ReVival 61

Earlier today…

Sydney swelters under the heat of the summer sun at lunchtime. Traffic coasts along O’Connell, with many drivers rubbernecking at the throngs of eager fans milling around Commbank, either looking for the entrance to the car park, jealous for not having a ticket or simply fascinated by the crowd waiting in anticipation of The Greatest Show on Earth starting in the next couple hours. A sea of black t-shirts, Akubra hats and lager.

General murmurings turn into piqued gesticulating as they notice, in their droves, the glint of sunlight flashing off of three identical pearl-white vehicles approaching the stadium. They don’t look like the typical carriage that would be ferrying the world-famous, nor are they maintaining a secure speed for the transport of such. They’re crawling along, as it happens, and being overtaken by every car stuck behind the procession.

Are those hearses?

Fahkin’ funeral cars mate? Bonzer!

Jesus wept! Did they ship Adam Ellis over from the back of Bourke?? Crook!

Chryslers. Top of the line Phoenix 300s, courtesy of Hillier by Design Coachbuilding. Pristine. They enter via Gate 1 and now all heads are turned in their direction. Some parents pull their children close as though to protect them from the spectres of death while others grin excitedly and point their smartphones towards the cars. Shock and horror has them all gripped. Surely this isn’t what it looks like.

Those up close can’t make out who’s seated within thanks to the window tints, but they can certainly see the expensive-looking caskets resting in the back of all three hearses – and the floral arrangements displayed alongside, spelling out three very familiar names.

JACKSON

BYRD

WINTERS

At this point the fans realize that the Chryslers aren’t in fact pearl-white.

They’re eGG white.

The revelation comes as the cars slow to a halt, the doors open and several individuals step out. Most of them are Enemigos, who receive a round of jaunty applause in their own right, but three of them garner a much saltier reaction. From the first car; one standing head and shoulders over all others. From the second; one grinning without even smiling. From the third; one simmering, unaffected by the intense heat.

All clad in funeral black. A raucous roar goes up as Hessian, Tony Gamble and Cancer Jiles take their places at the front of their respective Chryslers, ignoring the crowds. Waiting.

Another groundswell erupts behind them suddenly as two equally egg-white utes pull into the lot. Perched on the back of the first Holden, with the greatest prize in the industry draped over his shoulder, stands Coral Avalon. In the ute behind that, beneath a canopy erected overhead and filling the entirety of its tonneau, lies Bobby Dean.

Coral’s vehicle pulls ahead of the first Chrysler and takes point. Bobby’s moves in behind the third, escorted by Cancer. The Universal Champion looks back to make sure the cars are lined up properly, nods to his stablemates, then smacks the cab of his ute.

Coral Avalon: MOVE OUT.

Coral stands defiantly as the procession rolls forward. “Wolf Totem” by The Hu starts blaring in synchronicity from the two Holdens and all three Chryslers. The eGG Bandits pay no attention to the ravenous crowds, holding their gaze dead-ahead – with the exception of Drippin’ Bobby Dean who stares out the back of his chariot. Doesn’t even try craning his neck for a look up front.

The Carton slowly makes its way through the parking lot as attendants hurry to a line of cones and move them aside, allowing the procession into the stadium proper. Some folks are cheering, others are booing, some hiss and laugh. But one thing’s for sure:

The boys are back in town.

https://prime-wrestling.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/ReV61-Commercial.mp4

Nevermind those crumbs, it’s ReVival 61!

You know what that means! That means SIGNS!

BEST PART ABOUT THE NEW YEAR? NO ONE DIES UNTIL COLOSS– NEVERMIND!
WE FLEW HERE FROM THE WIENERS CIRCLE IN CHICAGO TO GIVE DORN A CHOCOLATE SHAKE
OY CANCER HAVE YOU SEEN ‘IT FOLLOWS’ MATE?
I HEAR JOHNNY DORN BATHES IN MALORT
BOOK ANNA DANIELS YOU COWA–OH, YOU DID NO WORRIES THEN
ABOUT TIME PRIME GAVE GAMBLE THE BYRD
I HEARD THE NEW ALIAS TITLE STIP IS A HERALD ON A POLE MATCH — NO, NOT THAT KIND OF POLE
WHEN YOU LOSE IN AUSTRALIA, IT’S TECHNICALLY WINNING IN THE NORTHERN HEMISPHERE
KOALA BEARS, MUCH LIKE VICKIE HALL, ARE RIDDLED WITH CHLAMYDIA. HOPE YOU WRAPPED YOUR WILLY, CANCER!
DOES ANYONE ELSE PUT THAT CHLAMHYDIATO JUICE IN YOUR BLOODY MARYS? I BET CANCER STARTS HIS DAY OUT WITH A FRESH CUP!
NO ONE CALL VICKIE HALL “MATE”, SHE’LL GET THE WRONG IDEA
ROSE IS NOW RED, THAT MAKES ME BLUE BUT NOW ROSE’S PROBLEMS ARE “OUR” PROBLEMS, TOO
MANHUNT: OR AS BENNY COLTON CALLS IT, WEDNESDAY

Nick Stuart: Welcome everyone to Sydney, Australia! Welcome to ReVival 61!

Richard Parker: Nick, my monitor is upside-down! That definitely means we’re in Australia!

Nick Stuart: …Just turn it over.

We start things right. The first match for PRIME in the year of our lord 2025, and we start with… checks notes …the trap remix of the Russian National Anthem.

Oh dear.

There’s an entire procession following Kenny Freeman as he makes his way to the ring. Randall Schwartz is there. So is, much to the consternation of the Australian crowd, Alexei Ruslan. Oh dear god, the boos. Mr. Ruslan might be the most disliked man in the world, or at least Australia. Alexei doesn’t care, of course. He’s smiling.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, your opening contest of ReVival 61! Making his way down to the ring, accompanied by Randall Schwartz and Alexei Ruslan! Hailing from Moscow, Russia, by way of Los Angeles, California! He weighs in tonight at one hundred and sixty pounds! REPRESENTING THE RED ARMY! KENNNNNNNYYYYYYYY FREEEEEEEMAAAAAAAANNNNNN!!!

Freeman finishes the long trek to the ring and rolls under the bottom rope. Fans are not exactly happy to see him, but he keeps that grin on his face as he waits for his opponent.

The lights dim, casting the outdoor arena in darkness. Almost as soon as it does, “Shake the Room” by Pop Smoke (w/ Quavo) hits the PA system. Golden spotlights sweep across the crowd as similarly colored pyro hits the stage. Through the smoke this creates, a spotlight hits newcomer Asher Creed as he steps out brimming with confidence. He starts marching to the ring as the hammy herald Vince Howard him to the audience.

Vince Howard: His opponent! Fighting out of Eden, Texas! He weighs in tonight at two hundred and forty pounds! ASSSSSSHERRRRRRR!!! CREEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDD!!!

The young man out of Eden climbs into the ring, raising his arms into the air. He approaches Freeman, and everyone can see the palpable size difference between him and his opponent. Freeman unconsciously takes a step back, but is reminded by Ruslan to stand tall against capitalist scum. So he does.

Referee Jimmy Turnbull separates the two men, who go back to their individual corners. Asher Creed’s raring to go, while Kenny is getting his shoulders massaged by Randall while Alexei is giving him quality advice that probably sounds like “fuck that capitalist fuck”. Finally, he calls for the bell.

DING DING.

Kenny Freeman is a lot of things. Foolish happens to be one of them. He steps forward and engages in a collar-and-elbow tie-up with a man who is eighty pounds heavier and half a foot taller than him, and seems to expect this to go very well. It doesn’t. He is rather easily, bodily tossed into the corner by Creed. Creed goes for a big right hand in the corner, but Freeman ducks out of it and…

Richard Parker: …Is that one of those Fortnite dances I hear the kids talk about?

Nick Stuart: I think so, Rich.

Richard Parker: Huh.

Freeman finishes his dance and turns around to face Creed. He might have expected Creed to just stand there, looking bewildered at his bewitching dance moves. He did not. Creed is directly behind him, and grabs Freeman by the throat with both hands. Now, this isn’t exactly a very fair move, which Alexei (of all people) is screaming about, but Creed uses this as an opportunity to toss Freeman into the ropes. Freeman can only bounce back in horror as Creed catches him, tosses him up, and…

Nick Stuart: WHAT A POWERBOMB!

Richard Parker: Oh my god, he got folded like a freakin’ omelet.

Indeed, it’s better to say that Kenny Freeman was dribbled like a basketball by the big Texan. Freeman lands on his back so hard that the sheer momentum bounces him up, onto his feet, and then he topples over through the middle and bottom ropes and to the outside.

Australia likes them some good, meaty powerbombs and cheers approvingly at Creed. Creed smiles at the reaction, raises an arm to get more of said reaction, and then follows Freeman to the outside.

One problem: Alexei is there.

Actually, that’s several problems hidden underneath that overcoat of his, but in full view of referee Jimmy Turnbull, Alexei can’t do much except to get in the way of Creed.

It’s enough of a distraction, though, for Freeman to grab a handful of Creed’s gear and yank him back into the guardrails.

CRASH!

Creed hits the guardrail hard. Ruslan, at this time, gets into an argument with referee Turnbull. Probably about how much it’s unfair that Creed gets to be that much taller than a mighty Soviet sympathizer like Freeman, if we’re being honest. Either way, while Turnbull is distracted, Freeman and Schwartz put the boots to Creed on the outside.

Nick Stuart: Oh, come on! Put Randall Schwartz back in the shark cage!

Richard Parker: No way, you can’t give the King of the Shark Cage power like that again. He could unmake all of us from within that chamber!

Nick Stuart: I… what are you talking about?

Richard Parker: Look, we put him in that shark cage too much last year. He’s now become one with it. He’s molded with it. We barely averted disaster when we took him out of the cage last year in Seattle, do you want to go through that again?

Nick Stuart: Rich, how stir-crazy did you get during the winter holiday?

Richard Parker: VERY.

The Masters of the Moscowverse drag Creed up and throw him back into the ring just before Turnbull could turn and see the mugging that’d been happening right underneath his nose. Freeman follows in and continues doing a couple of stomps to Asher’s head. When Asher looks like he’s going to get back to his feet despite this barrage, Freeman takes two steps and jumps onto the second rope before leaping back.

Nick Stuart: Cutter from Freeman!

Richard Parker: That’s not just any cutter, Nick! That’s the Cutter of Lenin himself, taught to him by our very own Ivan Stanislav! He flew every bit as majestically through the air as the Starshy himself!

Nick Stuart: I hate it here.

He’s about to hate it more here. You see, Kenny Freeman’s feeling himself. And when he’s feeling himself, you know what happens next. With Creed now, he bounces off the ropes, hits the fuckin’ Gritty, and then drops the leg.

Nick Stuart: FOLLOW THE FREEMAN!

Freeman stands up and raises his arms in the air.

He will regret that.

Because Asher Creed is already back on his feet, as though the legdrop never happened. If you could see his face, you’d swear you could see steam billowing from his ears and nose. Oh yeah, our boy is heated. When Freeman turns around, no doubt expecting to find Asher Creed still convalescing on the ground, he walks right into a huge right hand from Creed that puts his ass on the ground.

Nick Stuart: IT DIDN’T WORK! RIGHT HAND!

Freeman bounces up off of the canvas as though pulled up by marionette strings, and walks right into another big fist.

Nick Stuart: ANOTHER!

The same thing happens, and at this point, you have to admire the cruelty of whatever Russian taskmaster is pulling on those strings. Because Freeman almost pops up directly into a third right hand.

Nick Stuart: AND ONE MORE!

Richard Parker: Get out of there, Kenny!

He does not get out of there. Asher is on him now, and only his lord and savior Jesus Christovich can save him now. A snap suplex occurs, and it’s like Kenny Freeman is operating on the Havoc physics engine the moment that the Guiding Light tosses him. There’s a lot of writhing and ragdolling, I’m just saying. Creed gets up, and then he does it again. Just for good measure. More ragdolling commences.

Nick Stuart: Asher Creed is throwing around Kenny Freeman without mercy right now!

Richard Parker: Please, have some mercy! Kenny Freeman has a family!

I mean, he does. Technically. Not sure how much of a fan they are of him right now, though.

Creed peels Freeman off of the canvas, then gives him a hug! That’s very nice of him. Oh, wait, no, that’s a belly-to-belly suplex, and Freeman is once again going full Half-Life 2 with the ragdolling. If Gabe Newell looked up from his knife collection and witnessed this type of ragdolling, he would fuckin’ weep.

Creed’s feeling the energy of the crowd as he begins to pull Freeman up to his feet one more time. A finishing blow might soon happen here. He lifts Freeman to his feet and picks him up onto his shoulder, parading him around the ring a little bit.

It’s around this time, though, that a storm is afoot.

Nick Stuart: Get that clown off of the apron!

Said clown is, of course, Randall Schwartz. The First of the Circus. He’s decided to take this opportunity to jump up onto the apron to complain to Jimmy Turnbull about his officiating. You know, his perfectly fair and reasonable officiating.

This, of course, keeps Jimmy’s attention. And while Jimmy Turnbull is distracted…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Yeah, the crowd boos heavily as Alexei Ruslan comes in behind Asher and pulls Freeman off of his shoulders before he can hit him with the running powerslam. The Guiding Light turns and catches Ruslan as he’s mid-baton swing, crushing his wrist in his grip and causing him to drop the baton.

Unfortunately, Ruslan might be in a significant amount of pain right now, but he has more than one hand. And in the other hand…

Nick Stuart: NO! A can of mace to Asher Creed’s face!

Richard Parker: My monitor went out, I don’t see what you’re talking about.

Nick Stuart: It happened right in front of us!

Richard Parker: Well, there’s two sides to every argument. There’s the side that’s right, and then there’s whatever you just said.

Creed stumbles around blind, and that allows Kenny Freeman to catch him in a rollup.

Nick Stuart: A ROLLUP FROM FREEMAN! NOT THIS WAY!

ONE.

TWO.

THREE!

DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Freeman breaks the rollup and gets the hell out of the ring as quickly as possible before Asher Creed has any opportunity to figure out what just happened. Although he’s so blinded and burned by the pepper spray that he might not know what just happened.

You know, even when Vince Howard announces what happened.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match……. KENNNNNNNYYYYYY FREEEEEEEEMANNNNNN!!!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Nick Stuart: That snake! Alexei Ruslan has cost Asher Creed this match that he was well on his way to winning!

Richard Parker: I didn’t see nothin’, so I don’t believe you. Alexei is a saint, and you could get sued for your slander.

Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman has won tonight, and I can’t imagine that Asher Creed saw this coming for his debut match!

Richard Parker: I don’t think he can see anything right now. What happened? And why does it smell like ghost peppers all of a sudden?

As referee Turnbull checks up on Creed’s condition, Kenny Freeman is half-walking, half-being dragged to the back with his arms raised in the air in triumph.

And ReVival 61 moves on.

…Previously on…

…THE RED MANIFESTO…

☠️☠️☠️☠️

The Herald, Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington, is seated on the edge of a large red leather coach staring at a television set. He consumed a bucket of popcorn as he stared wide-eyed at the screen.

On the tele is a bloodbath of bullets and human carnage that played out over and over and over again over the last two decades. Nothing new but for someone with the limited observational capacities as Bentley, each new spectacle of violence was entrancing and new. At least it was all going down at a mall, America’s forgotten breeding ground.

Max Kael: Yo, my the Herald!

The sound of Max Kael’s voice cuts over the sound of poor flow and questionable life decisions that roared from the TV. The Herald quickly turned around, his youthful face filled with growing joy.

The Herald: The Great and Glorious Maximillian Wilhelm Kael! You return!.

Max is standing in the doorway wearing a fresh new crimson three piece suit with black and gold accents. He sports an undercut, his dark, curly hair greased back while a magnificent pencil mustache in line with the greats such as Walt Disney and Andrew Ryan.

Max Kael: Turn that drivel off, we’ve got a promise to keep to that Dawkins idiot.

The Herald: THE Bryan Dawkins, that idiot!

Nodding his head, Max beckons the Herald to his side before the two abscond beyond the threshold.

☠️☠️☠️☠️

A wriggling little shadow hopped down one of the many hallways of the Kael Embassy.

Who might this diminutive little shadow be? Stay tuned to find out!

As it passed into the light it is revealed to be the half-rotten head of the Violet Herald, Lowell Dot Com! A ball gag is secured between his clenched teeth and lucky for us too because he’d probably just be screaming at the horrors of undeath.

CDR. Oleg Barkova: Ура!

Jumping from behind an ornate lamp sprang Wilhelm Kael… or I guess Max Kael’s personal assistant and top Russian military officer at the Kael Embassy, Oleg Barkova. Lowell Dot Com’s head spun in the air, the jellied remains of brain matter stuck in a cycle.

Pulling a cool looking hand held crossbolt from his belt, the Commander fired off a single bolt that struck the undead head dead center of its forehead.

CDR. Oleg Barkova: Gotchyu, comrade. But Russian Cowboy, Oleg Stansla-er Barkova is TOO MUCH MAN!

Lowell fell to the ground, his rotten face twitching and spasming uncomfortably as the bolt Oleg put into his cranium sparked with bluish electricity.

Lowell Dot Com’s Head: Ah! Ah fuck, that really feels weird!… Wait, wait, is that a thought?!

The milky eyes shifted left and right while the bolt seemed to cease its sparking.

Lowell Dot Com’s Head: … Where is my body…?

☠️☠️☠️☠️

Sutler Reynolds-Kael, the Son of Scions, released “RED” Ryota Saijo from the Sutler Method.

The surge of adrenaline made the sudden wave of dopamine that cascaded over his brain and down his spine. He had forgotten what it felt like, this rush you got through contact sports.

He didn’t hear his name being announced to the reaction of the crowd, his pounding heart was all that filled his ears.

While climbing to his feet he felt something, like an ice cube being pressed against the base of his neck and let slide straight down his back. He knew exactly what that meant.

Sutler Reynolds-Kael: He’s here.

He’s not interested in having his hand raised. He knows he’s won and now there’s something more important happening. He’s searching the crowd, he’s looking for the source of that chill.

For half a second he knows he’s found him. He can’t see the man’s face but that smile. That terrible, toothy, wicked smile.

Then it’s gone again.

As is the feeling.

They’ll cross paths soon enough .

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…THE RED MANIFESTO…

…TRAVELHOOD OF THE SISTERING-PANTSPECIAL EDITION…

…SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA…

We are taken to now, the present, after the customary Previously On! No more past tense here, kids, we’re all up to speed now.

But where are we exactly?

The Red Manifesto Stage but not where it might normally be! No, for we find ourselves on the travel edition of the Red Manifesto and the stage appears to have been set up in the Sydney Opera House!

And I mean appears because it’s a green screen stage of what the inside of the Sydney Opera House looks like. Whoever decided to use this didn’t even bother to remove the watermark.

Max Kael: Worms of PRIME, welcome to the new year, new ME!

Red sparklers fizzle to life as Maximillian Wilhelm Kael appears on the crimson set. He’s adorned in that flash new three piece suit and pencil mustache. He’s even procured a fancy new bowler hat which sits slightly askew atop his head, like a crown.

Max Kael: Welcome to the first Segment One of the year Twenty-Twenty-Five! A new year of horrors, twelve more months of madness, fifty two weeks of wickedness, three-hundred and sixty-five days of delightful debauchery… sigh. It’s great to be a bad guy… heh-heh.

Clasping his gloved hands together, Kael grins menacingly toward the camera as the canned audience cheering pipes over his giggle.

Max Kael: For the Culture Shock arc we’re ABROAD and not me gendering anyone. Tonight we come from you from the famed SYDNEY OPERA HOUSE! Behold!

He gestures around himself.

Max Kael: Look! Sydney Opera House official chairs over there! Sydney Opera House official ceiling, very fun! And that’s pretty much everything you need to see about the place. On to the next treat!

Scampering toward his desk, Max’s black shoes covered in soft, white spats clattering across the mirrored surface of his stage. Practically diving into the seat behind his desk, Max proudly displays his Five Star Bible on his desk before flashing that gold tooth grin.

Max Kael: And what does PRIME bring to us tonight!? We got Kenny Freeman a rookie. We got Harrison verses a rookie. We got Anna Daniels verses a rookie. We got Hessian verses a rookie. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, those are our first couple of matches and boy do they fuck the dog, huh?

Shaking his head, Max spreads wide his lips into the terrible golden smile.

Max Kael: Could have booked me but I guess people in Australia like dog shit wrestling cards. Makes sense, this whole place is dog shit. Like, literally, I’ve been here a few days and I haven’t seen a dingo eat a single baby! What a fuckin’ rip off!

He pauses, imagining the sight of a dingo eating a baby. He smiles to himself, a secret smile saved for the consumption of human flesh.

Max Kael: I’mma get that face, Vickie. I’mma get that face.

A small trail of drool leaks from the corner of his mouth. He slurps it back up quickly before blinking back to reality.

Max Kael: Speaking of worthless, pathetic, useless fucking rookies, CRASH JACKSON! I heard you’ve been moping around, possibly even thinking of getting into a healthy romantic relationship now that you’re slowly getting over Violent Purple. Isn’t that nice? No, really, I bet everyone is real, real happy for you.

Clearing his throat, he retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket, blowing his nose and clearing his eyes.

Max Kael: Anyway, I thought you should know that I’m gonna be showing up at ReVival 62 with her. If you still carry a torch for the tired old gal, I’ll be happy to hand her off to you… though you should know she’s… heh-heh… not the woman you remember. In some ways she’s better!… in others… heh-heh.

Giggling to himself, Max spins around in his chair. After a few rotations he stops, eyes glinting with cruel madness.

Max Kael: … Just remember, Crash. Everything that happened to her, it’s all your fault. Your fault for being such a bad friend.

Winking, or perhaps just blinking out of order, Max lifts his hand offering a creepy little wave.

Max Kael: Welcome, Worms of PRIME, to the year Twenty-Twenty-Five… Let’s make it a RED year.. heh-Hah-heh-hEh-HeH-Hah-hmm-heh…

The Red Manifesto slowly fades until only Kael’s gold toothed smile remains.

And with a final giggle, it too vanishes into darkness.

ReVival moves on.

We leave the Red Manifesto (sorry, I am sad as well) to Simon Tillier seen outside the locker room of Steve Harrison. He knocks on the door a few times and waits for someone to answer. Some noise is heard inside the room and then it is cracked open. Ellis Jackson peaks his head out and frowns when he sees Simon.

Simon Tillier: Uh…is Steve there?

Ellis turns around and then back to Simon.

Ellis Jackson: He is busy.

Simon Tillier: I was hoping to get a word from him. Nobody in PRIME has really talked to him in months and we have obviously noticed the recent changes.

Ellis’s eyebrow raises and he shakes his head.

Ellis Jackson: Why on Earth would anyone want to waste their time talking to that loser?

He points behind his back where the camera finally catches Harrison. He has both this hands inside a bucket of ice. Steve stares intently at the bucket not showing that he knows what going on just ten feet away from him.

Simon Tillier: Well…I am not sure…

Ellis Jackson: Exactly: Not. Sure. He has done himself and more importantly The Family a disservice by becoming this whiny person who cares what people think of him.

Simon Tillier: Some people would say he is trying to better himself as a person.

Ellis laughs and looks at Simon who stares back with a tad bit of fear in his eyes now.

Ellis Jackson: Oh…you are being serious. There is no better person, Simian…

Simon Tillier: Simon…

Ellis rolls his eyes and ignores him trying to correct him.

Ellis Jackson: Ahem, as I was saying before Mr. Do Right interrupted me: there is no better person. Point me in the direction of THIS better person who is making a difference. There aren’t any worth mentioning because greed and selfishness won out ages ago and everyone is just now coming to terms with it. The rubble of an empire can be seen in every road you drive on.

Simon Tillier: I mean sure…nothing is perfect, but I don’t think anyone should just give in.

Ellis Jackson: We are going to repave those roads, Simian…but not for YOU…it is for US. We will take back what is constantly taken from us. When Steve comes to terms with what his mission is now, he will thank me because the BETTER person is the one who claims victory not the one who shakes a hand after a loss.

Simon Tillier: Sportsmanship is important.

Ellis Jackson: When he loses tonight because he hasn’t embraced this truth, I will let him know that some self-righteous interviewer said sportsmanship is important. I am sure that will help him sleep after I make him run five miles right after his match.

Simon begins to look even more uncomfortable, but Ellis will not look away from him. Ellis just stares at him like he looks good to eat.

Simon Tillier: Um uh…ok well maybe I can talk to him some other time?

Ellis Jackson: You are smart to ask me…

Ellis shuts the door on Simon without finishing his sentence leaving Simon standing with a dumbfounded look on his face as ReVival moves on.

We find ourselves deep within the backstage areas of the bustling Commbank Stadium. Seán O’Neill’s evening’s work is already completed, having worked a pre-show ‘dark match’. The Irishman now seizes the opportunity to transform this secluded corner into an impromptu gym. Repurposing some of the bulky staging pieces, he improvises a rigorous workout.

Currently hammering out an intense set of pull-ups, his muscles are taut with effort. The stage equipment creaks under his weight, but he remains undeterred, each pull fueled by the roaring chords of Metallica’s “Four Horsemen” blasting from his iPod dock. The music propels him to push harder with each effort.

With a final heave, O’Neill drops to the ground and reaches for a towel draped over a nearby railing, scrubbing it across his face to mop up the beads of sweat that have gathered.

Seán O’Neill: Going to need to work harder than that if I’m going to burn off all the Christmas food!

Thirst gnawing at him, he grabs a bottle of water and takes a long, refreshing gulp. The cool liquid soothes his parched throat. Not quite satisfied, he upends the bottle, letting the last bit cascade over his head, a makeshift shower that leaves him feeling momentarily refreshed and ready for more.

Clack, clack, clack

That’s the sound of six-thousand dollar Lucchese Baron boots. The man wearing them has no clue how many Euros that is, but he’s sure it’s in the millions. (Of course, as someone from Northern Ireland, Seán O’Neill’s home currency would be the British Pound, which along with the Euro, are both currently stronger currencies than the US Dollar) (ps. That was obviously written by a dirty European) (pps. If there is any doubt which parts have been written by the dirty European, they will be the ones where the spelling is correct)

Enter Jackson Cooley.

He has a Marlboro Red he’s torn the filter off of dangling from his lips. Fucking commies won’t sell unfiltered cigarettes anymore. A dusting of cocaine sits in the gritty week old growth on his face. You don’t want to like him, but man he just looks so cool. Like a gun with brass knuckles for the handle and a knife somehow attached to the end of it. He just fucks.

Cooley breezes up to O’Neill, noticing the stink of desperation, and wraps a wiry arm around the Irishman.

Cooley: What’s the matter little buddy? Did you lose your puppy?

O’Neill arches an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of curiosity and disdain as he sizes up the complete stranger before him. The man stands no taller than O’Neill and is clearly outmatched in terms of muscle mass, lacking at least thirty pounds in comparison to his own frame. “Little Buddy, huh?” O’Neill muses, the words dripping with irony.

We’ve all heard tales of love at first sight, but Seán O’Neill is currently experiencing a far less celebrated phenomenon: ‘contempt at first sight’. The mere presence of this scruffy individual had triggered an instinctual aversion within him.

Normally, his response would’ve been a light-hearted Terrance & Philip style “I’m not your buddy, pal” retort. Yet, there was something about this dishevelled figure standing before him that quelled any interest in banter.

The stranger’s unkempt appearance and over-familiarly only served to deepen Seán’s sense of disdain. It wasn’t the scruffiness that bothered him, to each their own – but the man could at least make a minimal effort to clean the powder from his face. O’Neill’s instant dislike for this man was just a primal reaction.

