls. She finally smashes into the stage, and Ivan follows.

Richard Parker: He’s just throwing her wherever. 

Nick Stuart: I think that’s how things work when you’re a 400 pound walking war machine.

The Soviet Giant grabs Rose by the hood of her sweatshirt and yanks her back towards the ring. The two make it a row, before Rose reaches up and pulls Stanislav’s hand down to her mouth. She bites into Ivan’s hand as hard as she can. Ivan lets out a roar and turns with a left hand, but Rose manages to roll out of the way and Ivan stumbles back up the side of the aisle.

Richard Parker: Who bites!?

Nick Stuart: Rose is mean. And I think she realizes that a hoodie in a fight isn’t a good idea…

Richard Parker: Basically giving Ivan a handle to throw you with.

Rose whirls and rips her now half torn hoodie off, a t-shirt underneath will have to be enough. The sweatshirt had become more hindrance than protection. Ivan turns and Rose rushes in, a barrage of feet and fists keeps the giant at bay and on the defensive as he backs his way up the long aisle. After a second roundhouse kick, the big man finds his opening and scoops Rose up into a military press. Rose keeps kicking and tries to reach Ivan’s face, Ivan tired of the attacks slams her back first against the ramp.

Richard Parker: Oof! I love it! Throw her off it next!

Nick Stuart: Richard, she has a family.

Richard Parker: Throw her off! She’s Dusk’s kid, she’ll probably bounce.

Nick Stuart: What the hell is wrong with you?

Stanislav grabs Rose by the ponytail and yanks her up to her feet. He picks her up again, this time she’s much more docile, and Ivan hurls her up onto the steel ramp. Ivan walks down the aisle where the ramp is shorter and steps himself up. Rose is crawling across the ramp, holding her back.

Nick Stuart: That looks like it hurts.

Richard Parker: I’m sure it does. She deserves it.

Ivan bends down to grab her again, but Rose latches onto two of the giants enormous fingers. She yanks them as far apart as she can. Ivan roars, and Rose manages to scramble back up to her feet. Ivan shakes his dried blood caked arm and turns back towards Rose. He catches a kick to the back of the leg for his trouble. His knee buckles and he falls forward. Rose attacks with a roundhouse kick that connects directly with Ivan’s chest.

Nick Stuart: Caught Ivan with that one!

Richard Parker: Because of all of those illegal chair chops earlier!

Ivan covers his chest with his arms, and Rose doesn’t care. She fires another roundhouse kick into his punctured arms, and then another. Ivan catches a third attempted kick, palming Rose’s ankle like an adult would a small child. Ivan gets to his feet, twirling.

Richard Parker: HAMMER THROW!

Ivan indeed yeets Rose like a one handed hammer throw down the ramp by her ankle. Rose rolls ass over teakettle all the way to ringside, and half under the ring. Ivan holds his arms against his chest as he lumburs down the rampway.

Nick Stuart: Each one of those tosses is like being in a car crash, Jesus.

Richard Parker: He has nothing to do with it, Richard. Just the son of communism Ivan Stanislav!

Stanislav makes it to Rose and drags her out from underneath the ring by her ankles. Rose is motionless, and weaponless. The russian bear haphazardly tosses her again, this time back around ringside. Rose smacks off the barely padded concrete and skips into the barricade like a stone across a still lake.

Nick Stuart: Rose is taking a beating here.

Richard Parker: She should just give up, join the Army!

Rose tries to crawl to her feet but the bottom of Ivan’s boot meets her face, breaking her nose. Ivan doesn’t wait and rips Rose to her feet by her hair, the blood is already streaming down her face, Ivan pulls back an arm, but Rose manages to latch onto his forearm. She starts scratching and clawing at a few of the punctures and Ivan once again bellows in pain.

Richard Parker: She’s insane.

Nick Stuart: She’s fighting for her fucking life.

The grip drops, and Ivan tries to grab her with his other arm, but Rose manages to get her hand into Ivan’s eyes. She rakes the cut on Stanislav’s forehead open causing Ivan to relent on his assault. He turns away grabbing at his eyes, and Rose jumps on the big man’s back. She’s furiously throwing fists into the side of his head, he spins, and Rose manages to catch her feet on the apron. She artfully stumbles herself to her feet just as Ivan was reaching for her.

Nick Stuart: She’s not there!

Ivan continues the turn and takes a well placed penalty kick to his mouth for his trouble. Ivan, still half blinded, fumbles down the apron, looking for anything to hold onto. He finds the safety of the steel steps, but Rose takes that away in an instant as she jumps onto the middle turnbuckle, and jumps off with an absolutely miserable looking stomp on Ivan’s right arm.

Richard Parker: Ah… ah… ow.

Nick Stuart: Yeah no, I. I can’t make mouth noises that describe that either.

Ivan roars in pain, while Rose lands on the arena floor. She reaches for her back, and grimaces. But turns around anyway. She comes at the big man with a low dropkick and sends him skull first into the side of the ring post.

Nick Stuart: Ivan just smashed his head off the post!

Richard Parker: NO! NO!

Rose see’s the giant go limp and wants absolutely nothing to do with getting the big man pinned. She reaches under the ring and drags a table out. Rose quickly sets it up, and looks at Ivan with absolutely wild eyes. She stomps over, blood still streaming down her face, she pulls Ivan up. Well, tries to.

Nick Stuart: Stay away from him!

Ivan grabs Rose by the throat, but Rose grabs at those puncture wounds in his arm again. She rakes at them furiously, but the Russian Juggernaut gets off of his knees and back to his feet, hand still firmly wrapped around Rose’s throat.

Nick Stuart: Oh… oh…

Richard Parker: Mistakes were made, Nick.

Ivan tries to lift Rose into the air and fails. He has to move a second arm behind her back. It’s enough of an opening for Rose to get her hand on Ivan’s giant fingers again. She yanks them apart, and Ivan once again roars as Rose is the one not to let go. She keeps the fingers pulled apart, and is furiously kicking at Ivan’s thigh just above the knee.

Richard Parker: Those kicks are awful.

Nick Stuart: Absolute nightmares.

Ivan’s leg finally hyperextends and he collapses backwards onto the steps. Rose smashes his gigantic skull against the ring post again, this time with a brutal shove. Ivan’s face lands face first on the top step, Rose climbs up to the middle turnbuckle, just as Rose is about to jump, but the giant’s arm swings forward and slams a screwdriver into her leg.

Richard Parker: Always resourceful! A tool of the common man!

Nick Stuart: That’s not what you said about the screws.

Richard Parker: She should be thankful it was a Phillips head so it didn’t stab her.

Ivan grabs the middle rope and yanks himself up to his feet on the floor. Rose jumps down and stomps across his arm, she comes up limping on the recently ‘screwed’ leg. Ivan clutches the arm to his chest and makes his way as far from Rose as he can. He turns back towards his opponent, and Rose is already airborne. She limped her way back to the turnbuckle, and managed to explode off of her good leg.

Richard Parker: NO!

Ivan can’t get his injured arms up in time, and the running bicycle knee strike connects with Ivan’s jaw and drives him backwards and through the table with Rose’s knee, landing once again off of the big man’s face.

Richard Parker: NO! NO! NO! ANYONE! ANOTHER PARTY MEMBER! SOMEONE SAVE HIM!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think anyone’s coming, Richard. It’s Ivan.

Rose rolls across the padded concrete, taking a few deep breaths. She gets to her feet slowly and hobbles over to the battered Stanislav. She grabs the giant by the head and half drags through the table wreckage to the apron. She grimaces as she tries to lift Ivan and has to stop, grabbing her back.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think she can get him back in the ring.