Seán O’Neill: You lost little buddy? You know you shouldn’t be backstage right? Guess you took a wrong turn trying to find your way to the bar.

O’Neill tenses up as Cooley reaches inside his jacket. Reading the man like any good poker player would, Cooley motions for him to calm down and reveals a zippo. The gold shines under the lights. With a flick of the wrist the Zippo is unsheathed and Cooley slides the flint wheel on O’Neill’s pants. Close up magic.

Cooley: Whoa, easy there little buddy. You don’t have nearly a good enough looking face to be talking like that. I thought you looked like you needed a pick me up so I was going to offer you a little toot.

O’Neill bristles, his usually jovial demeanour replaced by a seriousness that adds to the tension through the air. It’s been quite some time since we’ve seen the Irishman this stern, devoid of the playful joker we’ve gotten used to over recent months. Every inch of his posture speaks of barely-contained ire, his muscles coiled tightly under the surface.

Seán manages to maintain an outward calm, despite the storm brewing within him. However, it’s evident to everyone watching that he’s grappling with the urge to turn this confrontation into a violent one. His hands flex at his sides, fingers curling into fists momentarily before he forces them to relax. The fire in his eyes betrays the inner battle, each slow, deliberate breath a testament to his effort to keep his composure.

Seán O’Neill: Thanks but I’m not interested in any ‘pick-me-ups’ you have to offer.

He leans in, lowering his voice and points back in the direction Cooley approached from.

Seán O’Neill: You’ll find the bars back out that way, there are restrooms there too, in case the urge to wash should overtake you.

Cooley’s lips curl into a smile, the kind of smile that holds no warmth – more of a smirk, really, laced with a hint of condescension. His eyes remain cold, devoid of any genuine emotion. It’s a smile that speaks volumes, each element a thinly veiled mockery.

As if to add insult to injury, Cooley follows up with a nod, slow and deliberate, almost exaggerated in its falseness. It’s a gesture meant to mock, to belittle, leaving no doubt about the contempt that lies beneath.

In the charged silence that follows, the insincerity of Cooley’s smile and nod hangs in the air, a tangible reminder of the growing tension between the two men.

Cooley: Thanks little buddy!

Cooley departs, heading in the direction indicated with an almost dismissive wave. O’Neill, still shaking his head in disbelief, turns his focus back to his makeshift workout space. Determined to channel his irritation into something productive, he reaches down and unlocks his iPod.

With a few taps, he swaps out Metallica for Manowar’s “Die for Metal” , craving something heavier and more aggressive, to mirror his annoyance at the interaction. The pounding rhythms and intense riffs wash over him, syncing with the thudding of his heart.

They can’t stop us… Let ’em try.
For heavy metal we will die!

No sooner has the chorus kicked-in when…

THWACK!

The bottle of Clase Azul bounces off the Irishman’s head, a spurt of blood chasing it through the air. Cooley stares at the bottle in amazement.

Cooley: Well made.

Stepping over the pool of sweat and blood forming a halo around O’Neill’s crown, Cooley makes his way over to the iPod. He chuckles at the relic. Either O’Neill has a real thing for nostalgia or he’s even worse off than Cooley thought. His eyes squint as he scans through the iPod.

Cooley: You got awful taste in music, little buddy. Amost as bad as your manners.

The iPod and dock explode into a million pieces when they hit the wall. Cooley retrieves his own phone and swipes through his playlist until he finds the perfect song. The Iphone gets propped up on the nearest catering table to witness the atrocities Cooley is about to commit against The Irish.

This magic moment,
So different and so new.
Was like any other.
Until I met you.

Lou Reed sets the tone as Cooley takes off his blazer and neatly sets it aside. Cooley proceeds to answer an age old question: how many licks does it take to get a tequila bottle to shatter over an Irishman’s head? Six. It takes six. Six direct blows to O’Neill’s lid. Satisfied with his work, Cooley grabs a towel and cleans the blood off his face and kneels down next to O’Neill.

Cooley: When you wake up, I’m sure you’re going to feel a certain way about this. I sure would. My name is Cooley. Come find me and we’ll hash it out.

Clack, clack, clack

Cooley: Feeling good and loose now. Thanks for the warm up, little guy.

With his blazer slung over his shoulder, Cooley whistle “This Magic Moment” as he walks away, leaving O’Neill bleeding out alone in the back.

ReVival moves on.

Nick Stuart: The first ReVival of the year 2025 continues, ladies and gentlemen! More one-on-one action is scheduled up next as the Vendor King of PRIME, “The Miracle Man” Steve Harrison, goes up against newcomer Jackson Cooley!

Richard Parker: Supposedly, this Cooley character comes out of the Rob Williams’ camp. Which means this match can get really interesting… or really weird.

Nick Stuart: Let’s find out, as Vince Howard is standing by in the ring!

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

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

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

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, hailing from Montreal, Quebec, Canada, and weighing in at two-hundred and fifty-one pounds… he is the MIRACLE MAN… STEVE HARRISON!

He smirks as the fans react to him, he doesn’t seem to care if they boo or cheer as he concentrates on the ring he will be competing in tonight. He gets to the steps and swiftly makes his way up and into the ring.

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

Richard Parker: Maybe it’s just me, but the Vendor King is looking different tonight. Like he’s seen some stuff…

Nick Stuart: Whatever the case, Steve Harrison missed out on the action back at Colossus. But a win here tonight could signal a good start going into the new year!

The arena lights rise as bright as they can. Oxygen pumps into the stadium. The sounds of laughter and slot machines being pulled.

I went home with a waitress the way I always do
How was I to know she was with the russians, too?

Jackson Cooley slides out from behind the curtain weightlessly, his feet floating as he breezes out half bent over doing a honky tonk walk. After a few steps he shoots up straight, putting two peace signs up like Nixon and fireworks shoot out fucking everywhere. People duck in the first few rows around the entrance ramp. Following close behind, is Nick DeSalvo.

I was gambling in havana, I took a little risk
Send lawyers, guns, and money
Dad, get me out of this, hiyah!

Vince Howard: And the opponent, making his PRIME debut… he hails from Las Vegas, Nevada, United States, and weighs in at one-hundred and ninety-five pounds… please welcome, JACKSON COOLEY!

Cooley struts his fucking stuff down the aisle in his impeccable electric blue blazer and zebra pants. All of the women fawn over him, reaching out to try and touch his oiled up chest. He leans in to them, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and acting like he’s going to open up like a demure flower for these ladies. They get close, but he closes the jacket before any can make contact.

I’m an innocent bystander
Somehow I got stuck between a rock and a hard place

Like that Olympic pole vaulter – yes, that one – Cooley gets stuck on the rope as he climbs in. He puts his hands on his hips in an Urkle “Did I do that?” pantomime. It fucking kills. Everyone laughs.

And I’m down on my luck
Yes, I’m down on my luck
Well, I’m down on my luck

As the song closes out, Cooley does a little warmup lap around the ring, letting the entire arena get a look at how fucking cool he is.

I’m hiding in honduras, I’m a desperate man
Send lawyers, guns, and money
The shit has hit the fan

Cooley removes his blazer and tosses it to DeSalvo at ringside before settling into his corner looking so much cooler than his whack ass opponent.

Send lawyers, guns, and money
Send lawyers, guns, and money
Send lawyers, guns, and money, hiyah!
Send lawyers, guns, and money, ow!

Nick Stuart: There’s a certain confidence in the swagger of Jackson Cooley tonight. This might be his first match in PRIME, but hardly appears to be nervous.

Richard Parker: Cool as a cucumber. Harrison looks like he knows this guy is something else.

Harrison and Cooley stand in opposite corners, staring each other down while they loosen themselves up for the coming fight. Barlow methodically checks down both men for foreign objects, before giving the nod to the timekeeper to begin.

DING DING

Harrison is on point and at the ready, looking to shoot in for a lock-up, but the newcomer Cooley comes out of his corner with his fists up like he’s ready to box. Jackson swings a few punches, hard and without reprieve. The Miracle Man circles him, keeping himself just outside of arm’s length.

Nick Stuart: Jackson Cooley comes out swinging in the opening moments of this match, and Steve Harrison has no choice but to keep his distance.

Richard Parker: Looks like we got a scrapper on our hands here, Nick!

Cooley bears a smirk as he goads Harrison into making the first move. Steve forms a smirk of his own before moving in, narrowly ducking a hook coming in hot for his temple and quickly grabbing his opponent from behind.

Nick Stuart: Harrison jukes Jackson Cooley right into a rear waistlock! But Cooley lands a back elbow… ANOTHER elbow… and the Miracle Man drops him to the mat with a legsweep before landing another!

With the crowd cheering the successful takedown, Steve transitions into the north-and-south and traps Cooley with a front facelock. Jackson works his way back to his feet, but Harrison doesn’t give up the hold on his head.

Nick Stuart: Harrison has a tight grip on Cooley, leveraging all of his advantage in size and strength here to keep this match from descending into a slugfest.

Richard Parker: But Jackson Cooley is still putting up a fight!

Nick Stuart: Cooley landing knee lifts to the exposed midsection of Steve Harrison… no, Steve catches the leg! Throws the arm over… and GOES OVER with the Fisherman Suplex! Bridges for a pin!

ONE!

TWO!

Cooley kicks out!

Jackson remains on his back. As Harrison bends over to retrieve him, he receives a sudden and gouging pain in his orbital socket.

Nick Stuart: COOLEY WITH AN EYEPOKE while lying on the mat!

Richard Parker: What? Where? I didn’t see anything! And even if I did, then I mean, clearly that was just a reflexive action!

Nick Stuart: Sure, partner, suuuure…

Official Ashley Barlow gives Cooley an earful, but she is barely a ghost in his periphery as he scrambles up and blindsides Harrison with a haymaker to the jaw before he can recover. It sends the Miracle Man staggering into the ropes, and Jackson quickly lays into him with a barrage of rights and lefts.

Nick Stuart: Jackson Cooley, capitalizing on that cheap shot, is now absolutely lighting up Steve Harrison!

Richard Parker: Look at ‘im go! I like the cut of this guy’s jab!

Nick Stuart: You mean jib?

Richard Parker: Stop making words up, Nick!

Her authority already tested once, Barlow quickly intervenes and threatens Cooley with a four count. Jackson finally stops throwing fists and pushes Harrison off the ropes to send him in motion. Steve instead gets three steps before suddenly putting on the brakes, pivoting on his foot, and pulling Cooley right into him.

Nick Stuart: FOREARM by Steve Harrison off a quick reversal, and that puts Jackson Cooley right on his back! And the Vendor King of PRIME instinctively goes right into the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

Cooley kicks out!

Richard Parker: Got his bell rung, but he’s a tough nut to crack!

The Miracle Man spends a moment to shake out the cobwebs before mounting Cooley’s chest and bludgeoning his face with even MORE heavy forearms!

Nick Stuart: Now is Harrison’s turn to give back his receipts! PUNISHING! PULVERIZING! STRIKE! AFTER! STRIKE!

Richard Parker: Do something, Barlow! Jackson is completely defenseless right now!

Nick Stuart: My God, is he LAUGHING through this beating?

Richard Parker: I think so, Nick! WOW, what a badass!

Thrashing about beneath Harrison, Cooley’s foot inadvertently clips the bottom rope, prompting Barlow to call for the break. Honoring her order, Harrison immediately holds off and comes to his feet, leaving Jackson bruised and unmoving on the canvas. He turns to the crowd, pumping his arms and getting Sydney to react…

“RRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

Nick Stuart: The rope break is made, but the damage looks to be done!

But when Steve turns around, he’s surprised to see that Jackson Cooley has made it to his feet in a flash. Before he can react, Cooley lunges for his face…

Nick Stuart: JACKSON COOLEY WITH A BITE TO THE BRIDGE OF HARRISON’S NOSE!!

Richard Parker: Wow! This guy has no limits!

Nick Stuart: Cooley has no MORALS is more like it!

Harrison angrily ROARS in pain, but before Barlow can step in, Jackson pitches his weight toward the ropes and they tumble out to the floor!

Nick Stuart: And the action spills to the outside!

Richard Parker: Its anything goes out there, Nick!

Harrison gets to his knees, but Jackson runs in and forces him to kiss his knee. Cooley stomps him a few more times for good measure before turning to the crowd, flashing a shit-eating grin, and taunting the fans on the other side of the barricade. As Steve tries to push himself up once more, Jackson takes ahold of his head and sends him into motion to the steps.

CRASH!

Nick Stuart: INTO THE STEPS goes Steve Harrison! Despite his best efforts early in this match, this has descended into an all-out brawl!

Richard Parker: I hate to say it, but Steve brought this on himself by sinking down to that level! Clearly, this is Jackson Cooley’s kind of fight!

Nick Stuart: Ashley Barlow reaches the count of five, while Harrison is right now a complete mess after that collision!

Undeterred and cheered on by the fans, the Miracle Man works himself back up to his feet. As he does, Cooley vaults off the now separated steel steps and clings upon his back, digging in his forearm to lock in a choke.

Richard Parker: He’s got him now!

Nick Stuart: But it’s meaningless, so long as it’s on the outside! I’m not sure Jackson Cooley cares! He’s got that stranglehold clutched tight… but Harrison BACKS INTO THE APRON, absolutely CRUSHING his spine!

Their bodies part, Steve gasping for air and Jackson both groaning in agony and laughing in amusement. In the ring, Barlow signals for the count of eight, leaving Harrison little time to recover before rolling Cooley back into the ring and sliding in after him.

Nick Stuart: Harrison brings the action back into the ring… but Jackson Cooley is right back on his feet as soon as he’s in the ring!

Nick Stuart: Boot to the gut by Cooley… and he DRILLS HARRISON WITH A PILEDRIVER!!

Richard Parker: And NO HAIR to cushion the blow!

Nick Stuart: The Miracle Man crumples to the mat, and the crowd falls silent! Cooley drapes his arms over him for the pin!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Because he has no hair to grab, Jackson seizes Steve by the nape of the neck and peppers him with more jabs to the head as he pulls him up and leads him into the corner, where he lays into him with consecutive clotheslines until Ashley Barlow intervenes.

Nick Stuart: Jackson Cooley certainly isn’t entreating himself to the officiating crew here tonight!

Richard Parker: Why should he? They just get in the way of the fun most of the time!

A headbutt by Cooley dumps Harrison into a seated position against the bottom set of turnbuckles. Jackson quickly crosses the ring to the opposite corner…

Nick Stuart: What’s Jackson Cooley got planned here?

Richard Parker: Something very wild and very cool, I imagine!

Nick Stuart: Cooley in motion… CANNONBALL SENTON!!

Richard Parker: This guy is out of control… and I love it!

Nick Stuart: Steve Harrison was OBLITERATED by that… and now Jackson pulls him out of the corner and makes the cover!

ONE!

TWO!!

THR–HE POPS THE SHOULDER!!

“RRAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

Sydney picks up the “HAR-RI-SON!” chants, while Jackson Cooley rises up and punishes Harrison’s resilience with a series of hard and resentful kicks. Despite the assault, the Miracle Man fights his way up.

Nick Stuart: Jackson is doing all he can to fight off a comeback here! There he goes into the ropes… coming back now with a LARIAT–but HARRISON COUNTERS with a SPINEBUSTER!

Richard Parker: NO!!

Nick Stuart: Harrison with the PIN!

ONE!

TWO!!

THR–COOLEY KICKS OUT!

Richard Parker: YES!! I mean… WOW, this guy is tough!

Nick Stuart: This battle has gone back and forth since the beginning, but it’s finally beginning to take its toll on both of these competitors! Steve Harrison knows he has to put this away before Jackson Cooley finds another way to take control away from him again!

Harrison hangs off the ropes, catching his breath and recharging his cells while a groggy Jackson Cooley attempts to pick himself up off the mat. Cooley lingers up on his knees, and the Miracle Man spots his opening. Looking briefly to the cheering crowd for reassurance, he springs forward…

Nick Stuart: Harrison in motion, looking to finish things off with the ENLIGHTENMENT–

Richard Parker: JACKSON DUCKS AT THE LAST SECOND!

Yet again, Jackson Cooley seems to go from zero to a hundred, suddenly recovering and dodging the knee trigger coming for his cranium. Harrison staggers to slow himself, but by the time he turns around, Jackson is upon him.

Nick Stuart: Jackson with a RUNNING FRONT DROPKICK levels Steve Harrison!

Richard Parker: He’s got him right where he wants him now!

Nick Stuart: Cooley hooks the arms and pulls him up, looking to end this with a DOUBLE-ARM DDT–

But before he can drop, Harrison suddenly pulls free, slips around behind him while tangling the arm into a chickenwing, and using the free hand to slap on a crossface. Before Jackson can react, he’s powerfully flung backwards and brought down on the back of his head.

Nick Stuart: IT’S A HARRACLE!! IT’S A HARRACLE!!

Richard Parker: No, no, it’s a HARRASTROPHE!! A HARRASTROPHE!!

Nick Stuart: Cooley was brought crashing down on the BACK OF HIS HEAD and now Steve Harrison makes cover, hooking BOTH LEGS! FOR THE WIN!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!

DING DING DING

The Sydney faithful CHEER approvingly as “Set Your Soul Free” overtakes the PA system. Ashley Barlow assists the Miracle Man back to his feet and raises his arm. Despite lying defeated on the mat, Jackson Cooley strangely laughs at his situation.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match, by pinfall… the MIRACLE MAN… STEEEEEVE HAAAAARRIIIIIIISSSOOOOONNNN!!

Nick Stuart: It was a see-saw affair, but through thick and thin, the veteran Steve Harrison eked out a hard fought victory over a very spirited newcomer!

Richard Parker: He absolutely ruined what would have been a perfect debut match for Jackson Cooley, if you ask me!

Nick Stuart: I’ll agree that Cooley definitely shined here in his debut, some shady tactics notwithstanding. An impressive first showing, but not enough to overcome whatever force is driving Harrison as of late! Tonight, the glory belongs to the Miracle Man, but right now, folks, we need to take a quick commercial break! Don’t go away, as the action continues here on ReVival!

Cooley is helped out of the ring by Nick DeSalvo and led back up the rampway. Harrison is left celebrating in the ring as ReVival goes elsewhere…

The camera pans around the Commbank Stadium as the Aussies cheer raucously for the international crowd. Lights on predetermined paths criss-cross overhead as Nick Stuart and Richard Parker welcome us back.

Nick Stuart: Folks, welcome back to ReVival 61! The first ReVival of 2025, and already we’re starting it off with a bang! Two fantastic matches in the bag, and plenty more action to come! Let’s not forget that we have a jam-packed show still rolling along, complete with a Main Event worthy of a pay-per-view: Champion Don Winters defending against Cancer Jiles himself! What are your thoughts, Richard?

Richard Parker: Cancer Jiles in a Main Event? No, you’re wrong Nick. This is Australia. They’re on the underside of the world. Everything is upside down. Winters and Jiles is technically the opening match! Now that makes more sense!

Nick sighs, audibly, over his headset has the lights turn a familiar shade of crimson and a whirling steel shield appears on the PRIMEtron. Then, a metal yellow hammer and sickle slam into it with an audible K-THUNK and the background slowly turns crimson.

The Australian crowd is not in the mood for this, and their immediate jeers tell the tale.

Nick Stuart: We’ll talk about the upside down later, Richard, but whether we like it or not, Ivan Stanislav seems to have something to…

BOOM!

Pyro erupts from the entryway as The Soviet National Anthem explodes throughout the arena. As the smoke fades, it’s not the silhouette of The Russian Bear that we see, but one that is just as recognizable: military hat, overcoat, a little over six feet tall…

Richard Parker: You know, Alexei Ruslan was off PRIME TV for almost half the year last year, and I just want to say how much I missed him!

Nick Stuart: You know, Ruslan could be credited, heavily, for Ivan defeating Rose at Colossus last year and drafting her into The Red Army.

Richard Parker: And the match was no disqualification, so what’s your point?

Nick Stuart: …

Richard Parker: Your silence is deafening, Nick.

While our intrepid announce team bickers, Ruslan waves cockily to the crowd and motions to the entryway. Ivan Stanislav, The Russian Bear, strides out in a crimson uniform adorned with medals. The Aussie crowd hasn’t seen Ivan Stanislav in person in decades  and while they certainly disapprove of him, there is a momentary look of awe on some of their faces as they grapple with the sheer enormity of the man.

Ivan strides past them confidently with Alexei beside him. While Stanislav ignores the crowd, Alexei plays up to them. He waves and points at a few, and cackles at a few signs in the audience, particularly any ones that are negative towards The Red Army. Alexei walks up the ring steps while Ivan steps up on the apron as if it were little more than a stool, and then glides over the top rope with ease.

The two reconvene in the center of the ring and gaze out at the crowd.

Richard Parker: See? Even the thumbs down sign?

Nick Stuart: Yes…

Richard Parker: Upside down. In Australia, those are thumbs ups!

Stuart can only groan. And while we see him face palming in the background, our focus is firmly on Stanislav and Ruslan. Alexei pulls a microphone out of his jacket pocket and screeches to the crowd.

Alexei Ruslan: Alohaaaaaaaaa Austraaaaliaaaa!!!!

This only pisses the crowd off more, much to Ruslan’s delight. Stanislav brings his hands behind his back and smirks down at a few college students who flick him off in the front row while Ruslan strides around the ring.

Alexei Ruslan: Here we are again in Australia. The antithesis of Russia! It is hot! It is barren! It is full of idiots!

The puppets dance for Alexei, who gobbles it up.

Alexei Ruslan: Still, what better way to start the new year with Ivan and Alexei standing before you in the wrestling ring? What better way to get the PRIME faithful ready to go than hearing the words of the two most seasoned, most capable, and most deserving Lifetime Contract Holders in PRIME? But, why have me talk about it, when Ivan Stanislav himself could do so?! Starshy Praporshchik, if you please?

Stanislav takes the microphone from Ruslan, who stands stoically next to his enormous comrade. The Russian Bear’s voice booms throughout the arena.

Ivan Stanislav: For those of you keeping track, when we last left off at Colossus, The Red Army had bolstered her ranks by claiming Rose as our own. Yes, KING is dead. Overthrown by the hard workers as one should! It cannot be denied. The Red Army will not be deterred. And while our numbers swell, there are always more who might have the privilege to catch my attention.

Ivan smirks.

Ivan Stanislav: You see, one such young man is Alias Champion Bryan Dawkins. There are not many young people in PRIME who warrant our attention, but he is one of them.

Ivan inclines his huge head and chuckles.

Ivan Stanislav: We ended 2024 with a new member in The Red Army. And now, we will start 2025 with yet another member of The Red Army! So, without further ado, Alias Champion and Comrade, Bryan Dawkins, come on down, son!

The lights turn crimson once more as The Soviet National Anthem blares once more. Ruslan and Stanislav stand side by side in the middle of the ring, expectantly.

Nick Stuart: Surely Ivan must be kidding! Bryan Dawkins, joining the Red Army?

Richard Parker: You know what they say, Nick. If you can’t beat ‘em…

A few moments pass before the anthem is cut by temporary silence before the familiar drum beat that prefaces Blur’s “Song 2” ignites the crowd once again.

WOO HOO

PRIME’s new Alias Champion steps from behind the curtain and admires the jam packed stadium. The stadium lights and camera flashes ignite the gold plates of the Alias Championship which is draped upon Dawkins’ shoulder. He cracks a grin, flashes the shaka sign and begins his slow descent down the ramp.

For the first time in his career, Dawkins isn’t met with unequivocal cheers. Instead, they’re replaced by a confused mix of cheers and some boos?

I guess there’s a first time for everything.

Unphased, Dawkins throws a fist bump to a young Australian before removing his signature sunglasses and placing them on the youngster’s head. The child beams with excitement as he turns to his father, overjoyed with the interaction.

Preceded by the Alias Title, Dawkins slides into the ring and hops atop the turnbuckle to flash another shaka sign and raise the aforementioned belt high above his head. Again, a mixed reaction from our crowd. Ruslan looks over at Stanislav and mimics the shaka sign with confusion. Ivan shrugs.

Dawkins descends from the corner and comes face to face with Ivan and Alexei. Bryan, like most others on the roster, is dwarfed by Ivan but makes Alexei look like a broom handle wearing a military uniform.

Speaking of uniforms, Dawkins’ appearance–a black “BRUH’ t-shirt (currently available anywhere PRIME merchandise is sold!) paired with black floral board shorts and flip flops make for quite the contrast to his much more formal company in the middle of the ring.

Bryan Dawkins: Ivan…Alexei…bruhs. Funny to think it’s taken nearly a year for us to meet face-to-face.

His focus ping-pongs back and forth between the Russian Bear and his jackal.

Bryan Dawkins: Sorry about the jabs on jabber recently.

Ivan scowls. Bryan gestures at the massive man.

Bryan Dawkins: I know they don’t parachute you in here…that was all in fun, yeah? When in Rome, ya know?

Ivan looks over at Ruslan and then back down at Bryan, before finally grinning wide.

Ivan Stanislav: Indeed! After all, what are jokes between well-meaning comrades, yes? DYAAHAAHAA!!

As Stanislav laughs uproariously, Ruslan sidles off to the side and tries to make a wide circle around Bryan, to instead stand behind him, at a fair distance, but still behind him. Ivan clears his throat.

Ivan Stanislav: Allow me to personally congratulate you on success with Alias Title acquisition, comrade bruh.

Ivan clears his throat.

Ivan Stanislav: We projected you to win in Think Red. You won fine Crimson Capstone award from Ruslan himself! You have brought, as a satellite of The Red Army, glory to Russia and now, well…

Ivan nods thoughtfully.

Ivan Stanislav: I think it is time to dispense with any doubts and now bring Alias Title into Mother Russia’s hands.

And by hands, Ivan means hand. His hand. Huge. Outstretched towards Dawkins. Not to shake his hand, no, to take the title.

Nick Stuart: Is Ivan Stanislav literally shaking down the Alias champion?

Richard Parker: Not if they’re comrades, which it sure sounds like they are!

Nick Stuart: If Bryan Dawkins is part of The Red Army, I’ll eat my headset!

Dawkins simultaneously turns and backs away from Ivan, remaining keenly aware of Alexei’s position. If he’s being honest with himself in this moment, he’s more concerned with Alexei than Ivan. Ruslan’s expression sours as Dawkins keeps pace with his movement, so instead, he turns on his heel and walks back towards Ivan as nonchalantly as a man trying to surround another man and end his career can.

Dawkins tightens his grip on the title.

Bryan Dawkins: Ivan, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the kind words. I really do. But bruh, you gotta understand somethin’…

He grins hesitantly.

Bryan Dawkins: I’m not givin’ this title to anyone!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Finally, some good will from the crowd! Stanislav reacts to the crowd, glaring pure fire at the cheering masses while Ruslan shakes his head with derision.

Nick Stuart: There’s the Bryan Dawkins we know and love!

Richard Parker: Lovable idiot’s more like it! Seems like a pretty easy decision to me!

Bryan Dawkins: I know it’s been a minute since ole FLAMBO took the title from you–oh, it’s been about a year, right? I digress…

Alexei crosses his arms over his chest and lifts up on his toes. Stanislav narrows his eyes.

Bryan Dawkins: But you don’t want this title, bruh. I’m not even sure this strap would fit ya!

Dawkins chuckles. Ivan and Alexei do not.

Bryan Dawkins: Surely the great Ivan Stanislav has his sights set on another title here in PRIME! If not the Universal Title, perhaps the Five Star?

Dawkins points to some of the military decor on Ivan’s jacket, some of which look like stars.

Bryan Dawkins: Like these! A Five Star Title for a five star…general?

He glances over at Alexei and mouths ‘general?’. Alexei ignores his plea for confirmation.

Bryan Dawkins: Plus, if you only knew what I had to do to get this thing…

Ivan snarls and roars down the crowd while speaking to Dawkins.

Ivan Stanislav: Oh, if I knew? I know, Bryan. We…

Ivan thumbs between himself and Alexei.

Ivan Stanislav: …know more than you probably know.

Ivan taps the side of his head.

Ivan Stanislav: You need to stop thinking like a bloody capitalist, Bryan Dawkins. You must start to think like a communist. Like a collectivist! Like a good person, not some blood sucker! I know what you went through to get that title. I know who you had to go to in order to GET that title…

Ruslan nods at Ivan’s side, his expression turning decidedly wicked.

Ivan Stanislav: You do not reap the rewards of your labor without sharing it with those who helped get you there. No, I do not want the Alias Title for myself. I do not need such a thing. But we have earned it. All of us.

Bryan Dawkins: Look bruh, I’m all about givin’ credit where credit’s due. And I appreciate the vote of confidence in Think Red and the Crimson Capstone award from the Lex Express over here.

Alexei not-so-discreetly balls his fists, tensing with anger.

Bryan Dawkins: But I’m a little confused. You keep sayin’ we this, we that. And last I checked, I’m no commie, bruh… just ask Devin Shakur.

Ivan straightens his back and allows his full height to loom over Dawkins. Bryan Dawkins is no small individual, but Stanislav stands over a foot taller and is nearly twice his size (if you simply go by what his Russian superiors bill him as!). He points a sausage-sized finger at the Alias Champion.

Ivan Stanislav: If you are not going to give that title to The Red Army, then, dear boy, of course you are joining us! PRIME is rife with opportunists and capitalists, and no title is safe without it being protected by a group. Our group!

Bryan’s eyes narrow as his brain attempts to process the…offer?…which was just laid out for him. He ponders for a moment and then…

Bryan Dawkins: Ahahahahahahahahaha! Me? Red Army? Ahahahahahahahaha!

Dawkins doubles over with laughter, using the ropes to hold himself up. Wiping tears from his eyes, he continues.

Bryan Dawkins: What would make you believe for one second I’d wanna join you?! You’re bad news, bruh…

The two Russians are about as far away from laughing as Melbourne is from Moscow. Ivan is surprisingly quick, literally dropping the mic for Alexei to catch it from below, his paw of a hand engulfs Dawkins’ shoulder as he forces him upright and glares down at him. Ruslan holds the mic so the world can hear Ivan’s words.

Ivan Stanislav: Listen here you ingrate. No one joins The Red Army by accident. Everyone has a reason.

Stanislav tilts his head to the side.

Ivan Stanislav: You are not the first Alias champion to laugh in my face. Your old buddy, Chandler Tsonda did the same thing and what did I do to him? I took his skull and cracked it across the apron. He is living life sipping vegetables through straw thanks to me!

Ivan grits his teeth, nearly enveloping Dawkins with his bulk.

Ivan Stanislav: Perhaps, my giggling friend, I simply need to -find- a reason for you to join The Red Army…

Dawkins attempts to remove Ivan’s massive paw from his shoulder to no avail.

Bryan Dawkins: Whoa, whoa, whoa Ivan! Bruh! I think this conversation may have taken a turn that neither of us want!

Ivan slightly relents, allowing the Bruh to slip from his grasp and quickly retreat to the other side of the ring. As he massages his shoulder and keeps a watchful eye on Alexei, Dawkins continues.

Bryan Dawkins: What I was tryin’ to ask earlier is…why should I trust the Red Army? Why should I trust you? Alexei?

Alexei stares daggers at the Hawaiian.

Bryan Dawkins: In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t have the best track record playin’ with others, bruh. Tyler Rayne? Gone. Adam Ellis? Gone. Chandler Tsonda? Gone. So pardon me if I have a hard time trustin’ people.

Ivan offers a surprisingly (and unsettling) smile to the Alias Champ. Alexei doesn’t match any hint of the warmth, however. Stanislav, in his pressed, crimson uniform, spreads his arms and the lights reflect off his myriad of medals.

Ivan Stanislav: This is why you need The Red Army, Bryan Dawkins. All you have to do is do good work and be loyal, and so shall we. Look at Rose? We are best of friends now. Slate is wiped clean. Yes, Ellis lied to you. Yes, you have had issues with other has-beens of yesteryear. But not me. Not Ivan Sergeiovich Stanislav. You will defend Alias title thrice, and move on to bigger and better things. We promise you!

The two Russians nod, creepily, in unison.

And then a funny series of things happens. Not ha ha funny, but, like, cosmically funny in things-going-around-coming-around type of way.

In sequence: the lights drop, the crowd gasps, and the crackling audio of the PA system comes to life.

Richard Parker: Who’s playing this boring ass violin music? The Australian roadies are going to catch HELL for this mistake during what should be good wholesome proletarian entertainment!

Nick Stuart: There’s something familiar about that sound, Richard.

The mournful violin kicks up in crescendo. A murmur goes through the crowd, and the broadcast catches the audio equivalent of information passing, via whisper, through a thousands-strong crowd. They only have to wait one more second, because as soon as the familiar grizzled bass says the next twelve words, the whispers and murmurs…

“I said ‘kiss me, you’re beautiful’

These are truly the last days'”

…become a single wave of pure, cyclonic, rabid wolverine energy.

WHOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: It can’t be!

Richard Parker: (mutters) It is.

In sequence: the lights come up, the crowd gasps (how could they not?), and the PA system switches from Godspeed You! Black Emperor to the once-familiar guitar intro of “Welcome Home” by Coheed & Cambria.

WHOOOOOOOO!

It’s not just a once for good measure response. It’s that the hint of who’s here has become the fact of who’s here, standing at the top of the entrance way with a six kiloton smirk and the weight of PRIME history on his back.

Nick Stuart: Chandler Tsonda is here! We haven’t seen him since May of last year!

The Model Citizen, no stranger to primping and posing, soaks in the crowd’s adulation by throwing his head back right as a classy sequence of green and gold pyro bathes him in light.

BOOM BOOM BOOM!

Richard Parker: Really understated.

The Russians have set up a caucus in one of the corners. Stanislav gives Ruslan the business, not taking too well to the surprise. Alexei gesticulates. He prostrates. He cavitates. All the while, Stanislav’s booming voice thunders beneath the roar of the crowd and the music, but it is no match for the moment that has fully and unequivocally eclipsed anything he has said, or done, this evening.

Dawkins, on the other hand, makes his camp in the opposite corner and watches his former mentor do what he does best – steal the show. The Alias Champ flashes a small smirk.

Having absorbed his moment, Tsonda whips off his sunglasses. He cocks his head to the side, and even from a distance, there is no doubt about where he’s looking: directly at the Russian Bear.

Nick Stuart: Tsonda never fully recovered from the vicious beatdown he received at the hands of Ivan last spring, but it looks like he’s here to make a statement!

Tsonda takes his time striding to the ring and then through the ropes, knowing every eye in Commbank is on him. For the first time, he pulls his gaze away from Ivan just long enough to nod in the direction of his long-time friend Bryan Dawkins, before immediately turning back to the hulking Russian. The good people of the ring crew have materialized for Tsonda a third microphone. The Sydney faithful know enough of his lore to create one more buzzing moment before he speaks.

WEL-COME HOME! WEL-COME HOME!

Chandler Tsonda: (to Ivan) I’ll deal with your ass in a minute. In the meantime, shut the fuck up for once. (to Alexei) That goes triple for you.

The people, they enjoy this. Clearly, Ivan and Alexei are caught completely off guard, and their stunned expressions bleed through any stony exterior they try to put forth.

Chandler Tsonda: (turns to Dawkins) Congrats, dude. I mean it. You deserve it. And I don’t for a second mean to tarnish your well-earned championship parade out here, but what say we stomp this jagoff until he’s pissing blood, and then I’ll get out of your hair so you can celebrate?

Dawkins steps toward his mentor.

Bryan Dawkins: Good to see you haven’t forgotten how to make a hell of an entrance, eh bruh?

Two of the Three Amigos share a quick nod and smile. Somewhere, Devin Shakur is dying inside.

Bryan Dawkins: That being said, I think I’m gonna pass on the offer, Chan. I get that these folks (gestures to the sold out crowd) would love nothing more than to see Bryan Dawkins and Chandler Tsonda lay waste together again…but I’m just not sure that’s in my best interest right now.

The Model Citizen offers up a not-so-subtly tilted eyebrow. This was evidently not the response he expected from a former brother-in-arms.

Bryan Dawkins: You get it, right bruh? Gotta do what’s best for ourselves. I mean, you’d know better than anyone that you gotta be a little selfish to win and hold on to one of these.

Dawkins gestures at the Alias Title.

Bryan Dawkins: No hard feelings, bruh. It’s just business.

Chandler Tsonda: No hard feelings is when you take my parking spot. No hard feelings is when you take the last Truly from the fridge. You with them? (gestures to Ivan and Alexei) That might be a couple hard feelings, Amigo.

The Model Citizen gestures at the Alias Title, just like Dawkins did.

Chandler Tsonda: Selfish, I can do. I’m like the UNESCO World Heritage site of selfish. But as your friend, I should tell you that your right to selfishness ends smack dab at the spot where you consider joining up with…(he points to the Red Army) that.

The Model Citizen is met with a brief roll of the eyes from his former protégé. In the background, Stanislav cocks his head to the side and places his hands on his hips. Ruslan seethes.

Bryan Dawkins: Of course, of course! You’re gone for almost a year, come back to see the kid actually doin’ well for once in his career…and you’re STILL tryin’ to come in and tell me what’s best! Ya know, it was fine when ya did it seventeen years ago. I didn’t know any better. But now?

He steps closer to Tsonda so that they’re nose to nose.

Bryan Dawkins: It’s lookin’ like ya might wanna step aside, old man. Leave the big decisions to those of us still in our prime…pun intended.

The Russians grin like cheshire cats as they watch the conversation unfold.  Dawkins motions in Ivan and Alexei’s direction.

Bryan Dawkins: I’ll leave you bruhs to it. I’m sure you all wanna catch up. (to Ivan) We’ll be in touch.

Bruh tosses his microphone to ringside and exits the ring in one swift motion, headed up the ramp without so much as acknowledging the crowd. He disappears into the back, leaving his old friend in the bear’s den, outnumbered.

Stanislav and Ruslan watch Dawkins leave, hands on their hips. By the time the Alias Champion is backstage, only then do they both turn their eyes to the PRIME legend standing perplexed before them. The Russian Bear hands the microphone off to Ruslan and, instead of giving the crowd the luxury of hearing his words, gets up close and personal with Tsonda. He’s positively enormous compared to The Model of Style and points his finger in his face. His body is animated as he jaw-jacks Tsonda, shifting from rage to amusement, before finally motioning to the entire crowd before Tsonda. Then, we finally hear at least part of Stanislav’s side of things.

DYAAHAAHAA!!

Ivan exits the ring with Ruslan following suit. They walk purposefully up the ramp towards the backstage area. The deafening roar of the crowd reaches a fever pitch as they gaze at the one and only Chandler Tsonda standing awash in the spotlights above.

And yet Chandler Tsonda, in that sold-out arena with the world watching him…

…stands alone.

And ReVival moves on.

Now that we’re done with the Red Crumbs, we return not to the locker rooms or lowly hallways of the CommBank Stadium in Sydney, but to one of the skyboxes.

More specifically, it’s the skybox reserved for the ReVival era’s longest reigning Universal Champion, and we call that the Throne Room. The Throne Room is adorned with its usual regalia. Aside from the throne, you had advertisements from Avalon Industries Inc. In this case, something called “Crikey’s Kickin’ Beer”, an Australian beer company that the Avalon company bought a stake in. Or something. The Universal championship itself sits on a display table next to the throne.

Avalon himself sits at the throne in normal attire, a blue waistcoat with a red tie, his hands resting on the armrests of his throne.

Coral Avalon: Hello, Sydney.

The fans in Sydney, who can see and hear Avalon on the PRIMEview out in the arena, go nuts for the King of Conquerors. Avalon lets them go for a time, before he continues his address.

Coral Avalon: I’m sure a lot of you are wondering what my situation is. After all, I’ve not exactly kept it a secret that my full-time contract with PRIME ended with the new year, and I have not re-signed.

Avalon smiles.

Coral Avalon: Some of you might have thought – and maybe hoped – that I’d just walk away from this after my victory at Colossus like my fellow unconquerable Universal champion and current Intense champion, Jason Snow. Perhaps some thought I was going to take this championship and leave for a lesser organization, because that’s definitely an original thought.

The King of Conquerors makes it a point to cross his legs, because he’s comfortable in his seat and he isn’t standing just yet.

Coral Avalon: But no. Your King is still here. A true champion should always seek new challenges, new conquests. And also, I have at least one daughter to put through college, so…

Avalon smirks, and lays a hand on the top of his championship belt.

Coral Avalon: …Until the day comes when I am no longer champion, I am still your Universal Champion.

He taps his fingers in a rhythm against the gold.

Coral Avalon: And that means that I’m here on a very lucrative per-appearance agreement. Why, just the fact that I’m sitting here on this throne up here in the skybox in Sydney…

Cheers!

Coral Avalon: …means that I’m already pretty certain my baby girl’s getting through her freshman year. Hopefully. You know, going to college is actually pretty expensive, I hear. Might be a conversation I have with her when she’s out of diapers. Now, if someone finally manages to take this lovely championship off of me, then I’ll say my farewells.

He shrugs, but wags his fingers from his belt in a tut-tut fashion.

Coral Avalon: Just… one thing. A reminder, if you will.

He takes the Universal Championship from its display and rises from his throne. Resting the belt over his shoulder, the King of Conquerors stares at the camera like he expects it to wilt under his gaze alone.

Coral Avalon: A lot of people have tried to pry this title belt off of me by now. Two fellow Hall of Famers, including my own Banditmate and also the previous greatest Universal champion of this era before me. The scion of the Colton family. Captain Planet in a gimp mask. All have come for me, all have failed. If you consider yourself different from them, I invite you to try and scale these peaks.

He pulls the championship off of his shoulder and holds it up for the camera enough that it takes up most of the real estate.

Coral Avalon: Just remember, I am the mountain.

He pulls the belt back and places it back on his shoulder.

Coral Avalon: Now then, Sydney, let’s enjoy the rest of this night, shall we?

Let’s do that.

We open with a shot of Matt Mills, looking both eager and disheveled, somewhere backstage at ReVival 61. Whether this segment is pre-taped or live is anyone’s guess, but Mills is seated in a comfortable looking chair, red, and in the dimly lit background we see the vague shapes of potted plants, plaques and/or certificates on the wall’s painted white bricks. Mills himself is leaned forward slightly, a little nervous-looking even by his own standards, his hands folded on his lap.

Matt Mills: Ladies and gentlemen, tonight it is my privilege to interview a very special guest. This is a man who made a legacy for himself in multiple organizations, winning championships and accolades that very few, if any, can boast, including PRIME’s own Universal Title, which he held for an unprecedented 407 days, a record that it’s hard to imagine ever being broken. And all of this before he disappeared entirely from the public eye. For fourteen years. Of course I am talking about the one and only Jason Snow.

The shot widens to reveal Jason Snow in the flesh, sitting in an identical chair to Mills’s. The chairs are angled slightly toward each other. Snow is leaned back, looking dead-eyed as ever, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, his bald head gleaming ever so slightly in the room’s dim  yellowy light. At his feet rests a gym bag, out of which we can see the strap of PRIME’s Intense Title peeking out.

Matt Mills: Jason Snow returned to PRIME early last year. The return has had its share of bumps in the road, but last month, at Colossus, he finished off his first year back by ending Daytona Diamonds’ win streak and also winning one of the few championships that eluded him in his previous stint with the company: PRIMEs Intense Title.

Mills turns toward Snow and extends a hand.

Matt Mills: Mr. Snow, thank you for sitting down with me tonight.

Snow nods, notices Mills’s hand, and shakes it.

Matt Mills: It occurs to me, Jason–can I call you Jason?–that in all the time we’ve seen you on our screens, we haven’t gotten to know much about the real Jason Snow. Of course, rumors have been rampant about your… let’s just call it your life away from the camera. What I would like to do here is give you a chance to answer those rumors, if you’re willing to, and show us the difference between gossip and reality.

Snow nods again.

Jason Snow: Is there a question in this?

Matt Mills clears his throat.

Matt Mills: First off, I think what everyone would like to know is… where were you for fourteen years? Where does a man like Jason Snow disappear for that amount of time? How is it even possible?

Snow gives the question a few seconds of thought. You can see in his face that he is carefully considering the answer.

Jason Snow: I just lived a regular life for the most part. Worked a real job. Had real life problems and obligations. There was nothing special about it.

Matt Mills: And no one noticed that one of the more famous professional wrestlers in history was in their midst? No one went to the papers, or the wrestling websites? Because I have to say, we didn’t hear word one about your whereabouts in all that time. Most of us assumed you were… well, you know…

Jason Snow: You’d be surprised how little people pay attention to you when you don’t give them a reason to.

Matt Mills takes this in with a nod.

Matt Mills: Well that leads me to my next question… Why did you disappear? Was it because you felt you’d done everything you needed to in wrestling at the time? Did you feel you’d conquered the division? Because you were on top of the world. And then… you were just gone. But of course, there were also rumors. Rumors that you were in trouble. Rumors that you had gotten mixed up with some bad people and were fleeing both the bad people themselves and also the law. So this is your chance, Jason, to put those rumors to bed. Why did you disappear all those years ago? And why so thoroughly?

For a second time, Snow takes a long moment to formulate his answer. We can see he’s being very careful here, which does nothing to settle anyone’s suspicion about the legend’s past.

Jason Snow: All I’ll say is I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of. I’ve made a lot of poor decisions, and those decisions have cost me more than anyone will ever know. They cost me everything. Did I feel like I had nothing left to prove? You could say that. Maybe that made it easier to walk away, I guess.

Matt Mills: So you’re saying–

Jason Snow: The past is the past. What happened happened. The truth is the reasons don’t matter. I left. Now I’m back.

Mills sits back in his seat and wipes his sweaty palms on his thigh.

Matt Mills: Okay then. Next question. Why did you come back? Why did–

Jason Snow: For the money.

Matt Mills: It’s that simple? You came back for the money?

Jason Snow: I didn’t think that part was a secret. I came back because some bills popped up on me and I needed to pay them. And the truth is the only thing I’ve ever been good at is hurting people. That’s it. That’s all. I can’t sing, I sure as hell can’t dance, but I can figure out a way to put the best wrestlers in the world on their back for a three count.

Snow reaches into his gym bag and pulls out the Intense Championship, which he sits on his lap.

Jason Snow: You’re right–Not everything has gone to plan. But as of Colossus 2024, as of winning this–

He holds the title up for the camera.

Jason Snow: –I’ll consider the return a success. But the truth is I have a lot more to accomplish. Maybe I left because, on some level, I did feel like I had nothing left to prove. And maybe I came back for the simple reason that I needed the money. But why I came back is not why I’m here now. The truth is I’m just getting started. It’s been a long road back, but there’s still a lot of road ahead too. The ugly little truth, Mills, is I was never that hungry. I was just that GOOD*.* But things are different now. If people want to believe I’m not as good as I used to be, they can go ahead and believe it. But I can tell you for a fact that, this time, I’m hungry. Hungrier than I’ve ever been. This–

Snow taps the face of the title while staring intently into the camera.

Jason Snow: –is just the beginning.

Matt Mills: But Jason… Jason… I wouldn’t really be doing my job if I didn’t ask you about… I mean, there were rumors about organized crime. What do you have to say to people who believed you were, away from the ring, working for a real-life criminal organization that got destroyed back in 2010? Coincidentally, at the same time you disappeared.

Very slowly, Snow turns to Mills and death-stares him. Just as slowly, he lowers the Intense title down to his lap.

An audible snort serves to break the tension.

Panning to the right, we see the frame of Hayes Hanlon, holding a hand to his face to prevent launching gin and tonic through his nostrils. He shakes his head, and continues chuckling to himself.

Matt Mills: Another time. Thank you, Jason.

Mills stands from his chair and makes his exit. Snow, curious about the snickering of Home Run Hayes, calmly stands and retrieves his bag, approaching Hanlon.

Jason Snow: Have we met?

Hayes Hanlon: (Deflecting) Man, you cannot be serious.

Snow does nothing but stare.

Hayes Hanlon: Jason freakin’ Snow. The goddamn Boogeyman. Mr. 407 himself, came back to PRIME…

Hayes shifts his body to face Snow directly, and holds out his arms.

Hayes Hanlon: …just to pay some bills.

Snow smirks.

Jason Snow: Times get tough for the best of us. And I guess bills have a way of coming due.

Hanlon snorts at the notion, and brushes it off by lifting his chin, gesturing toward the chairs behind where Snow was previously sitting.

Hayes Hanlon: Is this what it’s come to? Hokey little interviews with Millsy? Reduced to cliche bullshit about “putting them on their back for the 3 count” and being “hungrier than ever?”

Snow eyes Hayes curiously as the younger man air quotes with his middle and index finger, but then puts up a hand in defense.

Hayes Hanlon: But hey, I’m not one to talk. I’m out here jerking the curtain and getting beat by dudes that say “it’s gonna be LIIIIIIIIIIITT!” So what do I know? But man…when you took that mask off, and I saw Ol’ Snake Eyes standing in that ring, I was freakin’ pumped to see The Original. Villain. But…

Hayes pauses, and looks Snow over, head to toe.

Hayes Hanlon: …now what are you?

Snow’s eyes narrow. He cocks his head. It’s almost like Hanlon has piqued his interest.

Hayes Hanlon: I guess this is what we get. I Guess we won’t get to see the ReVolution’s Original Villain.  Looks like he’s gone in the ReVival.

Hayes lifts his drink to bid farewell to Jason and turns away, but stops in his tracks, and looks over his shoulder while holding up a finger.

Hayes Hanlon: Or…maybe it could be someone else?

A shrug, and a smirk.

Hayes Hanlon: I guess we’ll see.

Hanlon offers a half-assed salute, and continues his journey down the hall, leaving Snow behind.

ReVival moves on.

Nick Stuart: Do you feel that, Richard? The electricity in the air on this beautiful sunny afternoon?

Richard Parker: Absolutely! This crowd, just like me, is absolutely JACKED to see Johnny Dorn wrestle in PRIME!

Nick sighs.

Nick Stuart: You fool! This is about Sydney’s own, Anna Daniels!

Richard scoffs.

Richard Parker: Doubt it.

“Industry Baby” by Lil Nas X ft. Jack Harlow plays.

The crowd immediately starts booing.

FUCK OFF JOHNNY clap, clap, clapclapclap

FUCK OFF JOHNNY clap, clap, clapclapclap

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing first, from CHICAGO, ILLINOIS. Weighing in at 215 pounds… He is WRIGLEYVILLE’S FINEST… THE KING OF CORN HOLE… THE BEER PONG BARON… THE – YOU GET THE PICTURE! JOHNNNYYYYY DOOOOOORRRNNN!!!

The crowd’s jeers couldn’t be more evident as the chants feel the arena.

Johnny Dorn takes his time walking out onto the stage and down the ramp, talking shit to the crowd and the camera the entire time.

Nick Stuart: Dorn’s not doing much to endear himself towards the Sydney audience tonight, Richard.

Richard Parker: Nor should he. Did you hear how many nicknames this guy’s got? He’s basically the Babe Ruth of alcohol. If these people can’t respect a man like that? Screw ‘em!

“A Darkness in my Soul” by Solid Space hits the speakers.

YEEEEEEEAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: Listen to this crowd!

Richard Parker: No!

Vince Howard: And his opponent… representing SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA!!!

YEEEEEEEAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Vince Howard: THE MUSE! THE TIME LORD!!! ANNAAAAAAAAAAA!!! DANIELSSSSS!!!

As Anna makes her way from the back and onto the entrance ramp, you can see that they are rather befuddled. They’ve never had a reaction quite like this and, if they had, it had been a long time.

Anna makes her way into the ring and moves to her corner.

LET’S GO ANNA!

JOHNNY SUCKS!

LET’S GO ANNA!

JOHNNY SUCKS!

Richard Parker: Must they tear down one to build up another?

DING! DING!

The bell sounds and before Johnny Dorn can say “Malort,” Anna ranges across the ring and nails him with a SUPERMAN PUNCH!

Johnny staggers backwards into the turnbuckles, where Anna begins to unleash a barrage of kicks, jabs, hooks, and European uppercuts!

Nick Stuart: Anna is going to town and this town is loving it!

Anna nails Dorn with a roaring elb–NO!! Johnny ducks it by mere inches, and sticks his thumb in Anna’s eye for her trouble.

Richard Parker: Whatcha got to say now, Nick??

Dorn uses a moment to take a breath as the white hot Sydney crowd jeers him with the entirety of their hearts. Dorn doesn’t mind at all. In fact, he swift unties the strings of the top turnbuckle pad. And when Anna moves back to the corner to attack Dorn?

SMASH!!! He sends her forehead straight into the exposed turnbuckle.

BOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Dorn smiles at the crowd. He bows. Then he picks Anna up by her hair and drags her to her feet.

CHOP!

Yeowza! Anna chops Dorn so hard his disappointed mother can feel it!

CHOP!

Again!

CHOP!

Again!

CH– NO! Kick to the gut by Dorn, followed by a double arm DDT!

He makes the cover!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

NOOOOOOOO!!!

The crowd cheers with Anna’s kick out, and the Baron of Beer Pong looks at the red with disdain.

Nick Stuart: You get the sense that Dorn rescued his own chest from becoming minced meat with that desperate DDT, Richard.

Richard Parker: That’s incorrect.

Nick Stuart: Oh?

Richard Parker: Mmhmm.

Nick Stuart: Then what exactly is correct, Richard.

Richard Parker: The fact that you even have to ask only proves that you are too biased to effectively execute your roll at this desk, Nick. It’s embarrassing.

Nick Stuart: Nah.

Dorn starts to bring Anna up to their feet, but halfway up she gives him a hard shove that sends him toppling out of the ring, between the middle and top rope. Dorn takes a nasty spill onto the apron, tumbling to the floor below.

The crowd at Commbank Stadium is alive! The growing cheers only further crescendo as Anna places her hands onto the top rope and prepares to launch herself over the top.

It reaches a fever pitch as Dorn stumbles upwards and onto his feet.

SPRINGBOARD BACKSTABBER ONTO THE GROUND!!!

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD!!!

LET’S GO ANNA!!!

LET’S GO ANNA!!!

LET’S GO ANNA!!!

LET’S GO ANNA!!!

Richard Parker: Unfortunately for these morons in the crowd, Anna took quite an impact to her own back to hit that backstabber as well!

It’s true. As badly as she completely fucked up Johnny Dorn with that move, she absorbed a pretty big impact herself. So much so that she’s damn near as slow to her feet as Dorn. To her credit, she throws the first punch!

But Dorn blocks it and takes her eyes.

BOOOOOOOO!!!

He then whips Anna violently, head first, into the steel steps!

BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Now Dorn’s got some time. He ignores Elvis Nixon’s count. What does he even care if this is a double count out? Dorn pulls the steel stairs away from the ring, and picks them up.

He lifts them high over his head!!!

BANG!!!

OOOOOH ANNA ROLLED OUT OF THE WAY JUST IN TIME.

Anna reaches their feet and storms up those very steps that Dorn tried to crush them with moments ago!

HIGH KNEE TO THE BRIDGE OF DORN’S NOSE!!!

Nick Stuart: That’s gotta sting!

Dorn staggers backward, covers his nose with both hands, checks for bleeding, and Anna rolls him back into the ring, in hot pursuit just behind him.