Rose steels herself and lifts the big man again, this time settling for half of his torso onto the apron, and she grabs a leg and manages to get it up there.

Richard Parker: This is bad… this is bad…

Rose finally gets the last leg onto the apron, and she shoves Stanislav into the ring. She rolls in underneath the rope and goes to the far corner. She leans against it for a moment catching her breath.

Richard Parker: YES! YES!

Nick Stuart: WHO THE HELL!? NO! NO!

She looks down at her wrist, and then up at the man that just handcuffed her, facing the corner. Alexei Ruslan smiles back.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: NO!

Richard Parker: ALEXEI! ALEXEI! YES!

Alexei, already with his baton ready, lifts it to swing, but Rose manages to grab him by the throat and drag him over the top rope. With herself cuffed to the top rope, she begins frantically kicking Alexei in the corner.

Richard Parker: HE’S INNOCENT!

Nick Stuart: Clearly he isn’t!

Rose didn’t seem to think so either, and absolutely unloads on him. She tries to work her wrist free, but the cuffs are on way too tight for that. She tries to pull on the rope, but there’s no avail. She turns back towards Ivan, who is dragging himself up to his feet. She looks back at Alexei, battered in the corner.

Nick Stuart: What is Rose doing…

Richard Parker: HEY!

Rose once again runs forward, smashing a knee into Alexei’s face. She’s full on feral, kicks, knees, punches. Anything she can do. She batters Alexei, foot to the ribs, left hook to the face, stomp on the thigh, stomp on the other thigh, another knee to the face, another knee to the face.

Richard Parker: She’s going to kill him!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Alexei has fallen to the floor, and Rose stomps again, and again. Ivan roars from the corner and absolutely flattens Rose against the turnbuckle. Her back turned, she’s trapped. The wind leaves her chest and Ivan unloads with a gigantic right hand to the kidney. Then he drives her face into the top rope, again, and again.

Nick Stuart: No… no…

Richard Parker: GET HER! REVENGE!

Ivan smashes her face off the turnbuckle again, he turns around and gets into the unconscious Alexei’s jacket and comes back towards Rose. Tiny key in hand. Rose is collapsed on the middle turnbuckle, but Ivan wants to make sure. He smashes her face off the middle turnbuckle, again, and again. Satisfied, he unlocks her wrist from the rope, he whips her over his head and sends her flying with the release vertical suplex…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! 

Nick Stuart: Red scare…

Richard Parker: RED SCARE! RED SCARE!

Ivan stomps across the ring, and drops down on top of Rose. Ashley Barlow finally sees her first action tonight other than following two maniacs around So-Fi Stadium and drops to the blood covered mat to count.

ONE!

TWO!

….

………

…………..

……………….

……………………

KICKOUT!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: SHE’S ALIVE! SHE’S ALIVE!

Richard Parker: … that can’t be.

Ivan snarls, and lifts Rose up again. Another red scare. Ivan bends down, and roots through the coat, finding a perfectly folded Soviet flag he brought with him to the ring. He drapes it across Rose, and then drops for the pin.

Richard Parker: Not for long.

ONE!

TWO!

….

……..

…………

……………..

THREE!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Your winner by pinfall… AND STILL LEADER OF THE RED ARMY!!!!! IVVVVAAAAAAAAAN STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANISLAV!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: Rose gave that everything, Richard.

Richard Parker: Hell of a fight so she doesn’t have to join the best team ever.

Nick Stuart: She did it to stay away from these madmen.

Richard Parker: Now she’s one of them!

The roar of the crowd in SoFi Stadium swells as the camera pans upward, finally settling on the second level in Section 214. It’s a sea of vibrant colors, homemade signs, and electric energy.

Sunny O’Callahan leans forward, her frizzy blonde hair catching the light as she cups her hands around her mouth to cheer.

Beside her, Ray McAvay and Joe Bergman, Missouri Valley Wrestling owners, doing what they do best… hanging out with the people.  McAvay was the leader of the old Les Miserables faction and teamed up with Lindsay Troy and other in the Local 214 faction in Chicago.  Joe Bergman built on what McAvay had created and led the Section 214 fan section in Chicago.

The fans around them are a whirlwind of activity – high-fiving, chanting, and waving their arms in unison. Sunny’s eyes sparkle as she turns to Joe.

Sunny O’Callahan: Now I could get used to this!

Joe nods, a wide grin on his face while Ray chuckles, shaking his head.

Suddenly, Sunny spots a familiar face making his way up the stairs. She stands up when she realizes it’s Adam Ellis.

Sunny O’Callahan: There you are.

Joe notices too and jumps up, enveloping Adam in a bear hug.

Joe Bergman: Adam, my boy! Good to see you up here!

Sunny follows suit, embracing Adam warmly. She can feel the tension in his shoulders, a reminder of the weight he’s been carrying.

Ray extends his hand, which Adam shakes firmly.

Ray McAvay: Welcome to Section 214, Adam.

Joe reaches into a cooler, pulling out a beer.

Joe Bergman: Here, have a cold one. You look like you could use it.

Adam hesitates.  Then with a small shake of his head, he declines.

Adam Ellis: Thanks, Joe, but I’ll stick with water tonight.

Sunny hands him a bottle of water, their fingers brushing momentarily.

As Adam takes a sip, he surveys the lively scene around him. For the first time in a long while, a genuine smile spreads across his face. Here, surrounded by the passion of the fans sitting in Section 214 and the warmth of his friends.

We move on…

We go backstage, or actually right outside of the arena. Paxton Ray is standing in the doorway, looking outside. Behind him, someone walks up.

Doug Tim: Pax?

Paxton turns around and sees Doug Tim, valuable backstage attendant, purveyor of shock collars.

Paxton Ray: Hey, Doug. What’s up?

Doug Tim: Everything okay with you? You look…distracted.

Indeed, the Bayou Butcher does seem distracted. He looks back outside, then shakes his head.

Paxton Ray: Nah. Jus’ gettin’ ready t’head out for the night.

Doug Tim: All right. Gonna be here tomorrow night?

Paxton Ray: Nah.

Paxton looks back outside, then sighs.

Paxton Ray: See ya later.

Doug Tim: All right, see you at the next show.

Paxton turns around and looks at Doug, then smiles.

Paxton Ray: Maybe so, Doug. Maybe so.

Then, Paxton walks out the arena. Doug is about to walk away, but something tells him to stay where he is.

Paxton leaves the arena, the camera still following him. He gets near his car, then stops and heaves a heavy sigh. Before he can open his door, a van pulls up and two men in black grab Paxton, shoving him in the van. The van peels off, leaving Doug Tim running behind them.

Doug Tim: Hey! Stop!

Doug turns around and runs back into the arena.

Doug Tim: Security! Someone! We need help!

And we go elsewhere.

It’s time for the main event as the match graphic displays and the PRIMEates give a solid boost to the decibel level inside SoFi.

Nick Stuart: We’re here. The match is against Cecilworth’s will but we are finally going to see these two go at it.

Richard Parker: I’d like to object to your comment, Nick. Nothing is against Cecilworth’s will. He is openly, willingly, accepting this match. Or else we just wouldn’t see him. You listened to his comments just like I did two weeks ago. He said he would wrestle Kael. Now, how he’s going to handle this match, that’s another story entirely.

Nick Stuart: It most certainly is.

The lights dim and the scene switches to inside the squared circle.