But as Anna reaches their feet, Dorn sweeps the legs out from under the Time Lord.

Dorn quickly capitalizes, grabbing hold of their arm, FUJIWARA ARM BAR!!!

Anna flails in a sheer pain response as Dorn tries to rip her fucking arm off of her shoulder. The Muse cries out in pain, but the entirety of Commbank Arena is cheering her on with all they’ve got! And somehow, someway, Anna is able to drop their foot on the bottom rope.

Elvis Nixon demands Dorn let go, but he doesn’t. Not until Elvis counts to 4.999999 seconds.

Dorn reaches his feet. Sydney hates Dorn at this exact moment, and for whatever reason, he doesn’t mind one bit. In fact, he crouches, waiting patiently as Anna slowly reaches their feet. Once they do?

KICK TO THE GUT!!

SHOT OF MALORT!!!

NO!!! ANNA PUSHES HIM AWAY!!! DORN TURNS AROUND INTO AN OVERHEAD BELLY TO BELLY SUPLEX BY DANIELS!!!

YEEEEEAAAHHHH!!!

Dorn quickly scrambles to his feet!

ANOTHER OVERHEAD BELLY TO BELLY SUPLEX BY ANNA!!!

Johnny Dorn struggles to get up to his feet. Slowly, painstakingly, he gets there, just to run into a knee to the gut from the Time Lord!

She under hooks both of his arms!!!

IS IT!?!? THE ONCOMING STORM!!!

NO!!! DORN SLITHERS OUT OF IT AND RUNS TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RING!!!

Richard Parker: See, Nick. That’s brains. When you escape something like that, put distance between you and the opponent. That’s wrestling 101.

Nick Stuart: It’s a coward’s way to fight.

Richard Parker: I’m about sick of your holier-than-thou act.

Nick Stuart: It’s not an act, Richard. I’m not sure who told you it was.

But Anna is feeling it. They can taste the victory, feel it in their clutches. Anna charges across the ring and

WHAM!!!

RIGHT INTO A ROARING ELBOW FROM JOHNNY DORN!!! ANNA DROPS LIKE A BRICK TO THE MAT!!!

HE MAKES THE COVER, HOOKS THE LEGS!!!

ONE!!!

JOHNNY PUTS HIS FEET ON THE ROPES FOR ADDED LEVERAGE!!!

TWO!!!

THE CROWD IS BEGGING ELVIS NIXON TO LOOK!!!

THREEEEEE!!!

THERE’S NO WAY! THERE’S NO WAY DORN JUST GOT AWAY WITH THIS!!!

…NO!!! HE DIDN’T!!! ELVIS SPOTTED THE JIGGLING ROPE AND DORN’S FEET FALLING AWAY FROM IT!!!

Nick Stuart: That would’ve been a travesty! Thankfully Elvis is a consummate professional.

Richard Parker: Shut up you sanctimonious swine! Let the real men who aren’t trying to damn PREACH morality to the masses discuss what is and is not a travesty. Dorn is a beer pong legend, and a legendary alcoholic. You watch your mouth.

Dorn, meanwhile, is in Nixon’s face, arguing with him about whether or not his feet were on the ropes. They clearly were. He doesn’t really have a foot to stand on. Rimshot.

This, it turns out, is a bad decision.

INTERROBANG!!! INTERROBANG BY ANNA DANIELS!!!

Nick Stuart: SHE JUST KICKED JOHNNY DORN’S HEAD OFF!!!

SYDNEY ERUPTS!!!

FUCK HIS HEAD!

FUCK HIS HEAD!

FUCK HIS HEAD!

FUCK HIS HEAD!

Anna makes the cover, hooks the legs!!!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREE!!!!!!

DING! DING! DING!

Nick Stuart: Anna has picked up the big win in front of the home crowd!!!

Richard Parker: I hate Australia.

Vince Howard: HERE IS YOUR WINNER… SYDNEY’S OWN, ANNAAAAAAAAAA DANIELLLLSSSS!!!

Elvis Nixon raises Anna’s arm in victory as Commbank Arena rains down on her with heaps of praise!

We cut backstage.

We cut elsewhere in CommBank Stadium to join everyone’s favorite PRIME wrestler from Pittsburgh; RIA. The Psychoberry is messing around on her cellphone for a moment before sliding it into her back pocket, since those are the only pockets worth a damn on women’s pants. She starts meandering down the hall, no particular place she has to be but hanging out for the vibes.

As she continues her directionless trek, RIA casually greets different members of PRIME’s production crew, along with any other non-wrestling personnel she happens across. Her ambling journey is interrupted by a loud buzzing coming from her person. RIA reaches back, yanking her smart device back out of the pocket she had secured it in. Again, women’s pants designers are tyrants against pockets. The former Lockhart glares at it for a moment before tapping a button on the side to ignore the call, returning the phone to where it was previously.

Back to walking and the Rainbow Riot draws close to the locker room designated for Vae Victis. But again, there’s a noticeable vibration coming from her person. Out the phone comes again. 404 area code, no saved contact. RIA boops the green button, followed by the speaker button.

RIA: Uh, hey. Who is this and why do you keep calling me?

There’s a mixture of sounds that are hard to distinguish or pinpoint when it comes to what or where they are. But then, some voices…

Voice 1: Come on, guuuuurl! Yew know yew want all this!

Voice: You’re so gross! Stop it, Fred!

Voice 1? Pretty easy to tell it’s the Street Cat himself, Fred Dick. Voice 2? Feminine. Young. A bit of an edge to it. RIA knew it immediately, intimately.

RIA: Angel?! Is that you? What’s that bastard doing to you?!

Before any questions can be answered, the call ends. A look of dread crosses her face. The Psychoberry whips her head left and right rapidly. She knows where she has to go and this might not go well. RIA turns around and storms off down the hall… The opposite direction from the VV locker room. We cut to elsewhere in the arena.

We cut to backstage, where the camera finds PRIME’s Alias Champion strolling down the hallway towards catering. He’s wearing a new pair of his signature sunglasses (Jiles’ T-shades might be indestructible, but Dawkins is going for quantity over quality) and still has the Alias belt slung over his shoulder. Word has it that he’s sleeping with the thing too, but that’s neither here nor there.

He turns the corner and passes by catering on the way to his locker room for the evening. Having avoided near disaster at the hands of one Russian Bear moments earlier, Dawkins is expecting a much more relaxed remainder of his night.

Turns out, he was wrong.

“ARE YOU FUCKIN’ KIDDING ME, BRO?!”

Dawkins sighs before turning around to see PRIME’s resident hot dog connoisseur lounging at a catering table with a six pack of loaded hot dogs sitting before him. Based on the evidence left behind on Crash’s face, the aforementioned plate was piled with at least a dozen dogs when this endeavor began.

Dawkins looks on in disgust…and maybe some horror.

Bryan Dawkins: You sure (gestures to the hot dog platter) that’s a good idea right now, bruh? Isn’t your match like…next?

The Buffalo kid is now double fisting and not amused.

Crash: I said, are you fuckin’ kidding me, bro?

Bryan Dawkins: What’s the problem, bruh?

Crash goes to town on another ballpark and responds, mid-dog.

Crash: First and foremost, my ankle’s fine, bronapple. I’d stand up and show you but the dogs are down here and my mouth would be way up there so…

Bryan Dawkins: Look, I already told you – I was doin’ what I had to do at Colossus. Nothing personal, bruh.

Crash: I don’t give a damn about any of that anymore. You sidin’ with the Red Army is what’s got my dog without a bun, son. What fuckin’ sense does that make, bro?

Dawkins flips his sunglasses up to lock eyes with Crash, who polishes off another dog with equal intensity in his gestures as well. Poor, defenseless hotdogs

Bryan Dawkins: I know you don’t get it. To be honest, I don’t expect you to get it. But I’ve gotta do what I gotta do, bruh. If that means joining the Red Army, then so be it.

He flips his sunglasses back down. Crash shakes his head and one of his hands, spraying condiments about all willy nilly. The Alias champ backs up before gripping his belt tighter.

Bryan Dawkins: If that means blowing off a former mentor, so be it. He may not wanna admit it, but I’m doin’ the right thing here. Can’t really argue with the success of the Red Army, can ya, bruh?

Crash lets forth a Hebrew National fueled belch that echoes the walls of the corridor, startling the catering workers. Dawkins is left unphased.

Bryan Dawkins: Gonna take that as a no.

He sighs yet again.

Bryan Dawkins: You’ll understand some day, bruh…see ya ‘round, Crash.

After a quick nod, Dawkins continues on his way, leaving the Bro from Buffalo alone with his thoughts…and what’s remaining from that mountain of hot dogs. His eyes wander, as does his mind, about what kind of turning tide is coming down the line. His eyes perk up at the thought of his showdown with the Murder Show coming up.

Crash: Think I can get these to go?

ReVival moves on.

We find ourselves backstage in the Commbank Stadium. Which part? I don’t know, it has walls, is that good enough for you? What kind of walls? BRICK! It’s brick walls, we have brick walls and you just have to learn to accept that this is the situation we find ourselves in.

Now, why are we joining the company of a wall in the Commback Stadium? Well clearly it’s because someone is leaning against the wall and is ready to share some wise words of wisdom. The person who is the wall leaner?

Why is it no less than Cecilworth Farthington of The Glueminati! Remember The Glueminat? They’re back, in Cecilworth form (FLAMBERGE, Hayes Hanlon and ghost forms are also available from all good retailers)

The former Five Star Champion looks exhausted as he lounges against quality Commbank Stadium concrete with a camera stuck in his face.

Cecilworth Farthington: I’m not going to fuss, I’m not going to lie, last year was… hard. It was meant to be the Year of Glue, after all, we started the year so well, outlasting more or less the entire PRIME roster in battle to be crowned the victors of the game of war, alongside some precious friends. Then FLAMBERGE became the hero of Europe, besting the big butt man in a manner fitting of our precious Lizard King. We were set up so well, so, so, so well. It should have been different, 2024… 2024 was supposed to be Glue’s heroic year. The foundation was carefully laid down and then…

Cecilworth lets out a weary and knowing sigh.

Cecilworth Farthington: Then the threats of potential murder became less of an amusing side diversion and became something more of a promise. Day by day, I saw my allies fall victim to their own vices, and if not, someone would help them along the way. A group I thought was built on stable foundations ending up in being nothing more than shifting sands. Dearest Powerbomb Sid disappeared on our, Joe was murdered in cold blood and may I say, RIP, FLAMBERGE got caught up in a thirst for vengeance and Hayes… emmm.. Hayes… he… well, the gin and tonics were pretty tasty.

Warm memories of delicious gin based drinks flood Cecilworth’s brain for a few seconds before he manages to recentre his brain mind.

Cecilworth Farthington: It was none of their faults though. It was my fault. I could pretend otherwise, but 2024 ended up being the year of Cecilworth the Coward. I buried my head in the sand, I pretended to be injured in a tragic conga incident when in fact this may shock you, but I was fighting fit. I saw my allies picked off and destroyed one by one. I was almost left with nothing. Yet I still did nothing, I still did nothing because I didn’t want to accept reality. I didn’t want to accept that the man doing these things was someone I once considered a brother. I tried to hide in my own little world, pretending that Max Kael wasn’t real and I refused to fight. I refused to fight him.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear there was a small hint of a tear in the eyes of now Lord Farthington.

Cecilworth Farthington: Do you know how it feels to taste your own blood? That rich iron taste, knowing it belongs to you? I’m sure most of you have had a nosebleed, so it’s not that unusual. How about a man you once considered your best friend? How many of you have had that hoovered up in the ole gob? Oh, less? That does make sense. I experienced it. At Colossus, I did something I never wanted to, something for the past six years I tried my best to avoid, I fought Max Kael. Apparently I was the victor. I certainly didn’t feel like one. I felt empty. I felt amiss. I felt… nothing. It wasn’t my battle, it was his. I was a mere participant and the most I could do was mark myself safe from a match with a man with a murder plan. It’s not been a time of taking the offensive, more of a cockroach mode if I’m honest.

It’s clear from Cecilworth’s eyes that the horrors of Colossus still cut deep for our precious lad.

Cecilworth Farthington: This year though, this year we don’t hide. This year we fight. This year we remind everyone of what Glue once was, and what Glue can be once more. Once you swallow your brother’s blood and taste that iron in your soul, there’s not many other depths left to sink to. 2024 was the lesson, 2025 is going to be the exam.

For the first time in this entire moment with Cecilworth, a small smile creeps across his face.

Cecilworth Farthington: I’ve studied, Glue has studied. I hope the rest of you have too.

The smile turns into a cheeky lil smirk.

Cecilworth Farthington: Happy Glue Year to all! The best is yet to come.

We fade away from the fine walls of the Commbank Stadium and direct our attention to a new exciting thing.

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.

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.

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

YYEEAAHHH!!

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

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

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

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, accompanied by Tony Gamble! Standing seven feet two inches tall and weighing in at three hundred and seventy pounds, he is the former two-time Universal Champion and the twentieth inductee into the PRIME Hall of Fame…the Murder Show…HHHEEEEEEEEEEEESSSIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAANNNN!!

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

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

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

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

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

ALL MEN MUST SUFFER!

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

Jimmy Turnbull motions to both competitors to confirm they’re ready. Each man nods with a determined fire in their eyes. With that, Turnbull motions for the bell

DING DING

Nick Stuart: And we’re off! Both men come out of their corners slowly, and Crash begins to circle Hessian to feel him out. There is a massive size difference between these two. Hessian looks to take the momentum early and moves in to lock up. No! Crash ducks underneath and immediately spins for a dropkick to the back of the monster’s knee.

Richard Parker: Playing dirty already.

Nick Stuart: I disagree, Rich. Crash knows he’s outsized here and he’s going to have to lean into his speed and athleticism. While Hessian tries to regroup, Crash bounces off the rope and lands a stiff enzuiguri.

Hessian falls forward, but Crash doesn’t notice that the Murder Express catches himself in something akin to a pushup position. The veteran waits patiently to hear Crash’s stomping footsteps as he bounds off the rope and comes in for a running elbow drop. As soon as he hears silence, he knows Crash is mid-air and rolls out of the way. With a thud, the Northern Light finds nothing but a stiff mat for his elbow. Hessian regroups while Crash rolls around in pain.

With his hands full of red hair, Hessian pulls Crash up to stand. The Murder Express yanks on that arm Crash landed on for an Irish Whip, but he doesn’t let go.

Nick Stuart: My god, Hessian just flipped Crash overhead with a short arm lariat. He’s throwing him around like a ragdoll.

Richard Parker: Taking a ride on the Murder Express.

Nick Stuart: Hessian pulls Crash up and whips him into the ropes, looking to double down on the lariat. Wow, what athleticism! Crash just managed to catch Hessian’s arm and lay him out with a flying head scissor.

The entire ring shakes as Hessian crashes head-first into the mat. Surely seeing stars, Hessian bounds to his feet, but he’s met with a swift dropkick to the same knee by Crash. Crash knows he needs to capitalize and all but leaps to the top rope, perching and waiting for Hessian to get to his feet. Fans cheer in awe as Crash takes flight, landing squarely on Hessian’s shoulders for a perfectly executed Senton Bomb.

It worked so well, why not try it again? Jackson motions to the fans he’s going to run it back on his way to the opposing turnbuckle. Cheers erupt as Crash, clearly filling up from the feedback, actually does leap up this turnbuckle. Once again he waits patiently until Hessian has stood for a perfectly timed Senton Bomb. This time, though, the veteran was prepared. Shock fills Crash as Hessian leans into the Senton Bomb and wraps his giant arms around Crash’s waist to deliver a brutal powerbomb, holding on for the pin. Turnbull slides down beside them to begin the count.

ONE

TWO

TH-KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: Hessian showing off his year of experience. That’s the Murder Express we know and love.

Nick Stuart: Indeed. Eager to ride the wave of momentum, Hessian pulls Crash up into a bear hug. He is squeezing the life out of him.

Jimmy Turnbull gets in close to check in on Crash. The Hot Dog Man wears immense pain on his face but he isn’t giving. Hessian shakes Crash side to side like a rag doll. His arms constrict like a python around the lower midsection of Crash. Gritting his teeth, Crash raises his arms, calling on support from the fans.

And they respond. Rowdy as all hell they cheer on Crash to escape the vice grip of Hessian’s bear hug. The shouts and yells of his name soak into Crash and he tries to drive his elbows inbetween Hessian’s locked arms. He can’t break the hold, but it’s enough to catch a breath.

This really pisses Hessian off.

Nick Stuart: Crash really needs to mount some type of offense here. No one can withstand that kind of pressure for long.

As if he heard Nick, Crash rallies with a headbutt square on Hessian’s nose. The big man locks his jaw and squeezes his eyes in pain, but he refuses to let go. He’s rewarded with another headbutt square on his nose. And then another. Blood began showing on the third and it’s flowing on the fourth. Between their sweat and the blood, Hessian has no choice but to give up on the bear hug. He maintains control with a violent Irish Whip into the corner.

The turnbuckle shakes as Crash Jackson slams into it. He slumps there, exhausted – trying to catch his breath. Boos sound as Hessian holds one arm up in the air before bending it at the elbow and bringing it down for a Toot Toot.

Richard Parker: HERE COMES THE HESS EXPRESS!

Nick Stuart: And it’s got a head full of steam as it charges across the ring at The Northern Light.

Sensing the impending doom, Crash somehow manages to brace himself on the top turnbuckle with his arms and the Hess Express runs right into one of those fancy red and white boots. Shocked and bewildered, Hessian takes a few steps back and opens the door for Crash. Crash is reeling from the bear hug and suprise powerbomb this point, but he’s not lost sight of where the chips stand. He turns his back to the kneeling Hessian.

With a few effortless steps Crash is on top of the turnbuckle. Half the ring sits between the two men. Hessian is still trying to push himself up to a stand when Crash leaps into the air. His eyes follow the Northern Light as he closes all of the air between them with a somewhat reckless moonsault. No fancy saves here – the moonsault lands perfectly.

Both men lay in a heap. Crash is the first to stir, his eyes darting around looking for Hessian before realizing they’re bound up like a carnival pretzel. He nods, almost as if assuring himself it’s time to close this one out.

Nick Stuart: Crash Jackson is dazed, but not defeated. The fans go bananas as he climbs to the top rope looking to put an end to his. Could we see Crash Dot Com?

Richard Parker: What’s Tony doing?

Distracted by the raucous crowd, Jimmy Turnbull doesn’t see Tony Gamble slip up onto the apron like the tiny little garden snake he is. Gamble’s hands find Jackson’s crotch with deft precision and obvious muscle memory. He drops off the apron before Turnbull can see what happened leaving Turnbull to assume Crash tripped and gored himself on the ropes—pain blankets Crash’s face.

Nick Stuart: That treacherous coward Tony Gamble hit Jackson with a low blow and nobody saw it!

Richard Parker: He’s done this before.

Nick Stuart: Undoubtedly. The Murder Show staggers to his feet, unaware of what transpired.

Richard Parker: All he sees are money signs here.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: Call the match.

Nick is right. Hess has no idea that Gamble completely derailed the Hot Dog Express. Hessian makes his way over to the debilitated Jackson and pulls his head down, lifting the much smaller man high up onto his back.

Nick Stuart: Jackson has to be eight feet in the air now as Hessian lifts him onto his shoulders and spins around. OH GOD, he just dropped Jackson right on his skull with a Hellevator! There’s no way the Northern Light can get back up from this one. The Big Man rolls Crash over on his stomach and hooks the leg.

ONE

TWO

THREE!

DING DING DING

Thre referee checks on the fallen Hot Dog Man as Hessian celebrates his victory, he himself unaware of it being tainted by Tiny Tony. Gamble climbs up on the apron and urges Hessian to get out of dodge, trying to cover his tracks. The pressure to leave so quickly raises an eyebrow for the Murder Show. It quickly passes as he enjoys the feeling of catching a W in the fierce competition that is PRIME. The eGG Bandits make their way to the back with a chorus of boos that all fall deaf on the ears of Hessian.

Meanwhile, in the ring, Crash Jackson has made it to his knees. He stays there for an uncomfortably long beat.

Nick Stuart: You can tell this one really got under the skin of Crash Jackson. He’s still on his knees in the ring, shaking his head in disbelief. The Hot Dog Hero has had a bad run of it lately. You hate to see this.

Richard Parker: Chin up, Hot Dog Man. You live to fight another day.

The fans of Commbank Stadium begin cheering – here and there at first and finally a roaring, thunderous applause for the Northern Light. His pride is obviously hurt bad, but the love of the fans seems to energize him enough for him to get to his feet. With hands on his hips and his head still somewhat hung, he nods in appreciation. The applause follows him all the way up the ramp and to the backstage area.

“Have you heard anything?”

The voice is familiar but not evidently clear to the viewing audience at home until a man in a mask turns the corner in one of the hallways backstage at the arena in Sydney.

RRRRAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

The roar of the crowd watching on the PRIMEView indicates the mask belongs to one Anglo Luchador, talking on a cellphone, looking progressively more annoyed listening to the person on the other side of the line.

TAL: I haven’t seen him since Colossus. Like, break or not, that’s not at all normal for tag partners, let alone the Tag Team Champions.

His eyes roll as he grabs the side of his head not pressed to his phone along the temple, trying to diffuse an oncoming, or ongoing, headache.

TAL: Look, no one seems to know where an actual Champion in this fed is. You’re like the millionth person I’ve talked to. I don’t want to hear about how he’s erratic or shifty.

He pauses to let the other person speak, but before long, he interrupts.

TAL: Look, I’ve had a wild ass stay here in Australia so far, okay? I think I just need a break.

He hits end on the phone, closes his eyes, and slowly shakes his head.

TAL: Serenity now. SERENITY NOW.

His eyes jolt open.

TAL: Ah what the hell, it didn’t work for the Costanzas. Whatever, I’m thirsty.

He turns around and spots a vending machine.

TAL: Might as well go non-alkie until I find out where Zapp is.

He strides up to the machine and puts his three dollars in the bill receptor, pressing the button for Coke Zero Sugar. No response. He can see into the machine. There are several bottles of Coke Zero Sugar in there. He presses the button again, this time repeatedly and frantically.

TAL: Jesus tittyfucking Christ, what’s wrong with this machine?

He raises his fist to bang on the window of the machine but stops just short. A chill goes down his spine. The audience at home or in the arena can’t hear, but he heard something.

TAL: Did… did this vending machine just say ‘va te faire foutre’ to me?

He gulps, realizing that he didn’t get a very good look at the machine before he trudged over. His head rises slowly to find the machine has a beret atop its massive frame. Head? Do vending machines have heads? Let’s just run with it.

TAL: YOU.

He stares daggers into the glass pane of the machine, which reflects back a large teal and copper lizard sticker.

TAL: VENDBERGE, you son of a bitch. Give me my soda, or else…

Voice: Or else what, putain?

RRRRAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!

That voice is even more unmistakable. A wild FLAMBERGE has appeared, in his teal and copper ring gear with an absurd scaled jacket and yellow plastic sunglasses.

FLAMBERGE: You look the stressed, Anglue. I wonder why this is.

He lifts the sunglasses so they rest on his forehead. There’s a bit of a vacancy in the Frenchman’s eyes, or deadness. It’s hard to tell.

TAL: You know what, you don’t know, so I’m going to forego snark and just ask you directly. You seen my tag partner anywhere? Like, maybe, on the plane here, or playing the didgeridoo in an aboriginal-themed AC/DC cover band, or, I don’t know, dead in a ditch somewhere with dingoes nearby?

FLAMBERGE: …….a ditch somewhere? Non, no ditch, nothing like this.

FLAMBO does that slow weird blinking thing where it goes right close/left close/right open/left open, then his head tilts. It is unclear if this was voluntary.

FLAMBERGE: I do hope you find him…hey, you know what? Listen to the FLAMBERGE, I have the idea. We Euros, we stick together in times of strife, non? It occurs to me that you may be asked to defend the shiny tag team gold whether or not you reconnect with this Zapp. You and I, we may have crossed the swords in the past, Anglue, but I can see the fight the you and the Scapptino have put forward to get to this point…

TAL’s mask covers his eyebrows, which is only a shame at this moment because we are forced to only imagine how wildly arched they might be to listen to this particular former-heated-rival approach him like this.

FLAMBERGE: …and so, I would like to offer to stand in, should the time come.

The Luchador steps back slightly in shock from the apparent olive branch extended to him by the irascible juene lion. He glances menacingly at VENDBERGE one more time – he’s thirsty, goddammit! – before looking back at FLAMBERGE, casting a sidelong glance at his offer.

TAL: That’s a highly surprising, and, no offense, perhaps dubious offer? I mean, I know I got Farthington to come down to my shindig in Mexico, but that was strictly business. I didn’t think you gluey guys mingled too much outside the paste jar.

He glances over at the vending machine one last time. VENDBERGE casts a chilling glow, not one from leaky refrigerant from its innards, no. This glow is ethereal, supernatural, almost Lovecraftian in aura. There’s evil behind the glass. The soda seems itchy to escape the confines and corrode a steel bumper or give a small child Type-II. The fluorescent lights hue a slight red to their white shine. No. VENDBERGE does not dispense soda. It dispenses malice.

Anyhoo…

TAL: How am I to be sure that if the time comes, and that’s a big if because my partner is mafia adjacent, and you know how they are.

FLAMBERGE furrows his brow as to say “no, I really don’t.”

TAL: But yeah, um, how do I know that when the time comes, you’re not gonna flake out and send out, like, I don’t know, Fabby, or, uh… man I was gonna say Joe, but, I gotta say, I’m still mourning him. God, I didn’t know I could miss a pain in the ass that much.

FLAMBERGE slow-blinks again, this time in reverse eye order, before taking a step back and grinning in a wry, cracked, half-curl sort of semi-genuine manner.

FLAMBERGE: …a shame you would question this offer, and a shame that you seem to think I should have to convince you of anything. When the time comes, call on me, or do not. It will be your decision to wrestle, not mine.

The Lizard King slowly turns and exits. It occurs to viewers that he never acknowledged VENDBERGE during that whole thing. Do two parts of a hivemind share a consciousness, and would that be why they wouldn’t recognize the other as a separate entity? Can an unrelenting cold quaking pit of entropy and existentialism even look back at you if you tried locking eyes? Would VENDBERGE accept payment in the form of guttural “YAWPS” of despair in lieu of cash, and perhaps is this the key to unlocking the Coke Zero Sugar within? Are we asking this many questions because FLAMBERGE’s actual physical exit is slow as molasses and a little uncomfortable, which seems to only unsettle viewers further?

TAL: Well, that was unsettling. But not as unsettling as dealing with YOU…

The Luchador turns around and kicks VENDBERGE, not hard enough to cause damage but with enough force to make a sound. In response, the machine finally does its stated job.

It vends.

The Luchador excitedly reaches his hand into the drop area and pulls out the product, his face beaming with glee…

…until he finds out the soda dispensed isn’t a Coke Zero Sugar.

TAL: TAB? REALLY? WHO FUCKIN’ DRINKS TAB IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD EL SANTO 2025!?!?!?

The Luchador swears he hears VENDBERGE unleash a chillingly evil laugh before he too moves off into another direction.

ReVival 61 moves on.

Backstage.

There’s a lot of reasons to leave the locker room before you’ve finished preparing for your match. You might have an interview with Angelica Brooks. Maybe there’s a sick kid who wants your autograph. You could have a sudden hankering for the goulash in catering…or a very bad reaction to the goulash in catering.

So, yeah. Lots of reasons for leaving the locker room before it’s time for your fight.

Lately, Nate Colton has been avoiding them all.