Vince Howard: This match is for one fall…

Vince doesn’t go into business for himself. It’s one fall, it’s known, but his tone is much more sullen and serious. This isn’t a contest to “hype the crowd”, they’re going to end up doing it themselves in a few minutes.

And everyone is going to witness a killing.

The lights in the stadium begin to lower as the opening chords of “Journey of the Sorcerer” by the Eagles starts to play. Perhaps as a reference to last year’s Almasy final, we see that the PRIME*View is rolling footage of the former Five Star Champion, Cecilworth Farthington. The clip looks familiar to most, being identical to the one that aired just before his match with JCH the year prior.

Nick Stuart: A little bit of history here as Cecilworth Farthington heralds his arrival to the ring. This match has been a long time in the making. Plus back-to-back main events in Colossus should be something to be proud of.

Richard Parker: You think he’s proud to stand in the ring with a man who has spent the past eighteen months trying to plot Cecilworth’s untimely demise? Wrestling Jonathan-Christopher is one thing. Guy is CuckMania. Max Willhelm Kael is death personified.

As the package continues, there starts to be a bit of warbling noise of the audio, as if an old fashioned cinema reel has been jammed. The picture gets more distressed and disturbed and suddenly the entire tape breaks, bringing SoFi Stadium into silence. Just as people start to assume that some kind of terrible technical error has happened, the screen lights up again, with one simple piece of text.

Mr. Night One

As if the text itself was directed towards a salt-shoed lad, we don’t get time to dwell too much as “Choke” by “I Don’t Know How But They Found Me” engulfs all the SoFi folks. A rather low-key Cecilworth Farthington steps out onto the stage, hands into the pockets of the black hoodie he has chosen to adorn on his way to the ring. He’s not completely disconnected from the world around him, Cecilworth’s shoulder swaying slightly in time to the music as a single spotlight follows him on his journey towards the ring.

Nick Stuart: It looks like we’re seeing a demure Cecilworth Farthington heading to the ring for this battle with Wilhelm Kael, and I don’t mean that in the sense of the young peoples words that they use these days.

Richard Parker: As you stated earlier, this wasn’t a match Cecilworth Farthington wanted, but it’s a match at the end of the day, he had to take. You can only avoid a man who wants to murder you for so long before it all catches up with you.

As Farthington begins to march towards the ring, he gives a mild, but pleasant nod to the fans who are supporting him. He is clearly not quite himself as he sways towards the ring, the weight of the match almost being too much for the former Five Star Champion. Farthington drops down and rolls under the bottom rope, giving a quick acknowledgement to Vince Howard.

Vince Howard: Introducing first… he is a member of the Gluemanati, he is a former PRIME Five Star Champion, he is an Almasy Tournament finalist and tonight, he faces the man he has evaded for almost eighteen months. He. Is. CECILWORTHHHHH. FARTHINGTONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!

Richard Parker: Bit rude of Howard to say Cecilworth has been avoiding this match…

Nick Stuart: I can’t blame him, I would probably also avoid a match with someone who has the explicit goal of murdering me…

Richard Parker: I’d embrace it!

Farthington meekly raises his arm in the air, acknowledging the crowd support after Vince Howard’s introduction and quickly retreats to his corner, leaning upon it.

Nick Stuart: I can only imagine what’s going on in Fartington’s head.

Richard Parker: Listen, Cecilworth is going to be in the fight of his life. He knows this and he knows he’s going to have to put his game face on quickly. Max- Wilhelm, Shell, Kael, whatever you want to call him tonight, he’s out for blood. Fartington might have a lot running through his mind, but he’s going to have to survive AND fight back.

Nick Stuart: Rare solid comments from you, but I believe Cecilworth will. This is a multi-time world champion. It’s not the man’s first rodeo.

Richard Parker: But it is against a formerly dead best friend. Ha!

The lights in SoFi dim as the PRIME stage flickers with blue and red light. The etheric sound of Gary Wright’s voice carries out over the immediate boos.

“DREEEEEEEEAMWEAVER.. I believe you can get me through the niiiight.”

Static crackles over the sound system as sparks flicker and flash on the stage. The red and blue lights cut out as smoke billows down from the rafters. A low, slogging set of drums begin to tune up as Tom Waits whiskey and cigar crooning fills the silence.

“There’s a big black town, it’s a place I’ve found, there’s a world going on underground.”

Fire explodes from part of the PRIME set as scaffolding collapses sending staff scrambling away. Lighting crackles from the damaged part of the stage as the music dies out and the lights gutter in the arena. The crowd, once loudly booing, are not unsure if the damage is part of the show or if they’re all about to be part of a class action lawsuit.

Richard Parker: I’m certainly intrigued.

“The Reds are Rising, so don’t resist. You’re gonna join the Order. Eliminate. Liberty.”

The last of the scaffolding for the stage falls in on itself as red lightning crackles across the stage. More fire, more smoke, I think there was actually an explosion somewhere that caused the audience to cry out in surprise and alarm.

Like a warzone torn apart by bombs, the entire Colossus Stage has been rendered a pile of smoking rubble. The lights in the arena flicker and flash before shutting out, bathing SoFi Stadium in an uncomfortable darkness.

Suddenly a dozen torches spark to life, moving through the destroyed stage like wandering spirits. Twelve Red Army soldiers file out down the ramp before snapping to attention. A low, angry guitar growls over the stadium. A simmering, rageful remix of “Look What You Made Me Do” by Taylor Swift fills the silence.

“I don’t like your little games
Don’t like your tilted stage
The role you made me play of the fool
No, I don’t like you”

Marching through the rubble come four more Red Army Soldiers, each carrying a large banner. The first is a red PRIME banner. The second is a Red Army banner. The third, the Farthington Family Crest emblazoned upon a banner. And finally, the Kael Estate banner on black and red cloth.

“I don’t like your perfect crime
How you laugh when you lie
You said the gun was mine
Isn’t cool, no, I don’t like you (oh)”

Richard Parker: That’s a lot of teams to cheer for. Throw in a Dallas Cowboys banner and you’ve got me hooked.

The four bannermen make their way down the ramp, spreading two by two outside the ring. There is a crackle of red light from the ruins of the stage as a shadowy figure slowly swaggers his way forward.

“But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time
Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time
I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined
I check it once, then I check it twice, oh”

The lights over the stage send down a pillar of white light, cutting through the smoke to reveal Wilhelm Kael. He is dressed in an elaborate black, gold and crimson uniform, his chest emblazoned with medals representing his fallen opponents. A pair of welder’s glasses obscure his eyes, adding to his villainous appearance. To finish things off a black and crimson peak cap with the sickle and hammer sits atop his head, at a slight crook.

“Ooh, look what you made me do
Look what you made me do
Look what you just made me do
Look what you just made me-”

With an arrogant trot toward the ring, Wilhelm allows himself the rare smirk, confident and sadistic. Ominous red lighting flickers through the arena as Kael swaggers on.

“I (I) don’t (don’t) like your kingdom keys (keys)
They (they) once belonged to me (me)
You (you) asked me for a place to sleep
Locked me out and threw a feast (what?)”

Reaching the bottom of the ramp, Wilhelm extends his arms out as two of the Red Army soldiers quickly work to remove his entrance gear.

“The world moves on, another day another drama, drama
But not for me, not for me, all I think about is karma
And then the world moves on, but one thing’s for sure
Maybe I got mine, but you’ll all get yours.”

Turning, Wilhelm slowly makes his way to the ring steps. He climbs them two steps at a time before wiping his feet off on the apron. Slipping between the ropes, Kael makes a dismissive wave of his hand toward Cecilworth, insisting that referee Elvis Nixon back Farthington back into his corner.