By all accounts, the New Diamond has been fairly reclusive on PRIME events, dating back to last year. But there’s one tried-and-true reason to get him out in the open, and judging by the roll of athletic tape in his hands, it happened tonight.

He left it in the car again.

He idly tosses it between his hands, watching it spin through the air before catching it. Occupying his mind…and looking busy, in the hopes that everyone will leave him alone so they don’t break concentration.

Sebastian Gold:  Hey Diamond Boy wait up!

The roll of tape catches on Nate’s finger, loops around a few times, then springs back up in the air. It comes back down just out of reach, and bounces off the floor.

Nate Colton: Shit!

He stoops over to pick it up back up, then turns around to face the man coming up to him. That’s about when Sebastian Gold hobbles into frame.  He still needs a crutch after what Rob did to his left knee at Colossus.

Sebastian Gold: We haven’t officially met yet. I’m fixing that.

He extends his hand.

Sebastian Gold: Hello, I’m Sebastian Gold. Rookie with the Gold Cup.

Nate takes a second to adjust to the intrusion, but quickly comes up with a smile as he accepts a handshake from the Bastion of Action.

Nate Colton: Yeah, congratulations! You had a great run through the Classic.

Sebastian Gold: Thanks! Hey, I wanna show you something.

He whips out his phone and shows Nate a picture of a shiny new trophy in a simple but elegant wooden display case.

Sebastian Gold: It’s the Belmont! Finally got it from the engravers. She’s so shiny! You like the display case? My brother and I made it ourselves over the break. Well, he made it. I wasn’t moving much for a bit after Colossus. Sure you weren’t either after what Pax-

Nate makes a face that makes it clear we’re not going there today and Sebastian course corrects.

Sebastian Gold: Anyway, uh, I just wanted to thank you and your family. I…I’ve been struggling in PRIME. I was worried I’d made a huge mistake choosing this life. Winning the Cup changed all that. So uh, thank you, to you and your family for all the work you do for it. Just uh, wanted you to know it’s not all for nothing. I owe you guys my career.

Colton starts to look a little more comfortable, but his lips are a little tighter than they had been when the conversation started. This is a man trying not to let his bad mood show. Let’s see if it works!

Nate Colton: Ah, knock that off. We’re just paying back what the Belmont Classic gave us. You’re the one who walked through that gauntlet.

The Golden Boy smiles wide.

Sebastian Gold: So does this make like, the New New Diamond? Or Diamond the Third?

The New Diamond chuckles, shaking his head a little.

Nate Colton: Brandon Youngblood hands out the Diamond tickets; you’ll have to talk to him about that. But I’ll tell you this, you’re doin’ a great job of establishing yourself so far.

Sebastian Gold: I am? Really? Sure doesn’t feel that way with my record and the way Colossus went down**.**

Gold’s voice lowers into a more serious tone.

Sebastian Gold: Tell ya the truth, ****I’ve been drowning since my second week. I just gotta know, how do you it, Nate? How have you kept your head above water all this time in Prime?

Nate Colton: I guess the biggest thing is not to be too hard on yourself. This place has some of the best wrestlers in the world; you’re gonna take some losses. Just don’t…

He trails off, right as he crosses his arms. One of his hands drifts lazily over his bicep, as if he’s only just now realizing he’s wearing his ring jacket.

Or maybe he’s feeling something underneath.

Nate Colton: Don’t pile ten people into a van and go on a five-hour drive at night in the middle of winter.

For a second, the New Diamond seems surprised by the words that just came out of his mouth, as if he didn’t know where they came from.

Nate Colton: And don’t get involved in revenge plots. You’ll just look like a jackass, and the people you tried to help will hate you.

But he knows. They came from behind the mask. The one that gets heavier, harder to keep in place, with every show.

Nate Colton: Oh, and never bring your brother to a show. Some asshole will try to kill him, just to get to you.

Sebastian Gold: Shit my brother is here wi-

Nate Colton: What else…never make a deal with a tabloid journalist, that’s a big one. Don’t complain about workplace safety until people start firing guns inside the arena. Stay as far as you can from Vickie Hall…ah, you probably know that one already. And just know that any time you achieve anything, a dozen people will jump out of nowhere to piss on it or try and take it away.

His tirade finished, Nate puts on a tight-lipped smile. Like he’s trying to put his mask back on, but the angle’s all wrong and it just looks weird.

Nate Colton: Other than that…just try to have fun out there.

Might be a little sarcasm in that one. Just a tad. A smidge. A skosh.

Gold does his best to take all that in.

Sebastian Gold: *Wow…*Uh, thank you, really…Are you? – nah, I’ll stop bothering you.

He turns to leave but decides to bother one last time.

Sebastian Gold: If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here dude. I got kicked in the nuts and set on fire in my hometown so uh, I don’t judge.

Sebastian gives Nate a goodbye nod and hobbles away. Colton takes a breath, preparing to call after him…

Nate Colton: …

…but thinks better of it.

He leans back against the wall. The athletic tape twirls around his finger, then drops to the floor and bounces down the hall.

Nate Colton: …shit.

Let’s go to ringside.

“None the Wiser” by Caned by Nod breaks out over the Commbank Stadium in Sidney, Australia as the PRIME faithful jump to their feet. A roaring cheer breaks out over the fans in anticipation of the Angry Cowboys arrival.

Charging out onto the stage to thunderous applause is the Behemoth, Clay Byrd. He lifts one arm over his head, his eyes wide as he lets out a bellow. The roar is answered by the crowd as they cheer on the Monster from Plainview.

After a few moments of feeding off the cheers, Clay begins to stomp down toward the ring towering over the fans that reach out to touch him.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Plainview, Texas, standing at Six-Foot-Seven-Inches and weighing in at Two-Hundred-Ninety-Five pounds… CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAY BYYYYYYYYYYRD!

Climbing into the ring, Clay stomps around the ring before climbing the ropes, his fist held above his head once again. “None the Wiser” slowly fades as Clay moves to his corner, exchanging a few angry words with referee Ashley Barlow.

Where my heart is, rests my very soul
And the colors bleed from blue to gold

“Born for This” by Divide Music starts to play through the speakers as Tony Gamble and Johnnie Newsman step out from behind the curtain, soaking in the chorus of boos that rain down from the crowd.

When the choice is mine and mine alone
I won’t give in even if you break my bones

Johnnie Newsman: HELLLOOOOOOO EVERYYYYBOOOOODYYYY!!! THEEEEE LAST MAN LAUGHING IN PRIME IS HEEEEEERRRRE!!!!

I won’t give in ’till your sins have been atoned
All I see is the flickering lights below me

Tony stretches his arms out wide, welcoming the crowd’s form of adoration as Johnnie continues to speak and his music plays.

All I need is the power to change what I see
If I can give a little, not a second thought

Johnnie Newsman: Coming to your ring, with weight of one hundred and thee eighty nine pounds of lean, healthy muskulls on a man.

If I’m stuck in the middle, I will take the shot, woah
All I wanna be, yeah

Tony makes his way down the ramp, ignoring the few smarks in the crowd that actually do like him. They reach their arms out, awaiting a slap of acknowledgement that will never come, as Johnnie stays at the top of the ramp. He is joined by Big Hessian, who stays more or less out of the way of Tony’s entrance.

Yeah, I was born for this
I will keep my secrets high above

Johnnie Newsman: He thee Capotabola!

In the hopes to protect the ones I love
But I wonder where in darkness lies the truth

Johnnie Newsman: Number won in your heart!

Of the one who took their lives, you can’t excuse
I don’t fear you, I won’t let you take my home

Tony climbs the steps, looking out at the fans that have not quieted down at all since he stepped out from behind the curtain. They love to hate him, even more so as he stands on the apron looking out into the crowd for a moment — not bothering to wipe his feet.

I will climb through to wherever you may roam
I won’t give in, you can even break my bones

Johnnie Newsman: Only man to half title with his name!

What is within is a strength you’ll never know

Johnnie Newsman: TOOOOOOOOOOOONYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!

All I see is the flickering lights below me
All I need is the power to change what I see

He steps in between the middle and top ropes to get into the ring, making his way to the center.

Johnnie Newsman: THEEEEE GRRRRRRIIIINNNNNNNN!!

If I can give a little, not a second thought
If I’m stuck in the middle, I will take the shot, woah

He drops down to one knee, lowering his head as Johnnie continues.

Johnnie Newsman: GAAAAAAAAMMBLLLLLLEEEEE!!

All I wanna be, yeah

He stretches his arms out once more, then throws back his head to stare up at his hands with one finger on each hand pointed up to the rafters.

Yeah, I was born for this

The music dies down as both men prepare for the match to get underway.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: If Tony isn’t careful, this match might be over faster than his entrance.

Richard Parker: Tony Gamble is one of the most experienced members of the eGG Bandits and our roster! Show a little respect!

Nick Stuart: Clay Byrd isn’t some rookie, Parker, he’s had nearly as much experience!

With the bell rung, Clay Byrd’s patience has run out and he charges toward the much smaller Tony Gamble. The eGG Bandit just barely gets his head under Byrd’s swinging arm, scrambling to the other side of the ring with a panicked look on his face.

The Cowboy stops and turns, glaring at Tony before he charges forward once again, attempting to catch Gamble with his massive arms. Once again the smaller man is able to duck beneath the lariat, a smirk on his face this time as he swaggers to the other side of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Gambles speed is paying off but what happens when the Colossal Cowboy gets his hands on him?

Richard Parker: Tony has confidence born from years of experience! If anyone could keep Clay Byrds freakishly large hands off him, it’s Tony Gamble, Stuart!

The Monster from Plainview turns for a third time and like a bull with his nuts being tugged on, Clay starts to see red. He zeroes in on the cocky Tony Gamble and charges forward once again. Tony looks shocked that he’s gonna have to duck for a third time, appearing to be caught completely flat footed.

At the last moment Gamble drops, grabbing the top rope as he falls, pulling it down with him. All two hundred and ninety five pounds of cowboy freight train goes barreling over the top rope, roaring with surprise and outrage. Flipping ass over kettle, Byrd crashes down on the apron and then to the floor.

Richard Parker: There! You see?! Tony’s just too smart!

Nick Stuart: It does seem like Gamble has managed to get under Clay’s skin, prompting him to make a mistake.

Tony grabs Ashley Barlow, distracting her as Hessian begins to lay in boots across the head and back of the downed Byrd. The crowd boo as Gamble continues to keep Barlow distracted with a discussion about his boot laces. Eventually Hess pulls Clay up and dumps him back in the ring like a sack of cowboy potatoes.

Nick Stuart: eGG Banditry at work again, Parker!

Richard Parker: I call that experience, Stuart! And the Bandits are the most experience group in PRIME when it comes to experience!

Eager for an easy win, Gamble quickly covers Byrd!

1!

Kickout!

Clay fully presses Tony off, tossing the smaller man a few feet across the ring before climbing to back up. Shaking off Hessian’s assault, Clay stumbles toward the middle of the ring where he is met with a stiff right hook that staggers the Angry Cowboy.

Nick Stuart: I’d hate to be Tony when Clay finally gets his hands on him.

Richard Parker: You keep saying that but Clay’s gonna get his hands on him first and he’s failed to do that so far!

Encouraged by Hessian on the outside, Tony begins to grow over confident, dancing around in front of the stunned Clay peppering him with right and left jabs. Tony doesn’t notice but the strikes seem less like they are hurting Clay and more rousing him from his stupor.

Richard Parker: Look at him go! Clay can’t stand up to Jon Rhine’s Favorite Wrestler!

Nick Stuart: Oh, stop it!

Clay begins moving into the punches, each bone thrown by Gamble losing more and more effect. Eventually Tony throws one last fist which collides with Clay’s chest, breaking apart like ice on concrete.

Nick Stuart: You were saying, Richard?

Richard Parker: Get out of there!

Suddenly aware of the danger he finds himself in, the eGG Bandit offers a friendly smile followed by a gentle pat on Clay’s chest.

Unfortunately for Tony Gamble the next few seconds are not the most pleasant of his life. First he finds himself on the wrong end of a short arm clothesline followed by a gigantic elbowjob. During all of this he hears the crowd gleefully cheering his destruction, which is never fun.

Dragging Gamble up to his feet with one arm before lifting the eGG Bandit up into a huge Body Slam! Clay drops for a pinfall attempt.

Richard Parker: Oh no.. this isn’t good.

Nick Stuart: Looks like Gamble wasn’t able to keep those “freakish” hands off him after all.

1..

2..

Kickout!

Gamble manages to throw his arm up though it’s clear from Clay’s expression, he’s not surprised. And so Gambles’ suffering continues as he’s dead lifted up over the Monster from Plainview’s shoulder. Charging across the ring, Clay Byrd drops his opponent with a thunderous Running Power Slam, flattening Gamble.

Nick Stuart: This match really went south for Gamble, didn’t it?

ONE MORE SLAM! ONE MORE SLAM!

Richard Parker: Shut up, Nick, a man is getting killed right now and these bloodthirsty Australians are loving it! Sick! This is Sick!

As Hessian bellows at the crowd to stop chanting, the Cowboy Colossus is in a giving mood. Peeling the near lifeless Gamble off the ring apron, lifting him above his head before dropping him down in a World’s Most Dangerous Slam!

Nick Stuart: That might be good night for Gamble.

Richard Parker: Don’t underestimate Gamble! He can kick out!

Hooking the leg, Clay glowers at the hard cam as Ashley Barlow drops down for the pinfall.

1!

2!

Nick Stuart: No! It’s that damn Hessian!

Richard Parker: Did you see!? Tony kicked out! He kicked out!

Nick Stuart: He did not! Stop it!

Hessian jumps up on the apron and attempts to charge into the ring. Referee Barlow jumps up, blocking his entry though it effectively breaks the pinfall attempt. Furious, Clay pushes Ashley aside and kicks Hessian straight in the chest, knocking him off the apron and down hard on the outside!

Clay spits on Hessian before turning his attention back to Tony who has begun to drag his body toward the corner. Grabbing his leg, Byrd drags the Grin back to the center of the ring before whipping him into the ropes. The Monster from Plainsview hits the opposite ropes…

Nick Stuart: SPEAR! SPEAR!

Richard Parker: That move should be banned! It’s not fair! NOT FAIR!

Gamble is folded in half with a nasty spear that knocks the air out of his lungs. Signalling for his trademark Lariat, Clay sets the Capotovola up in the center of the ring before charging the ropes…

Hessian is back and this time he’s grabbing Clay’s legs, keeping him from being able to deliver the killing blow!

Nick Stuart: This eGG Banditry is out of control! Somebody needs to put a stop to this, its two verse one for God’s sake!

Richard Parker: What are you talking about? Clay got his foot caught in the ropes like a rookie! A veteran like Tony Gamble would never!

Referee Barlow finally catches Hessian in the act as the crowd rallies behind Clay. Shaking her head, Ashley rolls her hands together annnnnd…

Nick Stuart: Finally! Hessian is OUTTA HERE!

Stunned, Hessian pleads his case with Barlow but it’s of no use as security arrives to escort him away from the ring. Barlow keeps her eyes on Hessian, refusing to turn her back on the eGG Bandit. The crowd cheer and jeer at Big Hess as he makes the walk of shame back up the ramp.

Back in the ring Clay turns to deal with Tony.

Nick Stuart: Low Blow!

With a wicked grin on his face, Tony dislodges his fist from Clay’s crotch. Moving with all the slime and smoothness of an eel, Gamble executes a Front Russian Leg Sweep, driving Clay’s pained face straight down into the mat!

Richard Parker: STOP LAUGHING AT ME!.. Not me, him!

Rolling Clay onto his back, Tony screams for Barlow as he places both of Clay’s legs on his shoulders, folding the Colossal Cowboy into a deep pin! As Barlow checks the shoulders, the Permascar Superstar throws both of his feet onto the middle rope to give him additional leverage! The crowd can’t believe it, they’re stunned into silence!

1!

2!

3!!!!!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: ..your winner by pinfall… TOOOOOONY GAAAAAAAAMBLE!

FUCK OFF TONY! FUCK OFF, TONY!

Richard Parker: HE DID IT! HE DID IT! WHAT A LEGEND!

Nick Stuart: The eGG Bandits steal ANOTHER win here tonight… I’d hate to run into Clay Byrd tonight.

Scrambling out of the ring the moment the bell rings, Tony holds his hands up with a look of disbelief on his face! Hessian comes charging back out from the back, hoisting his fellow eGG Bandit up onto his shoulder as the two celebrate.

Back in the ring Clay Byrd is slowly getting back up to his feet while holding his crotch. His face is a mixture of rage and shock.

ReVival moves on.

We join RIA backstage once again. This time, however, she’s on a mission. Her eyes are targeted forward and in an uncommon sight, there’s a subtle look somewhere between stern and absolutely livid spread across her face. As she stomps forward with purpose, a voice calls out.

Anna Daniels: Don’t dooooo it.

The warning comes from behind her. Apparently, RIA is so laser focused on whatever she plans on doing that she fails to notice her “sister”, newest Whoresman, and even newer Australian sitting on a production box holding…a cheeseburger? Nah, it can’t be a cheeseburger. It’s playing bleeps and blorps from a tiny speaker. It sounds like a Game Boy. A Game Boiger, if you will. She turns down the volume just to restate.

Anna Daniels: We’re telling ya, girl. Don’t do it.

She says this knowing damn good and well that the receiver of said message is too pissed off to listen. For a moment, PRIME’s Wavemaker has all types of calculations in her head. Should she physically get off this box and stop RIA or should she let her go? There’s a sigh as she reminds herself…

Anna Daniels (mumbling): Humanity is defined by its failures as well as its successes.

The doors to the Whorehouse swing open, and RIA walks in…

to darkness.

RIA: Where the fuck are you?! Show your stupid ass right now!

The lights turn on.

There stands Daytona Diamonds, Rob Williams, and Fred Dick.

All of them wield steel chairs.

Fred Dick (impersonating Cool Runnings): Feel the riddim! Feel the rhyme! Get on up! It’s ACE WHOOP TIME!

CRACK!!!

He nails RIA over the head with a steel chair and drops her like a bad habit. Yep, this was a trap the whole time. No sign of Angel whatsoever.

Fred Dick: PANCAKE BREAKFAST!!! GRAND SALAMI!!!

Fred leans down and grabs RIA by her hair, looks her in the eye.

Fred Dick: Ya had to know I was settin’ yo’ ace up. Ya had to. And still, you didn’t brang no army? Ya done fucked up. Drawin’ dicks on MAH mothafuggin’ fo’head? Hell naw. That don’t work for me, Burger.

CRACK!!!

Fred hits her in the back with the chair.

Rob Williams: You know, RIA, this hurts me a lot more than it hurts you.

Williams proceeds to paint a grotesque picture using the concrete floor as his canvas, RIA’s dome piece as his paint, and his big-ass cowboy boots as the paintbrush. Maybe he takes it a bit far, who can say? He’s been going through a lot lately and there is just something about the site of RIA’s multicolored head bouncing off the concrete that takes a bit of that weight off his shoulders. After a good ten or so kicks he steps back and wipes his brow.

Rob Williams: Goddamn that felt good.

Daytona looks down at RIA with a smile.

Daytona Diamonds: Hey RIA! ‘Member how you and ol’ Bobby Dean were my first match?! ‘Member how I won?! Ha! Yeehaw!

He smacks RIA in the back with a steel chair! Again, and again, and again!

Fred drags RIA up to her feet by her hair. She tries to fight back, but it’s just instinctual swings, a flight or fight instinct paired with a never say die attitude.

Fred Dick: Just remember. This righcheer, this is what happens when you try to FUG ME OVER ON NATIONAL TELLERVISION!!!

CRASH!!!

FRED SENDS RIA THROUGH A FUCKING GLASS WINDOW SEPARATING THE WHOREHOUSE FROM THE HALLWAY!

Fred swings the Whorehouse Door open and step outside, Rob and Daytona just behind him.

But Rob has, apparently, procured a gas can and a deranged look to his eyes.

Rob Williams: I’m gonna set her on fire.

Fred thinks about it for a moment.

Fred Dick: BURN HER ACE, ROB!!!

Anna Daniels: Guys. Guys. Guys.

Anna Daniels steps forward from the hallway, Game Boiger still in hand. She presses a button and a definite pause-like jangle breaks out from the faux-sandwich. Both in game and real life stop.

Anna Daniels: That’s enough. It was enough five minutes ago. You nearly beat her to death! Please.

Fred sighs. He nods at Anna, but bends down to look at RIA.

Fred Dick: Be glad you got a friend in our ranks, RIA. Be thankful to her. A day ort not go by that you don’t kiss Anna Daniel’s ace on jibber. A day ort not pass where you don’t look up at the sky, and THANK HEAVENS FOR ANNA DANIELS! Because she just saved yo ace from gettin’ put on tha’ muhfuggin shelf.

We cut to another area of the arena, where Simon Tiller is standing by with Kerry Kuroyama and Scott Hunter.

We jump to backstage. Junior reporter Simon Tillier twirls around and swoons at the camera. He’s looking rather dapper tonight, eschewing his regular blue blazer and red bow tie for just the dress shirt, somewhat sensually unbuttoned down to his navel. His hair also appears to be wet.

Simon Tillier: (to the tune of “I Want It That Way”) ♫ We’re here… iiin Aaargyyyle, ♫

♫ Live on… ReeeViiiVaa-aal! ♫

♫ I’m here… with Keeerraaay… ♫

♫ Leeet’s heeaar what heee’ll saayyy! ♫

Simon turns to Kerry Kuroyama, dressed for action, consequently standing nearby and watching a monitor.

Simon Tillier: ♫ Tell me why-y – Cooolossus gave you heeaartaaache! ♫

♫ Tell me why-y – Yoouur shoulder did it reeaally breeaak? ♫

♫ Tell me why-y – Weee all just want to heeaar you saaay-aay, ♫

♫ Whaaat weeent wrooong thaa-at daaay? ♫

Kerry spends a moment to consider whether or not he should address the weird vibes the junior reporter is giving off, wondering to himself if he’s ever seen weirder.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Scott Hunter angrily trying to open a small bag of apple slices and threatening the bag with “imminent doom” if it does not “open immediately.”

Kerry nods “Yup” and instead chooses to simply answer the question.

Kerry Kuroyama: …hard to say exactly what went wrong, Simon. Given how much of it went right, trying to figure out any one specific thing that went wrong is about as easy as looking for a safe, sanitary, and disease-free place to sit down in the Whoresmen locker room. Would it really be worth the effort? Would it change anything at all?

He answers these rhetoricals with a stern and dismissive shake of his head.

Kerry Kuroyama: I threw every last goddamn ounce of fire, thunder, and rage this body could produce and contain at Don Winters… but, the stubborn sonofabitch just wouldn’t stay down. As he promised, our humble, holy hero slew his dark, dastardly dragon. All credit to him. I guess that’s why he’s the champ… and I guess that’s why I’m coming into this new year of PRIME back at zero.

His fierce eyes find the camera. Intense. Focused. Determined more than ever.

Kerry Kuroyama: So be it. Here I stand with nothing gained, and nothing to lose. Ready, willing, and you better fucking believe able to walk that path once more. Because I refuse to accept that this is as far as I get in PRIME. After going the distance, I know I can go even further… and the first step is tonight. Right here, in Sydney.

Tillier slowly nods as he takes in these words.

Simon Tillier: I see, so it’s almost as though…

Simon suddenly busts a move.

Simon Tillier:  (to the tune of “It’s Gonna Be Me”) ♫ Every little thing you dooo ♫

♫ Is to keep on pushing throouugh! ♫

♫ You just want to fiiight fuutuuure fooees…  ♫

♫ But nooww yoouu face Rooose! ♫

♫ Kerry, when you fii-naal-lyyy, ♫

♫ Get to wrestle soome-boo-dyy-yy ♫

♫ Guueess what… It’s gonna be shee-eee! ♫

Again, Kerry stares at the junior reporter for a moment before finally responding.

Kerry Kuroyama: That’s right, Simon. And you can believe I’m preparing for a battle. A month ago at Colossus, we all watched her take a man three times her size to his very limit. And even though she fell short, she showed the world that he has arguably more heart, grit, and passion for this sport than most of that locker room. Certainly more than anyone else in that red blob of blowhards she’s been unwillingly absorbed into.

Kuroyama looks into the camera once more, with a face full of heavy concentration and conviction.

Kerry Kuroyama: Rose… allow me to get serious here. I respect the hell out of you as an athlete and as a human being. But as my opponent, you get nothing less than no quarter. I may not carry the title of a champion… but after Colossus, I’ll be damned if anyone tells me I don’t fight like one. And if you’re daring enough to climb to the Emerald Apex and stand toe to toe with me, Rose, then you better hope you can fight like one yourself.

“Now THAT’S the spirit!”

Kerry and Simon glance over to the monitor that was minutes ago being viewed by the former. It has somehow flickered back to life.

The sight of the newly reformed and rehabilitated Erik Black grinning back at them induces a wave of panic into Simon.

Simon Tillier: AAH!

The junior interviewer scurries behind Kuroyama, who audibly groans. Erik Black, wearing only a white fluffy robe, is apparently broadcasting to them from the comfort of a pedicure chair at a luxury spa all the way back in the states.

Erik Black: THAT’S RIGHT, Kerry! That’s EXACTLY what I want to hear out of our courageous little engine that could NOT! NEVER giving up! REFUSING to go gently into that good night! Dusting yourself off and getting that keester right back up on that horse! Wait, do they have horses in Australia? I wouldn’t know, since I never travel to places known for their criminal element!

Simon Tillier: [peeking out from behind Kerry] Actually, while Australia was indeed founded as a penal colony, the overall crime rate here is staggeringly less than that of other English-speaking countries.

The screen becomes filled with Black’s angry and glaring left eye. His iris darts in several directions in search of the speaker.

Erik Black: Siiiiiiii-MON! WHERE ARE YOU, you little worm!? WHAT did I TELL YOU about INTERRUPTING ME!

Black falls back into his chair and sighs. He looks somewhere off camera and points to his feet. A Menthol-smoking not-so-lovely pedicurist comes in and takes a grinder to his toenails.

Erik Black: You guys REALLY should not raise my IRE right now, you know! I’m MOURNING, okay! We just LOST the greatest American filmmaker of ALL TIME, and I’m trying to take the EDGE off because it’s got me all VERKLEMPT!

Kerry Kuroyama: Oh, Martin Scorcese died? Damn… that’s a real bummer.

When these words reach him halfway around the world, Black convulses in his chair as though being given a jolt of electricity. He shoos away his pedicurist and leans in, now angry and irritable.

Erik Black: Enough FRICKING around, Kerry! So long as I’m financing your stupid little Scout troop back home, you don’t work for PRIME, nor do you work Vae Victis! You work for ME! And TONIGHT, goshdarnit, I want RESULTS out of you! Do you HEAR ME, KERRY?! KERRRYYYYY!!!!

With a sigh, Kerry folds his arms and cradles his chin between his thumb and forefinger,

Then, like a shaft of light cutting through the darkness, he is inexplicably saved by none other than…

SCOTT HUNTER!

In a daring act, the Maven of Miami superheroically dives into the shot and PUNCHES the screen!

Erik Black: BLEHGK!

Despite physically being halfway around the world, Black evidently feels the strike through the screen and sprawls painfully out of his chair. The monitor goes black.

Kerry Kuroyama: …hm. Not sure why I didn’t think of doing that myself. Oh well… perfect timing as ever, Scott.

Scott Hunter turns around, and we get a good look at him. He’s wearing a khaki shirt with shorts for the occasion.