“But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time (nick of time)
Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time (I do it all the time)
I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined
I check it once, then I check it twice, oh”

Stepping to the center of the ring, Wilhelm pulls away his peak cap and sunglasses revealing his left eye is a glossy black while his right remains his steely gray. He tosses the hat and sunglasses to the side before raising both of his hands high into the air above his head, flexing as he does so.

“Ooh, look what you made me do
Look what you made me do
Look what you just made me do
Look what you just made me-”

The song abruptly ends as the lights in the arena die out with a loud mechanical thud. After a few seconds the lights flicker back to life with the Red Army soldiers, banner men and ruined stage gone. Everything is back, exactly as it started, leaving the crowd as confused as the commentary team.

Richard Parker: (Mesmerized) What. An. Entrance. If we get more entrances like this, I’m all for seeing Kael die again. Maybe he loses his nose this time, instead of an eye. Or fingers. An entire arm torn off! Whatever it takes to watch the stage burn apart and drones and wolves and the Hunchback of Notre Dame!

Nick Stuart: Half of what you’re saying didn’t happen.

Richard Parker: Right. But it could!

Wilhelm Kael looms in his corner, eyes locked on Cecilworth as he waits for the bell.

Richard Parker: I never thought I’d be so pumped listening to a Taylor Swift song, either. But here we are. I might have to pick up her next record.

Nick Stuart: Stop.

The ring announcer refocuses the attention to where it’s supposed to be.

Vince Howard: And his opponent… from Arkham, Massachusetts… weighing two-hundred-sixty-five pounds… the LORD-COMMISSAR of the RED ARMY… WIIIIIIIIIIIILHELM KAAAAAAAAAAEL!

Referee Elvis Nixon wastes no further time.

DING DING

The crowd immediately erupts upon the sound of the bell as both men stand in their respective corners. Wilhelm stares at Cecilworth, and Cecilworth stares back at Wilhelm.

We get GLUE chants. We get DEATH chants. We even get eMpire squeals. All of the glorious shit these two have been through with one-another.

The PRIMEates only get LOUDER.

Kael looks Cecilworth over. He’s mumbling to himself. Something along the lines of “legacy”, “friendship” and “jizzpods”. It’s utter nonsensical ramblings of a Mad Man to everyone other than himself. But Wilhelm is locked in. Has he blinked since the bell rang? Jury’s out.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the squared circle, Cecilworth stares blankly in response. At one time, this was his extremely close friend. Is Wilhelm Kael the person he claims to be? Cecilworth is trying to figure that out.

…Or he stopped thinking about it a long time ago.

Because the bell has rung, the ref is in position. And the crowd is going batshit insane.

Louder and louder while they stand there. You’d think at least one of them would be able to bask in the glory of this moment, but neither one can.

Then again, maybe that’s why the entire stadium is going wild.

The announcers remain on radio silence, as Cecilworth is the first to take a step forward. In reality it’s because Wilhelm Kael is still mumbling about where jizzpods were created.

Or something like that.

Fartington marches to the center of the ring. There’s a sense of tentativeness in his body language but he’s there. He’s waiting.

It takes time but Kael creeps one step forward. Then another. Another. The crowd is still roaring. Maximillian Wilhelm Kael stands in the center of the ring, directly in front of Cecilworth Fartington. The two look each other over one more time.

Kael mouths the words “family failure” to Cecilworth.

And they FINALLY lock up!

Wilhelm tosses Cecilworth to the ground, shocking the former Five Star Champion who glances up with raised eyebrows. Did Kael have this kind of strength before?

Fartington springs back to his feet and locks up again. Kael with an arm drag and tries to go for an arm bar, or, perhaps, Article 51, but Fartington slips free and moves into the ropes rather quickly. He once again glances towards his opponent, his friend, his former companion.

Back on his feet. Cecilworth dusts himself off. He cracks his neck to the left, while Kael mirrors his ex-bestie, but cracks his head to the right.

You can actually HEAR the crack of Kael’s neck, even with the crowd noise.

Nick Stuart: Settle in, partner.

Another lock up. Another scream of the crowd. And this time, the two are giving it their all.

Fartington starts moving Kael into a corner of the ring, when Wilhelm drops the hold and pops Cecilworth in the face!

Then an eye gouge!

Followed by a headbutt!

Fartington falls to the mat, and Kael looks super bloodthirsty. Gone is the tolerant demeanor, willing to test strength and allow the moment to breathe. Now it seems as though he’d rather seek vengeance against the man who’s done him so wrong.

FUCK THE FARTINGTON’S, AMIRITE?

Kael comes out flying with numerous hard chops to Cecilworth’s chest. These aren’t the chops to make the crowd WOO. Nor are they the kind of chops to provide red marks across The Financer’s pecs, either. These are chops that want to knock you down, push the air completely out of your chest or even worse, crack a rib or two in the process. Kael is hammering his former mate towards the other side of the ring. He is relentless in this approach and while Cecilworth is trying to block them, the forearms are coming in way too quick, much too firm and, man, fuck me, Fartington can barely think.

Kael has Fartington in the corner. He buries one more hard chop across Cecilworth’s chest and then grabs him by the arm. A HARD AS SHIT Irish whip into the corner where they came from, and Cecilworth meets it chest-first.

CMF hits and sticks. He isn’t going anywhere. Kael bursts from the corner, drool fumbling from his mouth. Like a wild dog in the middle of a big feast, Wilhelm collides with the back of Fartington. It’s a full sprint, a bulldozing splash, complete with a BELL CLAP CRACK ending, that wraps Kael’s arms around Fartington’s head and connects with the bridge of Fartington’s nose meeting Kael’s fingers.

Richard Parker: Cecilworth’s temples take the brunt of the damage!

Oh, his bell is rung alright.

Kael’s just getting started, too. He peels Fartington from the corner, flips him into position and hits a spike piledriver. Kael pulls Fartington off the canvas and looks for another piledriver, this one of gotch style.

WHAM, the top of Fartington’s crown meets the hard canvas mat. He doesn’t move.

But instead of going for the pin, Kael slithers to his knees, never taking his eyes off Cecilworth. Then he stands and runs around the ring like that angry, rabies infested dog. He sees Fartington rise, so Kael charges and delivers a running knee lift under the chin.

Richard Parker: I’ve never seen a man enjoy himself being so unhinged more than I have MWK.

Kael keeps the onslaught going. Now it’s knee after knee, short charged and into Cecilworth’s right temple. Blunt, stiff, without mercy.

Nick Stuart: I have a very hard time believing these two were ever friends.

Richard Parker: I’m going to have to agree with you, Nick. However, in the wrestling world… isn’t this how it goes? Friends become enemies, and I’m not talking cute little enemies, either. I’m talking out for blood. Well…

Parker, right on cue. It looks like Kael wants to open his friend up the hard way. Kael leaps on top of Cecilworth and starts mother fucking UNLOADING forearms and punches against the top of his head!

Nick Stuart: Kael has found an opening. My god, he’s going to put everything into it!

The crowd watches on as Kael drills his extremities into Cecilworth. Over and over we go, now moving into elbow strikes. Kael’s right elbow meets the top of Fartington’s forehead many times. Perhaps, Cecilworth can be thankful he doesn’t have a forehead the size of Peyton Manning, or, of course, Coral Avalon.

Nevertheless, as Kael slides away from Fartington because Fartington got into the ropes… the damage is done.