Scott “The Crocodile” Hunter: CRIKEY! HOLD ON TO YOUR HATS BECAUSE WE’RE DIVING INTO AN ADVENTURE OF PURE POSITIVITY! JUST LIKE THE WILD CROCS IN THE OUTBACK, LIFE’S GOT ITS CHALLENGES, BUT TOGETHER WE CAN FACE ‘EM HEAD-ON! WHEN PUSH COMES TO SHOVE, REMEMBER YOU’RE STRONGER THAN A SALTWATER CROC AND MORE RESILIENT THAN A DESERT DINGO! SO NEVAH MIN’ THAT ERIK BLACK FELLA, KEEP YER CHIN UP, KEEP SMILIN’ AND NEVER LET ANYTHING HOLD YOU BACK!

Kerry actually feels a bit better and smiles.

Scott “The Crocodile” Hunter:

NOW GRAB YER GEAR AND GET READY BECAUSE I HAVE A SPECIAL GIFT FOR YA!

Kerry Kuroyama: …a gift?

Scott points, and the camera pans over.

Sitting nearby on a floor, a squat, furry marsupial is stuffing eucalyptus leaves into its mouth.

Kerry Kuroyama: You got me… a koala bear.

Scott “The Crocodile” Hunter: THIS AIN’T JUST ANY KOALA BEAR, MATE!! THIS IS “THE EUCALYPTIC APEX” KERRY KOALAYAMA!!!

Hunter picks up the koala and places it into Kuroyama’s hands. It continues chewing eucalyptus, rather noisily. Its squinting eyes are unfocused, and it appears to be either unaware or uninterested in his surroundings.

That, or it’s just… really, really high.

Kerry Kuroayama: You got me a pet koala… and you named it Kerry Koalayama.

Kuroyama holds the koala bear with both arms extended, like a parent holding a baby with a soiled diaper.

Kerry Kuroyama: Is… is this a rib? Did Clay put you up to this?

Scott “The Crocodile” Hunter: (ignoring Kerry’s question) THIS ADORABLE FELLA ISN’T ACTUALLY A BEAR, EVEN THOUGH THEY’RE OFTEN CALLED KOALA BEARS! THIS IS SIMILAR TO YOGI BEARS WHO ARE BEARS BUT NOT YOGIS!! HAVE YOU EVER HAD A BEAR TRY TO TEACH YOU YOGA??? IT CAN’T BE DONE!! KOALAS BELONG TO A GROUP OF MAMMALS CALLED MARSUPIALS, WHICH MEANS THEY ARE FROM MARS AND GROW UP IN SOMETHING CALLED A POUCH! KOALAS MAY SEEM LIKE SLEEPYHEADS BECAUSE THEY SNOOZE UP TO 20 HOURS A DAY! BUT DON’T LET THEIR SLEEPY DEMEANOR FOOL YOU! LIKE BOBBY DEAN THEY SLEEP A LOT BECAUSE IT TAKES A LOT OF ENERGY TO DIGEST ALL OF THAT FOOD!

Kerry Koalayama suddenly stops chewing, and slowly turns his head toward his newfound owner. They lock eyes. Kuroyama’s, focused and calculating. Koalayama’s, beady and bleary.

And then… ZAP! An unseen arc of telekinetic electricity passes between minds. A connection is made. Kuroyama’s eyes widen with the power of revelation.

Kerry Kuroyama: He is… perfect.

Kuroyama cradles his newly anointed koala kompanion in his arms, close to the chest.

Kerry Kuroyama: I shall love him, cherish him, and protect him as though he were my own. Thank you, Scott. Kerry Koalayama will be a welcome addition to the Vae Victis family.

Scott “The Crocodile” Hunter: CRIKEY! THIS IS EXACTLY LIKE THAT WEIRD VAMPIRE MOVIE WHERE A WEREWOLF MENTALLY CONNECTED WITH A BABY VAMPIRE THING!! I THINK IT WAS CALLED BABY GENIUSES OR MAC AND ME OR SOMETHING!!

Scott holds his pose and just stares at Kerry for a moment. They, too share a connection, and after a moment, Scott relaxes.

Scott Hunter: Anyway I thought you could use a pick-me-up.

Kerry Kuroyama: Consider me picked up. Thank you, Scott. Now… let’s take care of business.

Kerry places a hand on the shoulder of his best friend, and The Wingmen nod in unison. Scott leads the way through the curtain followed close behind by Kerry and… Kerry. Left alone on camera, junior reporter Simon Tillier does the first thing that comes to mind.

He works it.

Simon Tillier: (to the tune of “Larger Than Life”) ♫ Aall yoouu people, can’t you seeee, can’t you seeee? ♫

♫ Hooow PRIIIME is taking over wreeestllleiiing! ♫

♫ Keeerry versus Rose, you can watch the fiiight ♫

♫ Neeext ooon ReViiivaaalll TOO-NIGHT! ♫

ReVival moves on. Just not quickly enough.

Nick Stuart: Up next, and oh boy Richard, do we have something for you.

Richard Parker: What is it!?

Nick Stuart: Right after New Years, Angela Brooks sat down with none other than Vickie Hall for a tell-all interview.

Richard Parker: GOOD! I need to know why poor Vickie has decided to be with- eh- ugh- him!

Nick Stuart: I have not seen the interview myself but I have been told it’s very revealing-

Richard Parker: (Cutting Stuart off) I, for one, blame Jonathan-Christopher. I know this goes against some of the comments I made during Colossus but I was confused, scared and, ultimately, angry. If Jonathan-Christopher actually proved his love towards that wonderful, darling woman in pink, PRETTY PINK©, then I wouldn’t have to watch her with- oh man, I can’t even say his name!

Nick Stuart: Folks, here we go…

The scene switches away from the broadcast booth and to a black backdrop with two red velvet chairs facing one another. Angela Brooks walks into the picture, looking as sharp as ever with her grey dress pants, light blue dress shirt and grey branded PRIME jacket. She is ready to go.

“Applause” by Lady GaGa suddenly cackles through the airwaves like it’s on a loudspeaker… a loudspeaker on a cell phone, blasting full volume, so it’s ultimately a little distorted. Nevertheless, the camera pans to the left, past the empty red velvet chair and into an area of the interview setup a camera is likely not supposed to go. It’s gone beyond the black backdrop, showcasing production equipment laying around.

Regardless, Vickie BURSTS into the frame, holding her iPhone with the speaker end out, while the Lady GaGa beat rumbles. Vickie acts like she’s rising from beneath the stage, even though there’s no stage underneath her, it’s solid ground. Either way, it’s an A++ effort because never once does she give up the act. She “rises to the top”, extends both her hands and giggles into the rafters. She wears a very new, very bright, very shiny PRETTY PINK© dress, complete with little Egg Bandit slippers, heads of Bobby Dean on the front and Doozer’s mug plastered on the back (so no image on the back), completing the look with a picture of a naked Cancer Jiles laying across the sides of the slippers, although his junk is fuzzed out by a heart shaped egg. There’s also Coral Avalon on the soles of the slippers but clearly no one can see that unless Vickie kicks up her feet.

Anyway, Vickie finally makes her way into the correct frame and stands in front of Angela Brooks. She waves, yet Angela maintains professionalism and smiles, albeit forced, offering Vickie a seat across from her. Vickie sits down, closes the YouTube app on her phone and thus, the Lady GaGa theme music ends.

Vickie sits upright and proper, awaiting her cue.

Angela Brooks: Vickie, first off I want to thank you for being here and taking me up on this invitation. A lot is being made of recent events revolving around you.

Vickie nods along like it’s no big deal.

Angela Brooks: So let’s get started-

Vickie Hall: Yes, let’s. You’re right, there have been A LOT of recent events with my name in the middle but has anyone actually taken the time to ask me about them? Not until now they haven’t. Everyone runs their mouths about “Vickie this” and “Vickie that”. It’s easy to be on the outside looking in, Ang. Anyone ever considered my needs or opinions?

Brooks certainly has her work cut out for her but she’s determined to get through this and lead the segment.

Angela Brooks: Okay. Might as well get into it. You left your husband, Jonathan-Christopher Hall?

Vickie stares blankly.

Vickie Hall: The term, my dear, is Amazing Life Partner. But yes, I left him.

Angela Brooks: Do you care to tell us why?

Once again, Vickie stares blankly.

Vickie Hall: Because he couldn’t provide for me. How many times has that man shook with fright and not been the rock I’ve needed? I require a man, Ang. I require someone to love and cherish me, treat me like the queen I’m meant to be. I shouldn’t have to do the coddling. I should be coddled. The world wants strong men. It took me a long time to realize Jonathan-Christopher wasn’t one of them.

Angela Brooks: But Jonathan-Christopher tried-

Vickie Hall: And another thing! It’s not like I didn’t give my Amazing Life Partner chances to be amazing!

It sounds like Vickie is done, so Angela starts up.

Angela Brooks: So-

Vickie Hall: And another thing! We’ve been married for six years! I have resided in his corner since the beginning. I’m spent.

Angela Brooks: Well-

Vickie Hall: And another thing! I couldn’t do it anymore. He treats me so poorly with his tone of voice!

Angela Brooks: I-

Vickie Hall: And another thing! Lose, lose, lose. It’s all he does!

Brooks looks game to push their limits. That’s why Angela took on this interview challenge.

Angela Brooks: Vickie, he won the Universal Championship! Was that not good enough for you?

Vickie Hall: No, it wasn’t. You know how much hard work went into getting him mentally ready for that? And how long did the reign last? A couple weeks? I was exhausted, honey. And quite frankly I’m surprised you of all people are giving me pushback on this-

Angela Brooks: It’s my job-

Vickie Hall: (Carrying on as if she didn’t hear or want to acknowledge Angela) We can talk about gender norms. Let’s. We can talk about being independent women. Preach. But no matter how independent I am, Ang, -and I am VERY independent- we still want a man with confidence. I’ll do you one better. Throw gender out the window, okay? We allstill want a PARTNER with confidence. A brother with confidence. A father with confidence. A mother with confidence. A friend with confidence. So on and so on and so on. I don’t want or NEED someone crying on my shoulder every night like “boohoo Cecilworth Fartington gonna beat me up”. It got tiring. Besides, he’s Sagittarius and I’m a Capricorn. It was never going to be forever.

Vickie chills in her seat.

Angela Brooks: It’s interesting you talk about being independent yet my understanding is you’re keeping the last name Hall.

Vickie Hall: Yes.

Angela Brooks: And not proceeding with serving actual divorce papers?

Vickie Hall: Not at this time, no.

Angela Brooks: Plus there are many moments on television where you act like a damsel in distress.

Hall tilts her head like WTF.

Vickie Hall: Excusez moi? What the hell did you call me?

Angela Brooks: A damsel in distress.

Vickie Hall: No, no, I know what you said. I am not a Daniel in distress. My name is Vickie.

It takes a moment for the interviewer to figure out what’s going on.

Angela Brooks: Oh, I think you misheard. I said damsel in distress. Not Daniel.

Vickie looks frustrated. She tosses her hands in the air.

Vickie Hall: Yeah, see, my name is Vickie. Not Daniel. Why would I be a Daniel in distress? There’s no one on this roster by that name! A Jonathan-Christopher in distress, though. Like, always! Ha!

Angela wants to move on.

Angela Brooks: Okay, but just real quick, I said damsel in distress. It means you act like you’ve been placed in danger and need someone else to save you, when it’s clear you’re very capable of saving yourself.

Vickie Hall: My name is Vickie. I am a manager. I am not a Daniel.

Angela Brooks: No, again, for a second time, I said damsel.

Vickie Hall: I know what you said! Honey, I’m a manager.

Suddenly, the frustration is knocked out of Vickie’s voice.

Vickie Hall: Manager of the YEAR, by the way. Booyakasha! It was long overdue, a long time coming. You’d think Jonathan-Christopher would buy into what I tell him but he needed constant reassurance and it got exhausting. Also, now that I got Manager of the Year out of the way, I’m aiming for SEGMENT of the Year next.

Vickie looks Angela over from head to toe with a wink at the end.

Vickie Hall: You think we can do that? Can you interview me well enough to make my little girl dreams happen?

It’s clear Angela has more questions to get to, so she plans to get this interview back on the rails, for both of their sakes.

Angela Brooks: Let’s talk about your late night “news posts”. This has been a heated topic of discussion since you put them out there in public for everyone to see at 3am’s. People think you’re drunk when you write, they are often litteredwith typos. Care to explain?

Vickie, once again, stares blankly for a moment as if to wonder where these silly questions come from.

Vickie Hall: I don’t drink. Not one sip of alcohol has ever touched my lips. If you think I’m drunk, that’s your bad. I’m aware of my typos, Angela, I’m not an idiot. I’m Manager of the Year! But I have a lot of thoughts I need to get out there pronto.

Vickie stops and narrows her eyes at Angela.

Vickie Hall: If you can’t decipher what my typos are, that’s on you. Figure it out, or get left behind.

Brooks has an expression like “okaaaay” on her face. Needless to say, she rolls on.

Angela Brooks: Manager of the Year. You brought it up a few times, but I was hoping to break it down further. Why do you think you won that award? Before you answer, there aren’t a lot of flattering comments in the public about you-

Vickie Hall: My father always said “sweetie pie, it doesn’t matter if they’re talking good or bad about you, at least they’re talking about you”. I am the be all, end all of managers. Period. I am the lifeblood in PRIME. When I say something, some people might cringe and they are idiots, but make no mistake Ang, they listen. I am a force and I have a strong conviction in what I believe. You think I care if some random clown in the front row named Brock Estello likes what I do? You don’t win titles or awards in wrestling because you’re nice. It’s a cut throat industry, Angie. Honestly, I’m stunned you have the audacity to call me out on this silly putty.

Vickie shakes her head no.

Vickie Hall: Because I tried the good gal role. I tried that for YEARS with my ALP. Gosh golly, I tried to be his woman and stand in his corner. When you break up with someone, when the viewers watching from home break up with someone in their lives, they’ve got a reason-

Angela Brooks: Vickie, you cheated on Jonathan-Christopher. He brought this to light.

Brooks couldn’t hold it in. She had to call the reigning MOTY out.

Vickie Hall: Great. Morality. Give me a morality lecture. I hope there are no skeletons in your closet.

Angela Brooks: That’s not where I’m going with this, Vickie. Believe it or not I am trying not to judge you – I am a professional and simply pushing a narrative that keeps our interview going strong.

Vickie with a sarcastic “uh huh” while Angela speaks.

Angela Brooks: The point I was trying to get at is, if Jonathan-Christopher didn’t bring this affair to light, who would you publicly be with right now?

Vickie shrugs.

Vickie Hall: I can’t answer that.

Angela doesn’t seem impressed with the response but Vickie catches on quickly to defend herself further.

Vickie Hall: I don’t talk in hypotheticals, dear. What if Jonathan-Christopher defeated Brandon Youngblood on ReVival 1 in the Almasy Tournament? What if Jonathan-Christopher didn’t break my heart by losing to Nate Colton, the prick EVERYONE in PRIME hates, right before the second Almasy Tournament? What if my daddy bought PRIME and not Lindsay? He was close, you know. What if, what if, what if. I don’t deal with what ifs. I think what makes you, and many others, scared of me, is that I live in the most important space EVERRRRR. FUCKING. CREATED.

She pauses. She’s going to wait this out for as long as possible.

Vickie Hall: The present.

Vickie nods along.

Vickie Hall: There isn’t a god damn thing you or I can do about last week. I don’t have a clue what tomorrow brings, either. But I know where I am, right here and now.

It might not be the answer Angela was looking for, but it was still an answer with backbone. Brooks looks down at her sheet and continues.

Angela Brooks: Cancer Jiles. So he’s the man of the present, is he?

Vickie shakes her head yes with emphasis.

Vickie Hall: Cancer is wrestling. Cancer is PRIME. This man is the pinnacle of professional sports. He moves the needle wherever he goes. He moves my needle, in more ways than one with his. Needles touching tips. Jiles took me into his arms when I was reeling and he showed a totally different side of himself. Most importantly, deep down he is a go-getter. When Jiles wants something he doesn’t wait for permission pissing his pants in a corner. He steps up and takes it. He is the REAL leader of the Egg Bandits and honey, it won’t take much to get him back to the top of the entire world! After all, they don’t call me the Manager of the Year for nothing.

Brooks takes a deep breath before this comment.

Angela Brooks: I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you about Adam Ellis-

Vickie Hall: Adam Ellis is dead, Ang. Dead.

Vickie shrugs.

Vickie Hall: If you believe nine people can die in a one vehicle car crash, that is.

Vickie leans forward and looks into the camera.

Vickie Hall: I know this was just a fake little write off because Adam’s too scared to face the truth. He cheated on his wife.

Vickie leans back in her chair and crosses her arms without a sweat in the world.

Vickie Hall: But he’s mistaken, because he didn’t cheat with me.

Brooks looks down at her notes again but Vickie has an additional remark.

Vickie Hall: And he’s dead, so, moving on.

Final Q.

Angela Brooks: My last question to you, Vickie. I want to circle back to Jonathan-Christopher. He spent the holidays in a hospital with post concussion syndrome. You’ve had to have seen the footage. Countless interviews where he’s bawling his eyes out. The man is a wreck.

Throughout Angela’s speech, Vickie doesn’t even flinch.

Angela Brooks: What are your hopes for Jonathan-Christopher in this next calendar year as he moves forward with his own career – and his own life.

Vickie takes a moment to study Angela’s face. She looks her over good, she leans forward and lets out a lighthearted chuckle.

Vickie Hall: No. Comment.

Angela Brooks: Vickie, I want to thank you for your time today. Congratulations on your Manager of the Year award and I hope we can do this down the road.

Vickie shakes Angela’s hand.

Vickie Hall: Anytime. This better be Segment of the Year.. Catch me in the main event, becoming the NEW Five Star Champion!

Vickie pulls out her phone, clicks through some apps and cues Lady GaGa before leaving as ReVival moves on (fast).

Vince Howard: Representing the Red Army. She stands at five feet and ten inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and thirty-five pounds. Hailing from San Diego, California… she is THE SECOND COMING! ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSE!

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 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

The music then fades. Alexei Ruslan has somehow slipped under the radar and found himself at ringside.

The stadium goes dark.

A long moment of silence passes while on the screen, we get a view of a forest of Douglas firs gently bending and swaying in the breeze.

A dull, mechanical hum slowly and gradually gets louder, eventually overtaking the diminished din of the crowd.

Five plain words appear…

I N   H E A V E N ,  E V E R Y T H I N G   I S   F I N E

The forest disappears. One by one the letters fade, until only two remain…

V    V

FLOODLIGHTS suddenly pop on… accompanied by an aggressively blaring droning noise! It’s something horrible, caught between a horn and an alarm!

BBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZHHHHHHH

An explosion of light and sound, assaulting the senses. The voice and face of a cosmos that can’t be perceived let alone understood.

Richard Parker: HELP, NICK! I’M BLIND!

Nick Stuart: WHAT?! Did you say something? I can’t hear a thing over that NOISE!

After several prolonged, unsettling moments, the lights taper off and the blare slowly dies off.

Richard Parker: Oh… man! For a minute there, I thought that was the END, partner!

Nick Stuart: Oh, quit being dramatic, Rich! You’re fine!

As the calm sets in once more, the crowd comes to notice a lone man on the stage. He stands with his back to them, providing a view of the emerald green tattoo rising up from the small of his back to the nape of his neck.

Slowly and dramatically, KERRY KUROYAMA turns to face the PRIME Faithful. His right shoulder bears Kinesio tape from his battle at Colossus. His left arm bears a black band. And in his hand, he holds a blue rose.

“RRRRAAAAAAHHHHH!!”

Kuroyama throws the blue rose into the crowd, and poses. A wall of green and silver fountain pyros erupt behind him as “Blouses Blue” by Konrad OldMoney and Sleep Steady thumps in over the PA.

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

The roar of the crowd filling the stadium grows several decibels upon the emergence of KERRY KOALAYAMA, appearing to rise up from behind the Emerald Apex courtesy of Scott Hunter holding him up like he found an item in a Zelda game.

No doubt that I’m skeptical, and I don’t sweat nothin’ technical
When I’m in the zone, bumpin’ methadone, doin’ prednisone, feelin’ hella torqued!
Always comin’ respectable, ’cause my momma she taught me to bless the food
So I came through, playin’ silver spoons, ’til I pinched the fork and I’m blessin’ you!

The trio stand at the head of the rampway together, taking in the thunderous ovation from the nearly thirty-thousand Australian wrestling fans in attendance. Kerry and Scott bump fists, and descend the ramp. The koala, clinging to Hunter’s back, chews on eucalyptus and looks stoned.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, making his way to the ring, accompanied by the Maven of Miami, Scott Hunter, and representing VAE VICTIS…

And I’m FEASTIN’! Muthafucka, I’m BEASTIN’!
Wanna know all my secrets? It ain’t nothin’ special–I’m eatin’ all of my vegetables,
And I’m takin’ all of you tater-head, carrot-top, Cabbage Patch Kids,
Sit you down on my granite top, you ain’t sayin’ shit but we chop it up!

Kuroyama and Scott head down the aisle side by side and lockstep. “The Crocodile” Hunter pumps up the crowd by windmilling a towel and cranking up on the CRIKEYs. The Pacific Blitzkrieg’s eyes never leave the ring.

Vince Howard: …he hails from Seattle, Washington, United States of America, and weighs in at two-hundred and thirty-two pounds… please welcome, making his Australian debut…!

And we get the stash and we lock it up, get the keys jump in the whip,
Then we dip where they whippin’ keys, wholesale the rock and we split the brick!
Pussy-ass ain’t sayin’ shit! Pussy-ass ain’t sayin’ nothin’!
Lotta cats done came and went, but we still bangin’! Still thuggin’!

They arrive at ringside. Kerry hops to the apron and scales a turnbuckle, while Scott boosts himself onto the steps below him. Kuroyama throws a fist into the air to ratchet the crowd into another cheer, while Hunter holds up Kerry Koalayama in the classic Simba “Circle of Life” pose.

Vince Howard: The EMERALD APEX… KERRRYYYYYYYY KUUUROOOYAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

“RRRRAAAAAAHHHHH!!”
Still bangin’, makin’ hits! Still bangin’ with your bitch!
Still bangin’ extra clips! Toe taggin’ just for kicks!
Toe taggin’ for the hell of it, ngga! Man, I be toe taggin’, leavin’ hella dead, ngga!
And if you gon’ drag me to the pearly gates, I’ll bring a thirty-eight, and make a helluvit just like–

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

Nick Stuart: The Emerald Apex is standing all and looking confident tonight, coming into the ring in the first show after Colossus none the worse for wear after his absolute BATTLE with Don Winters for the Five Star Championship!

Richard Parker: Sure, but what is that disgusting animal Hunter is carrying around with him??

A camera at ringside gets a close-up of Kerry Koalayama, high as a kite and stuffing even more leaves into his mouth. The look in his squinted eyes suggests he has no fucking clue what is happening, but is nevertheless pretty chill about it.

Nick Stuart: Well, it’s certainly no owl or tiger, but otherwise, I’d say he looks pretty harmless to me.

Richard Parker: We sure it’s not really a DROP BEAR?! What if it goes crazy and starts biting everything in sight! I haven’t had my shots, Nick!

Nick Stuart: For crying out loud, Rich… just concentrate on the match, and pretend it’s not there.

DING DING

The two circle each other for a moment before Kuroyama steps forward, arms raised, pretty clearly looking to lock up. Rose moves forward to meet him. As Kerry lunges forward, Rose ducks under and around her large opponent. KK turns his head and glares at the Second Coming. For her part, Rose shoots a smirk back at him. Kuroyama backs off to regroup, rolling his neck while doing so. At ringside, with Kerry Koalayama chilling out on the apron, Scott “Commudile” Hunter pounds on the mat for encouragement towards his best buddy. On the other side of the ring, Alexei Ruslan rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

The two inch towards each other once more. Kerry raises his arms again. When Rose draws near, Kuroyama drops a hand and sends the other crashing against her chest with a big slap! Rose staggers back but finds herself clutched in a front facelock in short order. She doesn’t get much time to consider her options, as the Emerald Apex whips her up and over with a picture perfect chancery. KK stays on Rose, looking to lock in a kimura. The Second Coming struggles and thrashes before she starts to hammer at the compression taped shoulder of Kuroyama. After a third blow, Kerry withdraws his attempt at the submission.

Nick Stuart: Rose showing she’s done her scouting prior to this encounter. Kerry is going to have to work for any hold he can get on her. What do you think, Rich?

Richard Parker is staring off to the side of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Richard?

Parker is still focused off to the side.

Nick Stuart: RICHARD!

Richard shakes his head and looks over to Nick.

Richard Parker: Huh?! What?!

Nick Stuart: What are you staring at?

Richard Parker: That koala! I don’t trust it!

Said bear is currently still sitting on the ring apron, casually gnawing away at some eucalyptus leaves. The competitors are both to their feet. As they draw close, Kuroyama blasts Rose with another palm strike! Rose fires back with a European uppercut! Another vicious slap! Another European uppercut! There’s a problem, though. With the last two slaps, Rose has inched back with each. A third round of the strike battle. More ground given up. Not just that, but there is no fourth round, as Kerry is quick to follow up on his last strike. And he continues to follow up. He backs Rose up towards the ropes… Where she ducks under a strike and blasts Kuroyama in his bad left shoulder with a Pele Kick!

KK rolls his arm, briefly stunned by the blow. Before he can bound forward at the still recovering Rose, Alexei grabs at his ankle! Kuroyama jerks his foot away while Scott Hunter points and loudly complains from the other side of the ring. Elvis Nixon goes to reprimand Ruslan but has to watch himself, as Rose charges and buries her forearm in the back of Kerry’s skull! KK wobbles back, dropping to a knee. Rose is quick to capitalize with a shining wizard!

Nick Stuart: I won’t lie, I’m pretty disappointed in Rose.

Richard Parker: Why?! She’s in control of the match!

Nick Stuart: Thanks to the underhanded tactics of Alexei Ruslan! I didn’t always like her attitude before, but at least she stood on her own two feet!

Richard Parker: Yeah, well, she’s become a part of the Red Army. They’re our two feet now!

Nick Stuart: That doesn’t even make sense.

Richard Parker: Shut up, Nick!

Kerry Koalayama slowly climbs onto his four paws, dropping his eucalyptus in the process. He starts walking over towards the other side of the ring. In the squared circle, Rose jumps up and drops a knee on the downed Pacific Blitzkrieg. Feeling confident, she takes off towards the ropes, jumping and flying off the second with a beautiful springboard moonsault! Kerry sits up, clutching at his stomach before Rose roughly shoves him down and makes the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

The Second Coming stays on her opponent, tugging him to his feet. With KK stunned on his feet, Rose leaps up and wraps her legs around his head, looking for a hurricanrana. She whips back… and finds herself hanging, Kuroyama using his strength to block the move! He powers her back up. Rose starts pounding away frantically, as best she can at Kerry’s head. It doesn’t stop him from planting her with a thunderous powerbomb! He passes on going for the pin, taking a moment to flex out his sore arm joint once again. Rose doesn’t get much time to recover or breathe, as Kerry slaps on a rear chinlock.

The Flower of the Red Army tries to use her flexibility and lower body strength to bend up to her feet. No go, as Kuroyama bullies her right back to the mat. She tries to scoot herself towards the ropes. Kerry foils that as he drags her back towards the middle of the ring. Rose tries to slip out of the hold, but once more her attempt is thwarted by Seattle’s Beast. Running out of options, the Second Coming finally just reaches up for anything she can grab. In this case, she finds Kuroyama’s nose, giving it a bit of a twist. That turns out to be enough to finally get him to release the hold.

Nick Stuart: Dirty move by Rose there.

Richard Parker: Oh c’mon, Nick! This is a matter of survival here!

Nick Stuart: Do you really think Kerry was going to get a submission with a chinlock?

Richard Parker: No, but he’s gonna sap all her energy! You don’t gotta get a tap out if your opponent don’t have the energy to move after!

Nick Stuart: That’s actually a pretty good point, Rich.

Richard Parker: I’m full of ‘em!

Kerry keeps the pressure on, despite the pain he’s got to feel from his nose. He yanks Rose up and slings her towards the ropes. As she rebounds, KK throws a heavy lariat that she ducks under at the last minute! On the comeback, a back elbow from Kuroyama misses as well. Finally, coming off the ropes a third time, Rose takes Kerry down with a sling blade! She begins to slowly scoot herself towards the closest turnbuckle. Once there, Rose uses the ropes to get to her feet. She starts to climb.

In the meantime, Kerry Koalayama has made his way to the side of the ring Alexei Ruslan is observing the match from. The close friend of Ivan glances over at the Australian bear, but turns his attention back towards the ring. Back in the ring, Rose flies off the top turnbuckle with a 450 splash… that connects! She reaches over to scoop the far leg for a pinfall!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-KICKOUT!

Rose glares up at Elvis Nixon, who’s quick to confirm it was a two count. She climbs to her feet, waiting for Kuroyama to do the same. Soon enough, the Seattle resident does stumble to his feet. Rose hits the ropes again and comes flying back with the Thorn Prick! Unfortunately for her, KK manages to side step the move. It gets worse for Rose; not only did Kerry dodge the attack, but his arms quickly wrapped around the waist of his opponent. Up Rose went for…

Nick Stuart: Derechoplex! Derechoplex! Rose is in trouble!

Richard Parker: Kick out, comrade!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-KICKOUT!

The Emerald Apex slaps the mat in frustration, but doesn’t dwell on the missed opportunity. Instead, Kuroyama backs off. With the way he readies his arm, it doesn’t take a ton of brain power to guess what he’s planning. Rose struggles to push up to her feet. As soon as she does… Nothing. Why is that? Because Alexei once again reached out to grab a hold of Kerry’s ankle! Elvis Nixon comes over to threaten Ruslan with ejection. Kerry is loudly threatening the Russian man. But worst of all… Kerry Koalayama is now right next to Alexei. And if the growl and bearing of teeth are any indication, the bear isn’t happy.

Ruslan is quick to start trying to beg off the animal, even reaching into his coat to pull out an undefined amount of rubles. The bear pounces forward! Luckily for no one but Alexei, he finds himself unscathed. His hat, on the other hand? Oh, no, that’s Kerry Koalayama’s chew toy now. He stomps towards the bear and reaches a hand forward, getting a growl in response that causes him to jump back. He cautiously reaches forward instead, but the lack of aggression doesn’t change the bear’s response. Back in the ring, Kerry turns around to receive a kick right to the emeralds.

Nick Stuart: Oh you’ve got to be kidding me! What a cheap move!

Richard Parker: Blame that idiot Elvis Nixon for taking his eye off the ball!

Nick Stuart: A referee’s job can be hard enough without riffraff like Alexei causing problems at ringside!

Before Rose can take any type of advantage of the low blow, Alexei begins screaming frantically for her help. She glances back towards the pained and struggling Kuroyama before letting out a loud groan. She matches over towards the ropes, leaning over them. Alexei points an angry finger at the bear, throwing out a string of Russian that probably has some expletives in it. In response, Koalayama ignores him and continues to chew on the hat. Scott Hunter wanders over to join in the ringside circus.

Scott Hunter: Crickey, mate! That’s a bloody dangerous animal, it is! You best leave him the hat unless you want him to tear your arm off like a dingo with a tree branch! Seriously though, go away.

Rose glances over at Scott, shooting him a middle finger that he loudly gasps at. Turning her attention back to Alexei, she tells him to fix his problems himself before turning her attention back towards the ring. Unfortunately, the Second Coming finds herself scooped up and planted in short order via the Judgement Bolt Bomb from Kerry Kuroyama!

Nick Stuart: Oh man! Rose is in DEEP trouble here!

Richard Parker: Bloody right she is!

Nick Stuart: Don’t you start!

No cover from Kuroyama. No more time wasting. He yanks Rose up to her feet, placing her arm between her legs for a pumphanlde. Up she spins and down she goes with a vicious Kuroyama Driver I! With Alexei thoroughly distracted by Kerry Koalayama, the cover is academic.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Kuroyama leans back onto his knees. Scott Hunter calls for the koala, who climbs into his arms, Alexei’s hat still gripped between his teeth.

Vince Howard: The winner of this match… “THE EMERALD APEX” KERRY KUROYAAAAAAAMAAAAAA!

Nick Stuart: Rose certainly pulled out the stops to try and secure the victory. Seems like karma had other plans, though.

Richard Parker: Karma, schmarma! That stupid bear cost Rose the match!

Nick Stuart: I’m going to tell Scott you said that.

Richard Parker: Please don’t.

We cut to commercial.

We come back from commercial to the sight of the Red Army’s official recording studio and, uh oh…this must be another pre-tape from the Masters of the Moscowverse. How do we know?

Well, the goofy look on the face of Randall Schwartz is the first obvious clue, followed closely by the arrival of Kenny Freeman as if he somehow missed his own call time…but never mind all that, as Kenny begins to speak.

Kenny Freeman: Hello comrade PRIMEates, and boy do we have a deal for you today!

Randall turns around to face what appears to be a large box draped in a red cloth, waiting for a signal from his best friend who continues.

Kenny Freeman: As part of a new partnership with PetStuff, we are proud to present their brand-new product…the Fabulous Feline File!

With that, Randall removes the cloth to reveal the main package, containing a surprisingly simple-looking nail file as Kenny presses on with his attempt at a sales pitch.

Kenny Freeman: That’s right, folks, now you too can enjoy the comfort of knowing your cat’s nails are perfectly trimmed without the extra hassle from most pet care products! Paired with PetStuff’s Feline Nail Clippers, you can ensure that your favorite feline can answer the Warrior’s Call!

The speech is accompanied by the Fabulous Feline File and the Feline Nail Clippers in action, an older Russian woman taking great care in trimming a black cat’s nails…and the cat getting a bit of revenge as it swipes at the woman’s face. We don’t get much further on that before cutting back to Kenny and Randall.

Kenny Freeman: Act now, and you’ll get a free 8 ounce package of PetStuff Feline Stash, the best catnip money can buy. Your cat will LOVE this stuff, especially as it comes without the usual tailgate dive that comes from partaking in catnip. Don’t just take our word for it, though…take a look at this happy customer!

We cut to the black cat, which appears to be…filing its own nails?

Cut to Kenny back in the studio.

Kenny Freeman: Uh oh. Uhhh…get your FaFeFi today, before our website takes a big ol’ crash from high demand!

Kenny and Randall rush to take their leave from the studio, chased down by the cat as we get a graphic telling customers to go to [REDACTED].com for their PetStuff needs!

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

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

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 holds his arms up high, showing off his blue satin jacket–his family name emblazoned on the back; his first name stitched on the front.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nate walks quickly to the ring, stopping periodically to point at groups of cheering fans, or waving his arms to hype up the crowd.

Nick Stuart: Colton certainly seems to be in good spirits here!

Richard Parker: Huh. Guess he got all that bitch out of his system earlier.

Nick Stuart: Despite his successes, Nate had a tough road in 2024. Clearly, he’s hoping to get this year off to a better start.

He climbs the steps, ducks between the top and middle ropes, and enters the ring. He heads directly to his corner and undoes his jacket, showing off his gear–white trunks that reach his upper thigh with a blue stripe down the side, white boots with blue trim, white MMA gloves, and blue elbow and knee pads.

There’s one new element tonight: a black armband with several letters written across it in white. The most prominent letters are “A.E.”

Colton hands his jacket to an attendant, then takes his corner and waits for Jimmy Turnbull’s instructions.

DING DING

Look, children, men, women, nonbinary folk, lizards, earth minerals, human beings (?), you definitely are looking at this, reading this, knowing these characters, and realizing that the beginning of this match definitely, totally, for sure by golly, is going to features a lot of wrestling and jockeying for position, an embodiment of the sport dating back to olden days, to the advent of the Olympic Games, and probably before, and you also should realize we are doing a bit where we see how many words we can get this sentence, so strap in, understand the bit, and go with it, because none of that shit is happening because Fred Dick is trailer park trash’s trailer park trash, and he’s a goddamn slap fighter who doesn’t really know what the hell wrist locks are, and Nate Colton isn’t even considering getting in an amateur stance and probing this like he would on the mats in Bloomington, but he is, uneven as he is, staggering in the periphery of Pete La(No)Cock, and this should be a tie up but The New Diamond is waiting for that first move to try and understand just what in the hell he is in the ring with, and the Street Garfield is just waddling and keeping his eyes locked on his opponent, staying in place, his mouth opening into more confusion, his nostrils flaring as if he just got a whiff of some right chicken shid with this former 5 Star Champion biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch and while they share a Universal Title loss to Coral Avalon in common (well, kind of, does Boiler Room Fred count?), these two couldn’t be anymore stark, and Fred just stares and stares like “what’s this fugger doin, the fug, you fuggin bisch…” because of course he would, his hairs are on edge, his Stouffer’s Family Size Lasagna is getting very bored, and this all is taking entirely too long, and just spinning in place is making him sick, so sick that he does a dry heave unexpectedly, dizzy, Fred Dick is getting goddamn dizzy, and maybe that’s when Nate Colton sees the opening, because he takes a stabbing step forward, and–

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Fred Dick is laughing. Why? Because he just stomped AS HARD AS HE COULD on the front toe of Nate Colton’s driving foot. Crusher style. And in the next instant, he flings his fingers forward into the eye sockets of the former 5 Star Champion, nearly burying them in knuckle deep.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Jimmy Turnbull isn’t having it. Doesn’t matter. Colton is grabbing at his eyes, about to stagger away, only for a big ole Street Cat paw to smash into his guarding hands. The forward charge could be graceful, like a mixed martial arts fighter, but it isn’t; rather, this Street Beefs and WorldStarHipHop Waffle House Hootenanny has all the technique you’d find at the bottom of a 40 ounce of the real cheap malt liquor. The heel of Dick’s hand smashes into Nate Colton’s ear like a bell clap from on high. Real disgusting, disgraceful kind of shit. And Fred Dick is chuckling about it, because why wouldn’t he? This piece of shid, this pretty, handsome, virile, beloved, erotically charming stud is all sorts of stuck in the fard-zone, and another slap lashes out, and another. Colton is pressed against the ropes, only to receive a sloppy elbow to the bridge of the nose from The King of Wrong Style. Headbutt!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nick Stuart: What is going ON with Nate Colton here…

Richard Parker: I don’t know what you’re thinking in asking that question. Colton was CLEARLY out of sorts at Colossus, and whatever it is, whatever is inside that mind of his, it’s eating something through him. Through his belly. And Fred Dick is just a silly little scamp–

Nick Stuart: Scamp?!

Richard Parker: –who is definitely not dangerous at all–

Nick Stuart: OH! And THAT’S a tomahawk chop to the back of Colton’s head, and Turnbull is DIGGING in between them to pull Fred away after being deep in a rope break count–

Richard Parker: –he was the 2024 ROOKIE OF THE YEAR! He COMPETED for the Universal Championship and DAMN NEAR WON IT! And Nate Colton wants to be all mealy with his notion of what it takes to compete? Newsflash, ‘New Diamond’, you COULD just be the next Hayes Hanlon. The next FLAMBERGE. World at your feet. Wind at your back. And as the calendar turns, you get flushed. It’s just that, here? The vortex goes the opposite way.

Nick Stuart: And Colton is IRATE!

Richard Parker: It takes a lot of energy to look mean…but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re not willing to FIGHT mean! You beat Ivan Stanislav into unconsciousness, and what, you came into this thinking you were going to having a wrestling match with Fred Dick? Are you kidding me?!

Nick Stuart: And Colton’s eyes, bloodshot, his entire face is quivering, quaking, his fists clenched, he looks like he could explode at any moment–

Richard Parker: THEN EXPLODE! Or is that what we’re calling brushing your eyes with your forearm?

Nick Stuart: Fred Dick is LAUGHING, smiling, and he’s…gesturing–

Richard Parker: I think, if the RUMORS are ACTUALLY true, those strokes do not indicate the length of an…eggplant…

Nick Stuart: –and THAT did it, THAT did it! Colton brushes Turnbull aside and he’s GUNNING for Fred–

Richard Parker: OH!

Nick Stuart: Fred Dick bails!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: WAIT!

Nick Stuart: Colton follows and Fred sees it and he takes off–

Richard Parker: Woah woah woah! Now hold on a second, Mister Powerslap…the people down under wanted to get a peek at some live action People Of Walmart action–

Fred isn’t going to be able to keep this up. We all know this. He isn’t a pinnacle athlete, and Colton’s stride is pretty strong right now. A blank mind, now filling with anger. He wants a piece of this ass hat. And Fred, well, he’s poked the bear. Not literally. Wrong analogy. He poked the motherfucker who PUT THE BEAR TO SLEEP. So that’s even worse. Which is why he LITERALLY bails, diving under the ring apron with a sickening belly flop. The hard mat does not relent. Thank the lord above that certain areas have been…surgically…removed…because the crash might have precipitated such removal mere weeks later. Colton rips at the ring apron, trying to grab The King of Wrong Style by the ankle. No dice.

And The New Diamond? He’s FURIOUS! Hammerfists to the ring apron. The hardest part of the ring. Don’t know if you know this, because this information isn’t exactly stated or readily acceptable. The more you know. Do dodo dooooooo. Star flashes across the night sky. NBC. And from the other side of the ring, like a damn rolly polly bug. Not really. These are side rolls. And once on the other side, and at the foot of the entrance ramp, The Street Cat gets to his feet, throwing his arms up. TADA! The winner of War Chamber, the man who went into a damn cell of BARBED WIRE against a MURDER GATOR, is now standing up all proud. He takes a bow.

Then he see’s Nate Colton. In the ring. Charging at him. At the ropes, hands on them. About to launch HIS ENTIRE BODY into him from up above. There is no pause in Fred. The Alexa connoisseur (?), he takes off around the side of the ring. Colton follows out, hopping over the top to the floor mats, not a second to spare, and darts toward his opponent, who has attempted to roll right back into the ring as Colton makes his way around the ringpost.

A grab of the ankle.

THERE!

GOT YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!

Except Fred, knowing he has a vice grip latched onto him, yanks his legs up, knees to his chest, and in the process, driving Colton’s head into the ring post.

PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

Colton crumbles, hands grabbing at his head before pushing himself back to a stand, only to drop to a staggering single knee. Fred, expert of rolling as he is, makes his way out, and, with Nate in a very bad away, thrusts his hip into the side of his head, A yank of the hair. Nate Colton is following along now, as Fred Dick is directing traffic. Calling his shot. Babe Ruth up in Sydney, BITCH!

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: COLTON! COLTON! COLTON! WHIPPING FRED DICK WITH EVERY BIT OF HIS STRENGTH INTO THE GUARDRAIL! WHAT VELOCITY! THAT COLLISION WAS SICKENING!

Richard Parker: GOOD DAMN HOYT! What a reversal there!

Oh yeah. Nate Colton grabbed hold of Fred and absolutely launched his shiddy ace into the steel, making him fard and shid BLOOD as he went ass over teakettle, back smashing into the railing, flopping onto the floor like a slab of butchery meat. The ground is cold and unforgiving. Fred Dick is in agony! Grabbing his back. His sides. His neck. His..nuts? Everything hurts. EVERYTHING. Colton yanks him back to his feet.

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH

The other side. Brutal. Efficient. Fred Dick is in all sorts of trouble. And Nate isn’t stalking his way in, oh no. He is stomping mad, yanking Fred back to his feet, grabbing at him with his arms for a Colton Clutch–

OH HELL NO! NO NO NO! Fred Dick isn’t dealing with THAT SHID! He throws his elbows back, his head back, he squeals, he gets away and dives into the ring. Colton follows behind. Oh, he doesn’t want that Colton Clutch?

He’s GETTING the Colton Clutch.

And Fred Dick, he turns around right after blowing a big wad of snot into his hand, ready to rear back and slap the piss out of Colton, who, funny enough, given everything, he is expecting will be right there. Charging in. Not thinking. See, Freddy, he ain’t dumb. He got some smarts. Street smarts. Street Cat Smarts.

Except rather than that, this is Cats.

As in based off the movie based off the musical.

As in he’s James Corden. (I am sorry this is one of the most hateful things I have ever written.)

Nate Colton stands there. Hands on hips. Shaking his head. Fred swings. Slimer misses. Boot to the midsection. Exploder suplex! Fred skitters across the canvas, impressive given his size. The New Diamond follows up, grabbing hold of a half hatch, and driving Fred into the canvas with a suplex.

You can only avoid this so long. Fred Dick is an asshole. Even reality hates him. Which is why this is a good chance for reality to deal some justice to the figure it so loathes. Nate grabs onto Fred and the Colton Clutch is locked in.

Good night, Fred.

Knuckle backhand.

Charge into the ropes.

BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOODMODE!

Maybe…just maybe, Nate, you should have come into this match not so out of sorts. Because it cost you. It cost you everything. Because after Bloodmode, after the vicious palm strike to the dome, Fred Dick is on the top rope, and you are absolutely, positively fucked. Can’t see straight. There’s not three Fred’s; there’s goddamn SEVEN! Can you imagine that shid?

You know, reality? Ain’t life just the biggest bitch?

Nick Stuart: SLAP! BOX! WITH! GO–

Richard Parker: HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOYT!

Forearm strike FROM THE DEPTHS!

Right on the button.

The Fred Dick button.

No hesitation. Not through phlegm and spit and lord knows what else. Nate Colton grabs hold of Fred Dick.

Nick Stuart: COLTON! CLUTCH! SUPLEX!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner! THE NEW DIIIIIAMOND! NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE! COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLTON!

Nick Stuart: An unorthodox match to say the–

The toll of the match makes it so Nate Colton doesn’t immediately release the hold.

Richard Parker: The least is right–

Nick Stuart: –but in the end–

A tough bout, at his wit’s end, it is difficult to untangle the limbs after such a contest.

Richard Parker: –in the end–

Right?

Nick Stuart: –Nate Colton–

Turnbull comes over.

Nick Stuart: –picks up a much needed–

The hold remains.

DING DING DING DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: –what is going on here?

Richard Parker: Turnbull is trying to get Colton to let go and…

Nick Stuart: …he’s not letting go.

There isn’t some look of hatred, some satanic expression. But there is an annoyed scowl. And Fred Dick, hands fighting, is starting to wheeze, and turn shades of colors human beings or whatever HE is shouldn’t be turning.

Finally, he lets go. Fred Dick rolls onto his stomach, gasping for air.

Nate Colton rises up, that scowl remaining as he seems be getting and ear full from Turnbull about not doing this again if he wants to not have the decision reversed.

All the same, even with a lack of oxygen, do you think that is enough to stop Fred Dick from flipping off this acehole?

Fug no.

We go elsewhere.

The show feed picks up inside a crowded vending area within the confines of CommBank Stadium. There are fans everywhere. There are PRIME security guards everywhere. There are Enemigos everywhere.

There is commotion everywhere.

Most importantly, The Convoy of COOL is everywhere. Okay, maybe not everywhere, but they are there. Both Vickie and Cancer are dressed in street clothes, matching funeral black tracksuits to be exact, and are out amongst the people doing God’s work. Their irreverent take on it anyway. After all, they do have a resolution to keep.

Cancer Jiles: Come one, come all! Get your commemorative Don Winters… uh, placard? Yeah, sure, a placard. Don’t miss out on your chance to grab this piece of history paying homage to Donny’s first ever MAIN EVENT! In fact, feel free to wave it at him while he walks down to the ring tonight as a way of celebrating his momentous accomplishment!

HA.

Cancer Jiles: Sorry, what I really meant was this piece of history recognizing his amazing run as PRIME’s 3:16 Shooting Star Champion!

The duo collectively snickers. It’s a more dreadful snicker than deceitful, but rest assured it is both.

Vickie Hall: Don’t be shy! There’s enough to go around!

The placard in question, the one detailing Don’s impressive quest to 5-Star dominance, of course is the updated one Cancer scribbled on.

You know the one.

Yes, that one.

Vickie Hall: We know you’re probably unfamiliar with Don’s work since he wrestles during the bathroom breaks.

Cancer Jiles: Well, except that one time he used velcro to crucify someone.

Vickie Hall: But of course, my COOLYMPIAN. As such, feel free to use this commemorative placard as a way of catching up on the many victories he’s had that took place outside of the MAIN EVENT.

The lovely couple take a moment from their commemorative preaching to sneak in a kiss. In actuality it is not sneaky at all, and is as over the top as you might imagine. So over the top it prompts someone from the crowd to yell out at them.

“Get a room, Cromb.”

Cancer Jiles: Hey, you put a pin in that, buddy boy! It’s King Cro–

It takes a second, but Jiles realizes who it is that called out. Not Joe Blow, but all five stars of the competition. However, Vickie does not.

Vickie Hall: Shut your mouth or we’ll fuck you up, loser! You know who Adam Ellis was!? You want to meet him!?!

The Revelator pushes past the gathered masses and puts himself right in the line of fire. He even reaches out and snatches a placard from Vickie’s grasp. He’s able to easily do so since she is having a foot in mouth type of moment.

Cancer Jiles: Well lookie here! If it isn’t The Irrevelator himself, Donny Winters. What’s the matter? Don’t know what to do with yourself since you’re usually in bed by now?

The Greek God smirks. The crowd boo’s. Don looks over the updated placard in his hands.

Don Winters: I always thought you were a little more clever than this Jiles. It seems the Black Plague (gestures to Vickie) has infected your brain as well. Only a matter of time for someone such as you.

Winters crumples up a placard, lifts it into the air and drops it to the cheers of those around them.

Cancer Jiles: How’d you know what I call my sugarplum’s bush?

Multiple people in the crowd vomit. Even more gag. An Enemigo passes out. Number 2, the lightweight. Don however, remains steadfast.

Don Winters: Very funny, moron. You know what else is funny? Instead of preparing for the greatest Five Star Champion of all time, you’re out here being an annoying pissant. I guess with you that’s just par for the course.

Cancer Jiles: Guilty.

Don Winters: It’s such a shame, you’ve squandered so much personal potential all in the name of being the most annoying human being on earth.

Winters smiles and cracks his knuckles.

Don Winters: What won’t be a shame is later on tonight when I fold you like a fourth grader’s love letter.

The crowd swoons for folding. Security inches closer to all parties involved. Vickie is ready to claw an eye out. Yet Cancer, he keeps his cool.

Shocker.

Cancer Jiles: Tough talk for a guy with bags under his eyes, but that’s okay, Donny. I get it. Lord knows I was on edge the first time I was in MAIN EVENT… some 58 ReVivals ago. I’ll chalk up your misguided enthusiasm to nerves.

Vickie cheers, and no one else does.

Cancer Jiles: In regard to preparing for the greatest 5-Star Champion of all time? Well, last I checked I still got plenty of time to take a shit before our match. A nap, too. Not a boff, though.

Vickie frowns.

Cancer Jiles: That’s about all the preparation I need for a crumb like you.

Things get real quiet, and real frisky. Whoever is left from security and the Enemigos are pretty much on top of Winters and Jiles to make sure the MAIN EVENT doesn’t start early.

Don Winters: I know your new friend is the one who spends all their time prostrate, but maybe you should consider finding a quiet place to pray before we see each other again tonight.

Winters pauses and considers.

Don Winters: You won’t be finding grace or forgiveness inside that ring.

Cancer Jiles: How courteous of you, Don? I didn’t even know I was looking. Thanks! Please, allow me to repay the favor and tell you what you won’t be finding inside the ring tonight.

Don Winters: And what might that be, friend of mine?

Cancer Jiles: Victory.

Mr. Night Two hits the greatest 5-Star Champion ever with the patented pucker, and just before all hell can break loose the show feed cuts away.

Back ringside from… whatever that was. We need something to cleanse our palette.

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

Thank you, Vince. We need this. Need.

Nick Stuart: Time for some more wrestling and we’ve moved into the second of three huge matches here tonight.

Richard Parker: I saw Diamonds backstage and I think he’s taking to Australia quite well.

Nick Stuart: Oh, is he?

Richard Parker: Said he’s caught four crocodiles since he’s arrived. I think he’s going to move here!

Nick Stuart: I think Ami would be quite happy with that thought.

Okay, Australia.

Let’s fuckin’ do this thing.

“Fastest Horse in Town” by Sturgill Simpson.

And… huh? Is that… is that some cheers mixing in with those usual boos? Huh. Things really must be upside down in Australia. The screen lights up, a CGI fire spreading across the screen too spell out a name the PRIMEates (usually) love to hate.

Daytona Diamonds.

And then, just as quickly as it came, the music stops with the satisfying sound of a record scratching. Silence. Anticipation. Confusion… and then another riff starts to play; a much more familiar one to the citizens of Sydney, one that almost immediately makes everyone in the audience jump to their feet.

Thunderstruck” by Acca Dacca.

That’s AC/DC for all you squares out there.

Beneath that shredding guitar and accompanied by the almost mandatory ‘aaaAAAaaaAAA AAH!’ chanting from the fans, Daytona Diamonds steps out onto the stage. Alongside the change in music and the change in reaction, there’s also notably very few rhinestones on his outfit and nary a cowboy hat in sight. Instead, there’s leather.

Crocodile leather, to be exact.

A vest. Pants. Shitkicker boots.

A necklace made of crocodile teeth wrapped around his neck.

Paul Hogan, eat your fucking heart out.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring… from Carson City, Nevada… he is THE RHINEST– erm… THE KOOKABURRA KOWBOY… DAAAAAAYTOOOONNNNNAAAA DUUUUNDEEEEEEMONDS!

Daytona Dundeemonds.

Just go with it.

He makes his way down the ramp, freshly bereft of his Intense Championship, a permanent scowl etched on his face and maybe just a teensy bit more muscle mass than the last time we saw him. Daytona climbs into the ring and all that usual cool, calm, cockiness is missing. Instead, he immediately moves to his corner, throws off his vest and Akubra hat, and starts to pace back and forth almost… anxiously? His hands ball and unball in and out of fists, jaw clenched, an intensity radiating from his presence that we’ve rarely seen.

Either FLAMBERGE’s in trouble or Daytona is taking his title loss in a very, very weird way.

Let’s find out.

Nick Stuart: I am not calling him Dundeemonds.

Richard Parker: Oh, come on Nick!

Nick Stuart: And I will stab you in the throat if you try to say it either.

Richard Parker: Rude.

♫…

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…♫, ♫

♫…

Oh, shit.

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

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

PRIME WRESTLER OF THE YEAR 2023

THE BEARDED DRAGON

THE LIZARD KING

THE ACE

LE PROTAGONISTE

LE COURONNE TRIPLE

THE NECK COLLECTOR

F L A M B E R G E

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

Vince Howard: And his opponent, hailing from Strasbourg, France… he is the NECK! COLLECTOR!FLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMBERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGE!

Nick Stuart: You have to imagine the Lizard King is looking to start his 2025 off on the right foot.

Richard Parker: After an up and down year, he definitely will be chomping at the bit — but so is Diamonds who lost at Colossus. That’s obviously why he’s become Dundeem– OW!

Nick Stuart: I warned you, Parker. Don’t do it again.

Richard Parker: I think you pierced my windpipe!

Nick Stuart: Good.

Nixon gives his final set of instructions. Let’s get to the action.