As the Glue Guy rolls onto his knees with one hand on the rope for leverage, blood starts tumbling out of his forehead.

Quickly.

Kael grins. Yum yum.

Although that should go without saying.

The Commissar of the Red Army bellows more JIZZPOD nonsense as he shoots across the canvas and provides a very different maneuver for his troubles. A stiff double dropkick, the soul of BOTH boots going right into that busted open forehead. Kael watches with a stone cold glare as Fartington rolls over and inadvertently falls out of the ring. It’s like Wilhelm’s in a trance. He witnessed his former friend suffer and then fall to the floor below. But once out of sight, Wilhelm Kael keeps his eyes deadlocked on the area Cecilworth Fartington was positioned.

Nick Stuart: He’s completely unstable.

Richard Parker: You’re acting like this is something you’ve just figured out.

Eventually, it’s like a switch flips back on inside Kael’s head and he stands, slowly walking towards the side of the ring where Cecilworth is recovering. Kael reaches the ropes, puts a foot through the bottom and middle ones-

WHAP!

One of the hardest possible slaps to the face a man can give. Cecilworth shot up to his feet, putting a full blown home run swing into Kael’s cheek. Now he falls back over, trying to catch his breath.

It was more like a grand slam swing but they don’t know baseball in England… and cricket is silly.

Nick Stuart: You have to wonder, the instability of Max Kael and that brief trance he was in. It cost him right there.

Fartington is losing blood like crazy. Red shit is running down his face like Niagara Falls. Or, again since he’s British, blood running down like the Eas a’ Chual Aluinn waterfall. That’s close enough to Buckinghamshire, eh?

Needless to say, with the dumb narration aside, Cecilworth needs to use the guardrail in order to prop himself up. There’s just one problem.

Wilhelm Kael stands directly behind him, licking his lips.

Drool spills out of Kael’s mouth, like a rabid pitbull he charges at Fartington from behind and drives a Kael elbow into the back of CMF’s head. Kael snatches Fartington’s body and in one swift motion, he hurls Fartington into the ring post across the way.

PING!

Fartington’s head smacks off the post, and, just like the sound, ricochets to the mat like a ping pong ball.

Nick Stuart: Good lord!

Kael is nowhere near finished. He pulls Fartington off the ground and walks his head over to the steel steps. ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, THERE’S ONLY SO MANY TIMES KAEL CAN DO IT.

Zero remorse whatsoever.

The stairs are covered in blood. The top step might as well have been painted crimson by now. Realizing the referee is making the TEN count and, at this time and place, having the wherewithal to know he wants to win the match by different means… Kael rolls Fartington into the ring and stomps up the steel steps as he goes.

Failure, failure, failure. CECILWORTH FARTINGTON IS A FAMILY FAILURE. We think that’s what Wilhelm is saying…

Kael pauses at the top step. He realizes his boots are covered in blood.

Wilhelm now mumbles the words “Red Army”, as if the RED blood triggered the fact he’s proud and supporting the troops. Except in this match he literally is the troop.

He was also the man who painted the staircase red, but whatever.

Kael enters the ring, eyes locked on the bloody Cecilworth Fartington.

Richard Parker: There is SO much blood being lost here, Nick. Do you think this match has to be called-

Before Parker can finish, Cecilworth snaps forward with a Malice in Wonderland, an elbow smash to the back of Kael’s head. He was able to drop his base at the last second and complete the move. Kael, however, isn’t down and out. He’s only stunned.

Fartington bounces off the ropes and roars forward. With everything he has, and blood flying from his face as he does, Fartington connects with a discus clothesline, sending Kael’s body flipping inside-out before meeting the canvas.

Nick Stuart: That’s NO small task, making Kael fly around like that. I don’t need to remind anyone we’re looking at a six-foot-four, two-fifty-five powerhouse in Maximillian Wilhelm Kael and I’d like to argue he looks to be in the best shape of his life.

Richard Parker: Which life – the first one or the ReVival period? (Proud of himself) Oh, oh that’s solid. See what I did there? It works on so many levels!

Nick ignores Richard, because there’s a much greater task at hand – calling the main event of the night.

Fartington has used this time to find a corner of the ring and also waive off additional help from the referee, or potential EMTs. The blood loss has calmed down, albeit a little, but the canvas is covered in spotty red marks.

Cecilworth lowers his eyebrows amidst the crimson crust upon his forehead and nose, watching Wilhelm Kael get to his feet. It looks like, for a split second, Fartington has a sense of remorse.

But charges in anyway.

Flying European uppercut. Stiff-as-shit elbow follows, to the back of the head. And then, in a whirlwind of his own rage and frustration having to be dragged into all this, Fartington takes three steps back. No more, no less, lunging forward and clubbing Kael with the strength of a million Fartington’s, even the ones who reside inside Kael’s subconscious and HATE Cecilworth. CMF pumps Wilhelm so hard that MWK probably considers himself Maximillian Sutler Kael-Reynolds-Troy. He falls, like a statue, void of life entirely.

Fartington places his hands on his knees and takes a deep breath. He quickly scans Kael’s body, leans down-

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD!

Kael springs to life, like he was electrocuted on the spot and ReVived for the 69th, 97th, 1847573th time. He’s got Cecilworth by the neck…

And he’s going to choke the living piss out of him!!

Without mercy, Kael’s eyes are wiiiiiide open. One black pupil, one grey pupil, staring a hole through the back of Fartington’s head. The crowd is screaming as both men fall to the mat. But for now, Wilhelm Kael doesn’t have his triangle choke locked in. Instead, he has someone else’s…

Marie Antoinette, or, well, maybe it is Kael’s own hold, the Madame Guillotine. It’s sunk in there perfectly, as Kael mumbles ramblings of a madman. He has Fartington dead to rights.

Elvis Nixon slides into position and most of the crowd is on their feet.

Not to be outdone, however, Cecilworth shows fight. Yes, the choke hold is textbook. Yes, he’s in the center of the ring.

No, he’s not fucking going out like this.

Not.

A.

Chance.

Nixon doesn’t even have to check on Fartington. The crowd is going ballistic as Cecilworth slides across the canvas with his legs, that’s all he has going for him. Kael watches them both move across the canvas with a rather helpless look on his face.

Until the lights come on.

Kael isn’t helpless, he’s literally trying to choke Fartington’s half to death!

Or all the way to death!

Madness, they say!!!

Nick Stuart: Fartington has A LONG way to go…

Richard Parker: But he’s moving them both, partner. I haven’t seen a look that determined since the one we are seeing from Kael at the moment.

The crowd rumbles their feet. In some weird and twisted way, the dried up blood on Cecilworth Fartington’s face is actually HELPING the situation. It’s allowed a little bit of movement from Fartington’s neck and head, he’s not being choked as painfully or powerfully as he was a moment ago. If only CMF was gushing blood like a mother fucker still, his head might have been lubed up to get out of there already-

Ah, well, he’s CLOSER TO THE ROPES NOW.

Fartington reaches out.

No. Still a bit more to go.

Kael cracks his own neck. His shoulders twitch, just a little. He tries to roll forward, in an attempt to then roll back and take both of them closer to the center of the ring.

It doesn’t work. It only allows for Fartington to move in his direction.

Fartington reaches out.

He’s inches away!

Stunningly, Wilhelm Kael drops the hold. He springs to his feet and starts stomping Fartington. The crowd boos wildly.

Richard Parker: What a smart call! Kael realized a rope break was inevitable, so Max took Cec’ by surprise. I have to say, for such a loose cannon, Kael is putting on one hell of a clinic.

Wilhelm Kael drags Fartington to his feet and lifts him in the air.

Sheer drop brainbuster.

Directly on the crown of Fartington’s head.

There’s no pin, however. It’s clear The Madness is starting to take over Wilhelm.

“But wasn’t Kael already Mad from the beginning?”

There’s always another level.

Kael peels Fartington off the mat. He Irish whips Cecilworth as hard as he possibly can into a corner of the ring. This time, Fartington hits and doesn’t stick. Instead, he crumbles to the ground.

Kael cracks his neck to the left, then to the right. He points to where he’s running and makes the charge with all he has.

A roaring elbow so roaring, that upon getting up to his wobbly feet, Cecilworth flips inside out TWICE before hitting the mat. Kael spends a moment in the corner and shakes his head wildly in every direction. It’s like his brain is going to explode, his head is glitching out.

Elvis Nixon checks on Cecilworth Fartington and, unfortunately, Kael sees this out of the corner of his eyes.

Suddenly, knowing the referee is distracted, Kael’s head stops flipping around. He firmly places both hands on the top turnbuckle pad.

And RIPS it right off.

The crowd gives an “OHHHHH!” as Wilhelm cocks his head behind him, eyes locked on his former “best friend”.

Nick Stuart: This might be the end.

Richard Parker: A valiant effort by Cecilworth but it won’t be enough. It was never going to be. That’s what Fartington gets for pulling his punches. Max came to play. Max came to KILL. And Cecilworth only came for a handshake.

Nick Stuart: Are we watching the same match?

Richard Parker: Yes. Yes, we are.

Kael pushes Nixon away and with a shout from the crowd, he snatches Fartington by his head. With both arms grasping Cecilworth’s neck, Kael is going to steer him right into that exposed steel.

Kael runs them both towards it.

FULL BREAKS.

Fartington with a desperation backdrop! Kael lands on his head!

The crowd gives a cheer, as Cecilworth springs to his feet and connects with a kitchen sink knee strike. Kael’s arms fly up like he’s shot before meeting the mat chest first. Fartington looks down at the man who was, for all intended purposes, trying to kill him in this very ring.

Fartington cracks his own neck to the left and right. He peels Kael off the mat-

Jumping piledriver!

No way The Conga Crusher is finished. He’s just getting started.

Knee. Knee. Knee. Knee. KNEE. KNEE. KNEE. KNEE! KNEE! KNEE! KNEE!! KNEE!! KNEE!! Knees without ALL CAPS. KNEES with ALL CAPS. Every single knee possible.

Absolutely spent, while subsequently working the crowd into a frenzy, Fartington drops Kael’s head to the ground and falls over himself.

Nick Stuart: HOW MANY KNEES WAS THAT?

Richard Parker: Not one… not two… not three…

As Parker tries his best to remember them, he’s never going to get there. Cecilworth looks at his lifeless opponent-

What.

The.

Fuck.

Kael isn’t just moving. Similar to his match against FLAMBERGE, his body is seemingly snapping back together like something of a Dry Bones Koopa Shell. People in the front row will swear by it, hearing sickening, “wet” popping noises coming from Kael’s body as he slowly pieces himself together.

For a very split moment, it looks like Fartington can’t believe it. His jaw has slightly dropped. He watches Kael recover from thirty-seven knees to the side of his head (that was the actual count, but Parker will never get there). And then Cecilworth’s face says “fuck it”. If Max wants more, he’ll get more.

WHAM!

Jumping knee catches Kael flush under the jaw.

CRACK!

Discus elbow to the same spot where Cecilworth connected with the knee.

Fartington hooks his arms under Kael’s neck, lifting him HIGH into the air.

Super. High. Elevated. D. D. T.

Why not one more?

SURE, DON’T MIND IF HE DOES.

Another elevated DDT!

You want three? The crowd is asking for three. Fartington lifts Kael and rests him on the second turnbuckle pad.

Elevated DDT from the SECOND BUCKLE!

BOOM!

Fartington screams into the rafters. Is he asking for mercy, or is this a warning for what’s to come next. Cecilworth scoops Kael onto his shoulders…

Fisherman’s buster.

Modified for this special occasion, of course. Because Cecilworth doesn’t drop Kael on his upper shoulders, instead, he drops Max on his head.

Max Kael, Max Shell, Max Best, Max All of the Nicknames come pouring out upon impact.

Cecilworth takes hold of The Black HEART of PRIME™, The Red Right Hand of Communism, the RIA-Ranger, the Best Value Steak of Professional Wrestling, The World’s Greatest Sid, the Exiled Lord of Jabberdom, the Bane of Troy, and the Gold Star Trainer of the Red Army, the Jabberlord of PRIME, The Unquestionable Kael, the Most Family Friendly Wrestler on PRIME, The Red Youngblooded Russian, Former Leader of the Love Convoy, Big Bad Max the Bad Booty Leader of the Love Convoy, Powerbombenheimer, the Unipowerbomber, The INTENSITY, the Lord of Kaelsalvania, the Prime Minister of Maxopotamia, Absolutely Qualified, the Hō̸͔riz̴̋̊oń̷̃. the Smart Sleeper, the Unforgivable, The STORM of PRIME™, ol’ Max the Canonizer, the FOUNDATION of PRIME, Strap In Folks You’re In For Some Powerbombs, Mr. Powerbomb, Esq. Powerbomb Siddy, Powerbomb Daddy, Powerbomb Uncle, Powerbomb Cousin Twice Removed, the Evil Midnight Powerbomber What Powerbombs At Midnight, the First Pioneer on the Powerbomb Trail, Man vs. Powerbomb, the Professor of Powerbombology, the Powerbomb Sculptor, the Powerbomb Narcissist, He Whose Hunger For Powerbombs Knows No Ends, Powerbomb Atum, the Where’s Waldo of Powerbombs, Powerbombus Rex, the Powerbomb Wizard. Powerbomb Sidphony, Right in the Cabbages!, Professor Powerbomb, pHD, the Entire Goddamn Powerbomb Parliament (Including the House of Powerbomb Lords), Owed Fifty Dollars For Powerbombs, The High Priest of Powerbombanity, The Thing That The Manhattan Project Really Feared, Barbiebomb, The All-Powerbomb, The Powerbomb of the Slain, Grimnir the Hooded Powerbomb, A Gluey Powerbomb Boy, A Sticky Powerbomb Situation, the Powerbomb out of Space, the Tribal Powerbomb Chief, the Son of Powerbomb God, HIYAH!, A Perfect Storm Full of Powerbombs, the Wet Hot American Powerbomb, the Calmest Powerbomb on Earth, Nobel Prize Winner for Powerbombing Excellence, the Powerbomb Laureate, Mr. Phillips’ Wild Powerbomb Ride, the Mortal Enemy of the Pilebomb, Nemesis of Hurricanranas, Drinks The Haterade When It Comes To That Thing Billy Kidman Does To Get Out Of Powerbombs, Disliker of Children Who Don’t Understand The Sacrifices That Come With Being The Powerbomb Incarnate, Oh, Right, He’s Also The Powerbomb Incarnate, the Padishah Emperor of Powerbombs, the Pontiff of Powerbomb Alley, the Picasso of Powerbomb, the Van Gogh of Powerbomb (except he has both ears because he’s not a bitch), the H.R. Giger of Eldritch Apowerbombinations, H. Powerbomb Sidcraft, Don’t Ask Him About His Cat, Dr. Sidlove Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Powerbomb, the Prognosticator of Project Powerbombhatten, Hatless Sam Fedora, One Powerbomb Man, The Powerbomber of Narrators, The Sensation of the Powerbomb Nation, The Powerbomb King First of His Powerbomb, the Anti Not-Getting-Powerbombed Equation, That Which Is Powerbombed Can Never Powerbomb, The Third Inevitability Which Is Not Death Or Taxes But Just More Powerbombs, The Man Who Drew 52 Cards And Those Cards Are All Powerbombs, the Car Hit Cheese Bacon Mushroom Face, the Long Tongue Couple Divorce Stunner, the Prince of Powerbombay, the Warlord of Powerbombton, the Ruler of Powerbomblantis, the Sultan of Bombmuria, the Shogun of Pawaabomu, the Mayor of Bombtown, the Deputy Clerk of Powerbombshire, the Living Siege Weapon That Just Powerbombs You Into A Castle Wall, Three Hundred Pounds Of Sensual Powerbombing Love, Time Magazine’s Sexiest Powerbomb Alive, the New York Times’ Best Selling Powerbomb, the Daily Enquirer’s Shocking Powerbomb Tryst, the God of Powerbombs, No Seriously He’s A God Of Powerbombs I Can’t Believe We Didn’t Think Of That One Sooner, Like Holy Shit We Should’ve Just Led With That, the Sex God of Powerbombs, the Seraphic Powerbomb, Powerbomb Boy McCree, Master Bombaster First of His Name, the Assassination of Jesse James by the Powerbomb Sid Phillips, the Bio Page Breaking Powerbomb Boy, Rave Daddy Sasquatch, Big Lorenzo, Big Sid Energy, Toxic Powerbomb Cloud Engulfs PRIME Wrestling, Hurrah! Another Powerbomb, Surely This One Will Be Better Than The Last; The Inexorable March of Progress Will Lead Us All To Powerbombs, Orienteering With Powerbomb Death, Men Fear Him, Women Want To Be Him, Wait That’s Pretty Weird Actually Nevermind Forget I Said Anything, Breaker of the Freeman, The Living Embodiment of Russian Roulette, the Hunter of Humans, the Murderous Face RIA-Ranger, The Man Who Stole the Timelords Regenerations, Mr. Angry Jabber Posts, Death Threat Jones. The Island of Doctor Fraud, The Frenemy, Go Ahead and Catch This Red Right Hand, New Jersey’s Finest Because He Decided Not To Live In New Jersey and goes for the dagger.

No, it’s not Article 51. Cecilworth has been working Kael’s (all other nicknames now removed for the time being) head this entire time, because it’s probably the only way to put Max down.

Nick Stuart: It’s only fair, since Kael has taken everything from Fartington…

Guillotine choke.

Max can feel it coming on. His eyes are wide open again and his hands are flailing around so quickly, it makes his previous head jerking motions look much more subdued. Fartington is trying his best to lock it in… while Kael, as if his life depends on it, -because it most definitely does- is trying his hardest not to succumb to the submission.

Nick Stuart: Wilhelm is moving closer to the ropes…

Richard Parker: I don’t want this match to end!

Well, neither do the fans. Unfortunately for Cecilworth, Kael DOES get into the ropes so Cecilworth breaks the hold. The crowd gives a round of applause, regardless.

Kael in one corner, Fartington in the other. Both men are breathing heavily, while the PRIMEates roar into the “FIGHT FOREVER” chant.

Fartington looks at Kael. Kael looks at Fartington. Both lock eyes with one another and don’t look away.

Wilhelm Kael mumbles something loud enough for Cecilworth to hear.

Wilhelm Kael: Vroom.

And just like that, Kael takes off, sprinting full blast across the canvas before leaping in the air at the half-way-to point, arms raised, about to come down with a crazy, blast full of fury.

One problem. Fartington moves.

Another problem. That exposed top buckle.

Wilhelm Kael: Shit.

WHAM!!

Kael mother fucking EATS the metal, straight into his mouth. He pulls away from the buckle, mouth open, with a rush of blood pouring through and tumbling down onto his bare chest.

Fartington doesn’t give a fuck. Not anymore.

Thump, thump, thump, punches right into Kael’s jaw. For a second there, it looks like Max dislocates his jaw and pops it back into place.

Thump, thump, thump, more punches into the jaw and now, specifically, the mouth. Fartington’s right fist is covered in blood.

Meh.

Cecilworth hurls Max into the ropes but the ever-so-crafty Formerly Dead Guy uses them to propel himself out of the ring and to the floor below.

The crowd boos significantly.

Nick Stuart: Where is Kael going!? Don’t tell me he’s resorting back to his COWARDLY ways!?!?

Kael is walking away – to where he came from, through the pathway, towards the ramp and out of sight. Of course, Fartington isn’t going to allow this to happen. He slips out of the ring and starts to power walk towards Kael.

Wilhelm Madness is ready for him.

Nick Stuart: Dammit! He was playing possum!

Kael with a swift kick to the balls, followed by an evenflow DDT! The crowd boos as Max sits on his ass, right beside his best friend, with blood continuing to pour out of his mouth. MWK might as well be spilling plasma into an IV right now, there’s so much loss.

Nick Stuart: Elvis Nixon should consider stopping-

Richard Parker: Don’t. Don’t finish that sentence. Let it happen, we’ve come this far.

Kael simply sits there by his former pal, rocking back and forth. An eMpire completely ruined.

Nick Stuart: The last thing Elvis Nixon wants to do is administer a TEN count but this is a basic match.

However, knowing his roots are based in the Intense division, Elvis is counting but he’s counting slowly. He’s only at TWO.

Meanwhile, on the outside and a good twenty feet away from the ring, Wilhelm Kael closes his eyes. He sucks back blood and swallows it, before launching himself upright like Pennywise the Dancing Clown. His body shifts and twitches as he leans over, plucking Cecilworth Fartington from the floor and hoisting him into the air.

Nick Stuart: Not another brainbuster…

Oh, that’s what Kael is trying to do, alright.

Fartington tries to break his way out, so he’s sending his legs kicking backwards, in an attempt to shift the momentum-

BRAINBUSTER!

NO!

Except Maximillian Wilhelm Kael comes up empty handed!

Nick Stuart: He escaped! Cecilworth escaped!

As Kael spins around, he sees a bloodthirsty best friend coming.

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

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

The typical chants go, because Cecilworth Fartington just speared BOTH of them through the guardrail!

Elvis Nixon is at the count of FIVE, but even he has removed himself from the ring and gone to check on both participants.

There’s blood. Blood everywhere. Yes, Kael’s mouth is still a gushing fountain but Cecilworth’s head has been re-split open and both men are bathing in it.

To everyone’s shock, Fartington’s eyes are open. He’s alert. He slowly rises and takes Kael with him… walking back to ringside. Cecilworth drops Max at the apron, only to slide into the ring himself at the count of EIGHT…

And then slide right back out, breaking up the count!

Nick Stuart: This isn’t about winning by countout, that’s why Fartington broke the count. I mean, my god, NEITHER MAN HAS MADE A PINFALL ATTEMPT YET.

Richard Parker: I’ve got to think the first time a pinfall DOES happen, it’s going to be over.

Nick Stuart: I’m right there with you.

Fartington drives his knee into Max’s mouth once… twice… thrice… before tightening his grasp on Kael’s head-

CLASH!

And hurling him head-first into the steel steps!

THUMP!

Followed by a piledriver ON THE STEPS!

Nick Stuart: It’s got to be over! It HAS TO BE OVER!

Fartington is struggling to pick up Kael. It looks like he’s absolutely spent physically, losing blood by the second. It also looks like he’s spent mentally.

It takes Cecilworth to the count of FIVE, but he’s able to successfully roll Wilhelm Kael under the ropes.

Fartington has to use the stairs to get up there. He almost slips on the blood. He falls to his knees at the apron, and carefully rolls under the bottom rope-

Nick Stuart: NOT AGAIN!!

Kael springs to life! He goes for the Madame Guillotine!!! The crowd is on their feet!

Nick Stuart: HOW IS MAX NOT DEAD YET!?

Richard Parker: You’re- you’re legitimately asking this after everything he’s been through?

The entire stadium doesn’t want to see Fartington fall to the choke but he was in such a vulnerable position upon entering the ring…

Nick Stuart: DOES KAEL HAVE IT!?!? YES!!! YES!!! IT’S LOCKED IN!!!

But Fartington is crafty. He uses all of Kael’s momentum to roll backwards and pin Wilhelm into the mat. However, before Elvis Nixon can slide into position and start making the count, Kael lets go of the hold. Fartington is on his feet and bounces off the ropes, leaping in the air, and planting the soul of his foot right on top of Max Kael’s head.

CURB STOMP.

Fartington falls into a corner. He probably has the three count here but he’s too tired to make the cover. The crowd screams and roars and cries, knowing both men are at their absolute limits and something HAS TO give.

Fartington stumbles forward…

But, again, Wilhelm Madness is on his feet.

Wilhelm ducks a European uppercut. In one swift motion he takes hold of Fartington’s body and flips him around.

Mperial Star Destroyer aka the spinning tombstone piledriver!

Much like his counterpart, Kael isn’t able to pin, either. Or is it that he WON’T? Is it that he wants to KILL CECILWORTH? He’s only NEVER SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT IT FOR THE ENTIRE GOD DAMN YEAR.

Nick Stuart: Yeah, there’s going to be no pinfalls. I’m significantly worried this ends in death.

Richard Parker: Always wanted to see one up close and personal. You think Cecilworth is ReVived by a Kael jizzpod? The irony.

Kael wants the choke. He wants Fartington’s neck. He wants Fartington’s life.

But CMF replies with a back elbow, back elbow, back elbow, BACK ELBOW. Fartington hits the ropes, leaps in the air-

Kael moves out of the way!

Wilhelm with a head full of steam now. He’s aiming for the Brow Beater, a hardout headbutt coming-

SWOOSH! No! Fartington moves and Kael stumbles into a corner.

THE corner.

The one with that exposed metal.

Fartington with a dropkick to Kael’s back.

SPLAT!

Kael’s forehead goes straight into the metal!

Seeing 100% red, Cecilworth marches over, snatches Wilhelm’s head and proceeds to pound it off the metal over and over and over.

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

Blood splatters in every direction and Fartington shows zero remorse. He tugs Kael away from the metal-

But somewhere deep within the plethora of blood loss, there’s a Max Wilhelm Kael smile of sadistic pleasure.

Plus those dead eyes, lunging into Cecilworth’s soul, ready, willing and able to rip his heart right out-

WHAM!

Fartington with his own hardout headbutt to Kael. Kael stumbles to the center of the ring, as Fartington takes charge-

Kael catches his best friend.

POWERSLAM!

Both men lay on their backs, staring straight into the rafters.

Nick Stuart: How do either of these guys have ANYTHING left?

Richard Parker: They don’t, Nick. Look at ‘em.

Fartington flinches. Kael twitches. Nixon starts his TEN count, albeit slowly. The crowd rumbles their feet once more and the announcers watch with bated breath.

Nixon reaches the count of EIGHT before Fartington rolls to a knee. Wilhelm, on the other hand, has flipped onto his chest.

NINE. Fartington is on one leg.

TE- Fartington is on his feet!

Fartington finds Kael on the canvas but Wilhelm is about to push up and off the mat.

Cecilworth wipes the blood away from his eyes and stumbles forward. He snatches Kael and pulls him up-

MAX WITH A WILD UPPERCUT!

Except there’s one problem.

Fartington blocked it.

Cecilworth blocks another attempt and then rams his knee towards Kael’s chest, doubling MWK over. Fartington closes his eyes, roars back and pushes himself forward, clobbering Kael with a running knee strike, square in Wilhelm’s temple.

The lights go out.

But Cecilworth’s eyes are bloodshot and full. He wastes NO TIME upon grabbing Kael’s head. It’s not Article 51. Instead, it’s the guillotine choke.

The crowd rises to their feet as they watch Fartington plant Kael in the center of the ring. To nobody’s surprise, Kael’s lights come back on. His eyes are open through his blood covered face. His mouth is attempting to smile, or mumble something evil. You can tell he wants to say a lot… but Fartington is relentless. Cecilworth is putting every last second of energy into the choke. He’s tightening it as hard as he can… he’s scratching his teeth together as he does…

The arena is on their feet while Elvis Nixon slides into position.

Kael’s eyes are open. Wilhelm is trying to look into the back of his head. It’s like he wants to make eye contact with Cecilworth but can’t quite get his eyes back there.

The hold is solid. No one has moved even an inch towards the ropes.

For a millisecond, a sense of compassion floods Cecilworth’s face… and then he screams every ounce of frustration, pain and agony into the rafters. He holds that guillotine choke for dear life, as if MAX’s life depends on it.

And his, too.

Cecilworth can see The Finish Line. It’s right, fucking, there.

Kael’s eyes finally do arrive in the back of his head. Except they rolled back there. Because Max’s lights are out. Not even one of his nicknames or personas are home.

Nixon taps Kael’s hand, wanting to feel a response.

…

…

…

There’s nothing.

Elivs calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

The crowd ROARS as Fartington takes another moment or two before breaking the hold. It’s not even from a place of mercy… Cecilworth has lost so much blood, he’s basically passed right out.

Both men are covered in their own blood and each other’s.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner… Cecilworth Fartington!

Fartington’s theme plays, but there’s no celebration. Nixon looks over Kael while two EMTs run down to ringside, slide into the squared circle and start checking on Cecilworth. The announcers give it a moment before coming back from radio silence.

Nick Stuart: Wow.

Richard Parker: (Standing and clapping) I appreciate matches like this, Nick. Both men gave it their all!

Nick Stuart: I can’t argue with you there.

Fartington hasn’t moved. Kael hasn’t moved. There is a truckload of blood. Dried, crusted, some even freshly pumped from the organs within.

Richard Parker: This is professional wrestling!

Cecilworth’s theme keeps playing, although there’s no celebration. Then, the music shuts off entirely.

But as the PRIME signature appears on the broadcast feed, the camera is able to catch Fartington opening his eyes, amidst the wild and relentless stadium cheers. Cecilworth looks towards the fallen Max Wilhelm Kael, but provides no real emotional expression. Then his eyes roll into the back of his head and he passes out.

Nick Stuart: Thank you for being with us! We will see you tomorrow for night two! My god, what a war!

The final shot is a bird’s eye view of the ring. Both men out cold, being checked on, and a canvas mat covered in a dark, sadistic shade of crimson red.

Family, ȧ̷̛̖̪̕t̵̲̓ ̵̢̠̫̅͒͘i̴̪̤̽̀̕t̵͙̅͗s̵̫̀ ̵̺̲̫͔̉ͅb̷̭̉̿e̴̢̠̼̩͖̅̉s̷̡̰̈́́̊̃́t̶̡̬̓̓͝.

FADE.

TO.

BLACK.