DING DING

The bell rings and the Rhinestone Cowboy immediately charges at FLAMBERGE, showing unusual aggression — veins bulging in his neck. The French Phenom smoothly sidesteps and executes a high-angle hip toss, but Diamonds pops right back up with frightening intensity. FLAMBO attempts a leg kick, but Diamonds catches it and drives him into the corner. The King of the Rodeo unleashes a flurry of knife-edge chops, each one echoing through the arena.

WHACK WHACK WHACK

FLAMBERGE manages to duck the last one and creates space with a series of judo throws, demonstrating his technical prowess. Diamonds, impatiently, rushes in again only to be met with several devastating leg kicks that finally slow his momentum.

Richard Parker: Would you look at the size of those veins, Nick? They’re bigger than the Sydney Harbour Bridge!

Nick Stuart: This uncharacteristic aggression from Diamonds is concerning, but FLAMBERGE is handling it masterfully with those leg kicks.

Richard Parker: Concerning? The man’s just adapting to being down under – everything’s more intense in Australia!

Nick Stuart: That’s not how geography works, Richard.

Diamonds shakes off the leg kicks and catches FLAMBERGE with a snap suplex, transitioning immediately into a crossface. The Bearded Dragon fights the hold, but Diamonds cranks back with unusual force. FLAMBERGE manages to reach the ropes, but Diamonds maintains the hold until Nixon’s four count. As FLAMBERGE gets to his feet, Diamonds charges again, but the French Phenom counters with a perfectly timed jumping roundhouse kick. FLAMBERGE follows up with a series of 12-6 elbow strikes, targeting Diamonds’ shoulders and neck. Diamonds, showing incredible strength, blocks one and attempts a northern lights suplex, but FLAMBERGE shifts his weight and lands on his feet.

Nick Stuart: Diamonds completely ignoring that rope break – this is not the calculated competitor we’re used to seeing.

Richard Parker: Sometimes you gotta bend the rules a little, Nick! Besides, I heard rules work backwards in the Southern Hemisphere.

Nick Stuart: Beautiful counter by FLAMBERGE, though. His technical ability is really shining through.

Richard Parker: Yeah, yeah, but did you see the power on display from the Rhinestone Cowboy?

The Lizard King takes control with a series of judo throws, each one more devastating than the last. Diamonds, growing visibly frustrated, attempts to counter with his trademark Rio Bravo, but FLAMBERGE sees it coming and transitions into a triangle choke attempt. The Only Daddy That’ll Walk the Line powers out by literally lifting FLAMBERGE off the mat, creating enough separation, and delivers a thunderous European uppercut. The impact sends FLAMBERGE reeling, but he maintains his composure and responds with a combination of leg kicks and headbutts after trapping Diamonds’ arm. The sequence ends with both men trading cruel elbow strikes in the center of the ring.

Richard Parker: Now THAT’S what I call Australian-style wrestling! Just two blokes having a ripper of a time trading elbows!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think that’s a thing, Richard, but these strikes are absolutely brutal.

Richard Parker: Everything’s a thing down under, Nick! Haven’t you heard of the famous Australian elbow drops?

Nick Stuart: Please stop making up wrestling moves.

FLAMBERGE capitalizes on the exchange by transitioning into his grappling game, executing a textbook komi goshi throw that sends Diamonds crashing to the mat. The Bearded Dragon follows up with a series of kicks and stomps to his downed opponent, but Diamonds catches one of the kicks and yanks FLAMBERGE down into a vicious Texas Cloverleaf. The King of the Rodeo applies tremendous pressure, his enhanced strength making the hold particularly devastating. FLAMBERGE inches toward the ropes, but Diamonds drags him back to center ring. The French Phenom finally escapes by rolling through and catching Diamonds with a double leg takedown, transitioning smoothly into a north-south choke attempt.

Nick Stuart: The technical prowess of FLAMBERGE on full display here – that komi goshi throw was picture perfect!

Richard Parker: Oh sure, praise the fancy judo throw, but what about that Texas Cloverleaf? Everything’s bigger in Texas, even in Australia!

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

Richard Parker: Makes perfect sense to me, mate! Just like how water spins the other way down here!

Diamonds powers out of the choke by literally pressing FLAMBERGE overhead, his veins bulging with the effort. The Rhinestone Cowboy follows up with his Gold Rush, slamming FLAMBERGE with such force that the ring shakes. Instead of going for the pin, Diamonds shows his growing frustration by immediately attempting his Six Shooter, but FLAMBERGE ducks underneath and catches him with a series of jiu-jitsu clinch knees. The strikes stagger Diamonds, allowing FLAMBERGE to execute another high-angle hip toss followed by a picture-perfect hammerlock suplex. Both men slowly rising to their feet, Diamonds seething with barely contained rage.

Richard Parker: Look at the power! The strength! The veins! It’s like watching a kangaroo on steroids! Not that he is on them, just making that clear.

Nick Stuart: That frustration might cost Diamonds the match if he’s not careful – FLAMBERGE is too skilled to give openings like this.

Richard Parker: Skilled? He’s just taking advantage of the gravitational pull being different down here!

Nick Stuart: Sometimes I wonder if you actually believe the things you say.

The Only Daddy That’ll Walk the Line charges forward with reckless abandon, catching FLAMBERGE with a running DDT that drops him right on his head. Diamonds transitions into the Do-si-do, stepping extra hard on FLAMBERGE’s skull while wrenching back on the leg. The French Phenom endures the punishment, finally freeing himself with a desperate rope grab. As FLAMBERGE rises, Diamonds attempts his How the West Was Won, but FLAMBERGE counters with a jujigatame that nearly hyperextends Diamonds’ arm. Diamonds eventually powers out, but the close call only serves to further enrage him. He responds with a series of brutal knife-edge chops that leave FLAMBERGE’s chest bright red.

Nick Stuart: I’ve got to say, Richard, this isn’t the calculated Daytona Diamonds we’re used to seeing. That rage is making him sloppy and dangerous.

Richard Parker: Sloppy? He just dropped FLAMBERGE on his head! That’s called adapting to your environment, Nick. When in Rome – or Sydney in this case!

Nick Stuart: There’s a difference between adaptation and losing control, and those knife-edge chops are pure fury.

Richard Parker: You say fury, I say intensity! Maybe he’s just trying to make friends with the local wildlife!

FLAMBERGE weathers the chops and catches Diamonds off-guard with a lightning-quick axe kick attempt, but Diamonds manages to stumble backward just in time. The King of the Ocean retaliates with his Boot Scootin’ Boogie, driving his foot into FLAMBERGE’s face. Rather than capitalize, Diamonds begins posturing and taunting, his enhanced aggression manifesting as cockiness. This gives FLAMBERGE time to recover and catch Diamonds with a surprise triangle choke attempt. Diamonds responds by hoisting FLAMBERGE up for a thunderous single underhook suplex into the turnbuckle. The impact causes FLAMBERGE to release the hold, but he lands on his feet on the apron and responds with a devastating roundhouse kick through the ropes.

Richard Parker: Now THAT’S what I call a Boot Scootin’ Boogie! Diamonds is teaching these Aussies how we dance back home!

Nick Stuart: But look at that unnecessary showboating – this enhanced aggression is leading to crucial mistakes.

Richard Parker: Mistakes? The man’s putting on a show! These Sydney fans paid good money to see the Rhinestone Cowboy shine!

Nick Stuart: That roundhouse kick might make him regret that showmanship.

Diamonds staggers from the kick but catches FLAMBERGE’s leg as he attempts to reenter the ring. The Rhinestone Cowboy executes a grounded dragon screw through the ropes, causing FLAMBERGE to roll hard to the floor, clutching at his leg. Elvis Nixon starts his ring-out count. Diamonds follows him outside, attempting to whip him into the steel steps, but FLAMBERGE reverses it. Instead of Diamonds hitting the steps, his enhanced strength allows him to stop his momentum and catch FLAMBERGE with a crucifix elbow as he approaches. The blow dazes the French Phenom, allowing Diamonds to hit a snap suplex on the padded floor. Both men are slow to their feet, with Diamonds showing visible signs of his rage affecting his cardio.

Nick Stuart: Those bulging veins, the heavy breathing – Diamonds is burning himself out with this rabid intensity!

Richard Parker: Oh please, Nick! He’s just getting his cardio in! You know how expensive gym memberships are in Sydney?

Nick Stuart: You can’t seriously think this is normal behavior from Diamonds.

Richard Parker: What’s normal anyway? We’re in Australia – everything’s upside down here!

Back in the ring, FLAMBERGE creates space with his superior technical ability, peppering Diamonds with leg kicks and judo throws. The Lizard King attempts to lock in the Marie Antoinette, but Diamonds’ neck muscles are so enlarged that he’s able to resist the choke. Frustrated, FLAMBERGE transitions to his striking game, landing several 12-6 elbows that finally seem to hurt Diamonds. The King of the Rodeo responds with pure power, though not before Nixon warns him about closed fists. The King of the Rodeo catches one of FLAMBERGE’s strikes and converts it into a northern lights suplex. The impact causes FLAMBERGE to roll to the outside, where he takes a moment to reassess his strategy against his enhanced opponent.

Richard Parker: Look at that neck! It’s like trying to choke a kangaroo that’s been hitting the gym!

Nick Stuart: This enhanced physique is concerning, Richard. I’ve never seen Diamonds this aggressive or physically altered.

Richard Parker: Enhanced? That’s all natural baby – probably just been eating his Vegemite!

Nick Stuart: You can’t possibly believe that.

Diamonds shows unprecedented aggression by diving through the ropes with a tope suicida, catching FLAMBERGE off guard. The move seems to take as much out of Diamonds as it does FLAMBERGE, but his rage pushes him forward. He attempts to follow up with the Rio Bravo on the floor, but FLAMBERGE counters with a quick judo throw that sends Diamonds into the barricade. The French Phenom capitalizes by trapping Diamonds’ arm against the barricade and delivering a series of precise headbutts. Both men are showing the effects of the intense match, but Diamonds’ enhanced physique is clearly struggling with stamina issues.

Nick Stuart: A tope suicida from Diamonds? This rage is making him completely reckless!

Richard Parker: Reckless? He’s innovating! When was the last time you saw a cowboy fly in Sydney?

Nick Stuart: His body can’t keep up with this enhanced aggression – look at him gasping for air.

Richard Parker: That’s just the Australian atmosphere, Nick. Everything’s thinner down under!

FLAMBERGE rolls towards the apron, but Diamonds pursues relentlessly, attempting a suplex to the floor. The French Phenom blocks it and catches Diamonds with a hotshot across the top rope. As Diamonds staggers into the ring, FLAMBERGE springboards in with a flying double knee strike that finally drops the bigger man. Instead of going for a pin, FLAMBERGE attempts to wear down his opponent with a series of submission attempts, transitioning between a triangle choke and armbar. Diamonds’ enhanced strength allows him to power through each attempt, but the sequence clearly depletes his energy reserves. Both men return to their feet, with Diamonds noticeably breathing harder despite his rage.

Nick Stuart: Smart strategy by FLAMBERGE, trying to wear down the bigger man with those submission attempts.

Richard Parker: Those muscles might be helping him power out, but look at him gasping like a fish out of Sydney Harbor!

Nick Stuart: First sensible observation you’ve made all night, Richard.

Diamonds cuts off FLAMBERGE’s momentum with a sudden dropkick, following up immediately with his Six Shooter lariat that turns FLAMBERGE inside out. The impact appears to have wounded FLAMBERGE’s neck, which Diamonds targets with ruthless precision. He locks in a dragon sleeper, using his enhanced strength to lift FLAMBERGE off the mat entirely. The French Phenom eventually escapes with a jaw-dropping display of flexibility, transitioning straight into a komi goshi throw. FLAMBERGE follows up with his signature combination of kicks and clinch work, but Diamonds weathers the storm and responds with a massive Gold Rush before going for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE showing incredible resilience after those devastating moves from Diamonds!

Richard Parker: Resilience? That’s what you call it when someone refuses to stay down under? Get it? Down under?

Nick Stuart: Your geography puns are getting worse by the minute.

Both men rise slowly, feeling the effects of the grueling match. FLAMBERGE strikes first with a series of leg kicks that finally bring Diamonds to one knee. The Lizard King follows up with his jiu-jitsu clinch knees, each strike echoing through the stadium. Diamonds, running purely on rage at this point, catches one of the knees and transitions into the Texas Cloverleaf in the center of the ring. FLAMBERGE endures the hold for nearly a minute before finally reaching the ropes, but Diamonds’ enhanced strength has done significant damage to his legs. The French Phenom limps noticeably as he returns to his feet, while Diamonds stalks him like a predator.

Richard Parker: Look at those legs buckling! FLAMBERGE is hopping around like a wounded kangaroo!

Nick Stuart: That Texas Cloverleaf might have done serious damage, but Diamonds’ own stamina seems to be fading despite his enhanced state.

Diamonds attempts to end things with his How the West Was Won, but FLAMBERGE counters with a desperate jujigatame. The sudden submission attempt causes Diamonds to panic, and he uses his raw power to literally stand up with FLAMBERGE still attached to his arm. The King of the Ocean proceeds to power bomb FLAMBERGE into the corner, but the impact causes him to collapse as well, his stamina clearly fading despite his enhanced physique. Both men use the ropes to pull themselves up, with FLAMBERGE recovering first and catching Diamonds with a perfectly timed axe kick that finally drops him. FLAMBERGE immediately goes for the Marie Antoinette, but Diamonds blocks it quickly, using his strength to keep FLAMBERGE at bay.

Nick Stuart: The sheer power of Diamonds is astonishing, but it’s clearly taking a toll on his body!

Richard Parker: Of course it is! Having muscles that big in this hemisphere? It’s like trying to bench press the Opera House!

Nick Stuart: Your Australian references aren’t getting any better, Richard.

The Rhinestone Cowboy’s rage reaches new heights as he realizes he can’t put FLAMBERGE away. He begins throwing wild strikes, abandoning his usual methodical approach completely. FLAMBERGE weathers the storm and responds with precise counter strikes, but even glancing blows from Diamonds carry devastating power. The French Phenom attempts to take the fight to the ground with a double leg takedown, but Diamonds sprawls and catches him with a snap suplex. The Only Daddy That’ll Walk the Line follows up with his signature Rio Bravo, but FLAMBERGE rolls through and nearly catches him with another triangle choke. Diamonds quickly escapes, but the sequence leaves him visibly winded.

Nick Stuart: This is not the calculated Daytona Diamonds we know – he’s completely abandoned his technical base!

Richard Parker: Sometimes you gotta throw technique out the window! Or should I say, through the window of the Sydney Opera House?

Nick Stuart: That sequence has left him gasping for air though. These enhanced Australian muscles seem to be working against him.

FLAMBERGE capitalizes on Diamonds’ fatigue by increasing the pace, mixing his strikes and grappling in seamless combinations. The Bearded Dragon lands several crushing 12-6 elbows before transitioning into a north-south choke attempt. Diamonds powers out again, but his explosiveness is clearly diminishing. In desperation, he attempts another Boot Scootin’ Boogie, but FLAMBERGE anticipates it and catches him in a single leg takedown. The French Phenom transitions into a knee bar, but Diamonds’ enhanced strength allows him one more explosive escape. Both men are running on fumes, but Diamonds’ rage continues to push him forward despite his body’s obvious exhaustion.

Richard Parker: Look at those muscles working overtime! It’s like watching a bodybuilder try to wrestle in a sauna!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is fighting smart, wearing down this enhanced version of Diamonds methodically.

Richard Parker: Enhanced? Have you seen the protein shakes they sell here? They’re made from concentrated kangaroo hops!

The King of the Ocean attempts to end things with a massive Gold Rush, but his fatigue causes him to execute it sloppily. FLAMBERGE slips out and responds with a series of devastating kicks to Diamonds’ legs, finally bringing the bigger man down. The Lizard King follows up with a perfect hammerlock suplex, then transitions into a crucifix pin.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Diamonds kicks out with explosive power but immediately clutches his shoulder in pain. FLAMBERGE senses the injury and begins targeting it with precise strikes and knees, while Diamonds’ rage causes him to ignore the increasing damage to his arm.

Nick Stuart: Diamonds might have powered out of that pin, but at what cost to that injured shoulder?

Richard Parker: The man’s got more power than the backup generators at the Opera House! Did I mention we’re in Sydney?

Nick Stuart: About fifty times now, Richard.

In a desperate bid to end the match, Diamonds catches FLAMBERGE with a sudden northern lights suplex, bridging for maximum impact.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

When FLAMBERGE kicks out, Diamonds transitions immediately into the Do-si-do, putting extra torque on the hold due to his enhanced strength. FLAMBERGE endures the submission, finally reaching the ropes after a grueling struggle. As both men return to their feet, Diamonds attempts his Six Shooter lariat, but his exhaustion causes him to telegraph the move. FLAMBERGE ducks underneath and catches him with a perfectly timed jumping roundhouse kick that staggers the bigger man. The French Phenom follows up with a series of judo throws that leave Diamonds reeling.

Nick Stuart: The technical mastery of FLAMBERGE is on full display! Those judo throws are picture perfect!

Richard Parker: Sure, but have you ever tried to throw someone that massive in the Southern Hemisphere? The gravitational pull is different!

Nick Stuart: I’m beginning to think you’ve never actually been to Australia, Richard.

Diamonds’ goes for another How the West Was Won attempt, but FLAMBERGE blocks it. The King of the Ocean screams in frustration and recklessly charges at FLAMBERGE, who deftly sidesteps and delivers a perfectly timed axe kick to the back of Diamonds’ neck. As Diamonds staggers forward, clearly dazed, FLAMBERGE seizes the opportunity and locks in the Marie Antoinette. Diamonds tries to power out, his enhanced muscles straining against the hold, but FLAMBERGE’s technique is too perfect.

Nick Stuart: This could do it!

Richard Parker: I think in Australia if you tap out, you actually win.

Nick Stuart: No, Richard, no it doesn’t.

After a desperate struggle, Diamonds has no choice but to tap out, unable to escape the guillotine choke. Nixon immediately calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: And the fans here in Sydney going crazy for the Lizard King getting the submission victory here.

Richard Parker: How did he lose?! Daytona looked like gold in there!

Nick Stuart: Clearly, he needs to spend more time on neck day.

Richard Parker: Good point, more neck days. I’ll let him know.

FLAMBERGE stumbles to his feet, having gone to war with the Rhinestone Cowboy and managed to pull it off.

Vince Howard: Your winner… FLAMBERGE!

Meanwhile, Diamonds rolls out of the ring and is immediately seen grabbing at his neck and — possibly — a needle being injected into his neck. Where he got it from? What is in it? That’s anybody’s guess.

But let’s just say that neck won’t be a weak point any longer.

And ReVival goes to commercial.

The show feed cuts back down to ringside.

Nick Stuart: MAIN EVENT TIME! JILES. WINTERS. 5-STAR CHAMPIONSHIP IS ON THE LINE! Don has been a dominant, record setting champion, and Jiles, well to say he lives and breathes for moments like this would be an understatement. Seems to me like we got ourselves one hell of a MAIN EVENT to start 2025, don’t we, Rich?!

Richard Parker: Streak continues, book it. If not, and that piece of shit crumb wins, I hope everyone riots and during those riots he gets trampled to death.

Nick Stuart: Noted, and agreed.

The sun sets, a cool breeze whisks its way throughout the open air, and an instrumental version of “My Way” by Frank Sinatra begins to play.

Richard Parker: Oh for fuck’s sake! Not this shit again!

Then, after a second or two, the Crumbotron jolts to life. Instead of the usual superkick montage that plays…

…The Pinnacle of All Crumbs

Nova
ReVival 3

No one thought my favorite man, my one of one, Cancer Jiles, stood a chance against Nova– let alone for his GOLDEN TICKET, let alone in the MAIN EVENT! Boy, were they wrong! MY MAESTRO pulled off the upset of the tournament when he sent Nova packing in the first ever Almasy Invitational. More importantly, on that night, both THE MAIN EVENT and THE GOLDEN TICKET were born.

Nick Stuart: WAIT! IS THAT VICKIE HALL ON THE VOICE OVER?

It is. AI Lindsay Troy has been replaced by a human being who sounds infinitely more caring, nurturing, and regal.

Richard Parker: Don’t tell me she’s gonna sing “I am the COOL” next.

Nick Stuart: Could you imagine?

Richard Parker: No.

Flamberge
ReVival 10

After suffering back to back losses to Brandon Crumblood, the legendary COOLYMPIAN squared off against Limpberge in the MAIN EVENT of ReVival 10. While the young Frenchman wasn’t the neck collector he is today, he still proved to be quite the croissant. It was a heated contest that pushed my love to his limit. In the end though, it was force fed Foot Saltimbocca and a desperately needed W for Mr. Night Two.

Julian Bathory
UltraViolence 2022

At first there were supposed to be three, but then two decided that three was one too many. Thus, Phil Atken was removed from the playing field and the 2022 UltraViolence MAIN EVENT was forever changed. The COOLEST man I’ve ever… known, versus Justine Bitchboy for “Wheelie” Phil’s freshly vacated UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP was a brutal affair, and about survival more so than anything else. When the bell rang at the end of the match both men had left it all out there: blood, sweat, tears… but only one would walk away as UNIVERSAL Champion, while the other walked back to the roost.

Nova
ReVival 18

Believe it or not, you could say the stakes were even higher the second time Nova and Cancer met inside the ring. The two were back in the MAIN EVENT. The Greek God of my bedroom was the UNIVERSAL Champion, and the first challenger to his throne was none other than Nova. Sadly, for PRIME and its fabled star, on that night the road to COOLOSSUS was paved in tears and not egg yolks.

Nate Colton
ReVival 36

It was my love’s long awaited return to the MAIN EVENT, and of course it was against that micro penis Nate Colton. Not only that, it was Round One of the Second Almasy Invitational, and it was for The Greek God of COOL’s GOLDEN TICKET. Up until then, Nate had always been two steps ahead of my COOLYMPIAN. However, that night things were different. That night, they met in the MAIN EVENT for the first time, and my man ran all the way home to an unforgettable victory.

The Anglo Luchador
ReVival 42

The Anglo Luchador versus Cancer Jiles in a Philadelphia Street Fight, in Philadelphia, in the MAIN EVENT, to see whose block reigns supreme? Uh, yes please. In this epic battle between hometown favorites absolutely nothing was off limits, as the two would go on to destroy trophy cases, vending areas, literal walls, and everything else in between. The Wells Fargo Center had seen its fair share of carnage over the years, but nothing ever like this. Battered and bloodied all in the name of house dominion, my valiant King of COOL proved why he is the one who sleeps in the master bedroom while his hometown counterpart sleeps in the basement.

Ivan Stanislav
ReVival 54

There was no love lost when Ivan Stanislob and the greatest man I’ve ever known competed in the MAIN EVENT of ReVival 54. Redemption and revenge were both on the line for my handsome hunk, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t walking out with both. The match was of course a treacherous affair, but when the salt settled Cancer the COOL had evened the score against the sloppy Soviet.

Don Winters
ReVival 61

Stay. Tuned….

Nick Stuart: I still don’t know how he got the votes.

The Crumbotron cuts out. Seconds, that seem like minutes, pass. Then, it comes back to life with the COOLEST superkick montage ever playing on it. Coinciding with the Crumbo’s revival is an all too familiar guitar riff. Next, Screamin’ Jay serenades CommBank Stadium with his melodic pipes.

I’m the one your mama warned you about
When you see me, I will leave you no doubt
I’m the coolest man that ever walked this earth
I’ve been the coolest since the day of my birth…

Nick Stuart: Imagine he wins tonight, and he’s our new 5-Star Champion?

Richard Parker: (Vomit noises.)

…I AM THE COOL!

The Maestro of COOL emerges with his Valkyrie by his side. They both look the part, wearing matching attire for the first MAIN EVENT of year four. Well, same as in Jiles has a picture of a MASSIVE penguin covering the crotch portion of his wrestling tights, and Vickie has a picture of the 5-Star Championship covering the crotch portion of her’s.

Nick Stuart: No Big Hess?

Richard Parker: Maybe he’s finally starting to smarten up.

Cue the hellfire volley of pyrotechnics.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!!!!!!

PRIME’s new lovely couple dotes their way down to the ring. It’s a long walk, mostly because King COOL is taking his time to engage with some of the fans along the way. He’s basically calling them crumbs, and telling those stupid enough to banter with him that they’ll NEVER get a girl like Vickie. Upon reaching the ring, Jiles carefully hands Vickie his T-shades, slides under the bottom rope, and postures for all to see.

BOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: Jiles looks the part, no real surprise there.

Richard Parker: Hopefully he–

Before Dirty Dick can continue, Jiles starts to viciously heckle him. It’s a rather terse exchange between the two, and lasts for the better part of a minute. Eventually, senior referee Ashley Barlow has to get involved, and is able to implore Jiles towards his corner. There, he waits for the arrival of his opponent.

Richard Parker: I HOPE HE DIES!!!! GET FATHER DON OUT HERE NOW TO SMITE THIS BITCH TO HELL!!!!!!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The lights dim across the stadium as Cancer Jiles waits for the Five Star Champion to make his entrance. White and crimson lights begin dancing with the guitar riff of an early aughts hit. The fans erupt in cheers and immediately begin launching into a singalong.

“So if you’re lonely
You know I’m here waiting for you
I’m just a crosshair
I’m just a shot away from you”

Images flash across the screen of Don Winters losing to Jiles in the 2023 Almasy Tournament, courtesy of the Yellow Mist and a Terminal Cancer.

“And if you leave here
You leave me broken, shattered I lie
I’m just a crosshair
I’m just a shot, then we can die”

Images of Winters’ various title defenses flash across the screen now. All six defenses, each finish shown in sequential order.

“Ah-ah-ah
I know I won’t be leaving here
With you”

As the ‘you’ hits, the screen is replaced by a fading image of Winters and Jiles face to face inside the ring.

Vince Howard: Introducing next, hailing from Winter’s Port, by way of Detroit, Michigan, weighing in at two-hundred fifty-four pounds, he is the reigning and defending Five Star Champion…

“I say, ‘Don’t you know?’
You say, ‘You don’t know’
I say
‘Take me out’”

Vince Howard: He is FATHER FIVE STAR, THE REVELATOR, THE UNDISPUTED GREATEST FIVE STAR CHAMPION IN THE HISTORY OF PRIME… DOOOOOOOOOON WIIIIIIINTERRRRRRSSSSS!

Every single light in the arena pops on and Winters is there, center of the stage, arms held out in the crucifix position, Five Star title strapped to his waist.

RUAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH~!!!

“I say, ‘you don’t show’
Don’t move, time is slow
I say
‘Take me out’

Winters wastes no time and marches purposefully to the ring and up the ring steps. He wipes his feet along the apron before vaulting inside the ring. He throws his arms out in the t-pose once more, drawing another massive round of cheers.

“If I move, this could die
If eyes move, this could die
I want you
To take me out”

Winters removes the Five Star Championship from his waist and hands it over to the referee. He moves to the center of the ring and locks eyes with Cancer Jiles.

“I know I won’t be leaving here (with you)
Oh, I know I won’t be leaving here…”

Winters smiles deeply at his opponent as the music fades.

DING DING

Cancer Jiles barely has time to remove his T-Shades before the Five-Star Champion Don Winters explodes forward with a running shoulder block, sending the Human Cockroach staggering. The Revelator follows up with a savate kick that keeps the challenger reeling. As Father Don moves in, Jiles recovers enough to rake his eyes! Taking advantage of Barlow’s poor positioning, King Cool follows up with a swift low blow that doubles the champion over.

The Greek God of Cool capitalizes on his dirty tactics, grabbing Don by the head and driving him face-first into the canvas with a swinging neckbreaker. Not content with just one underhanded move, Jiles transitions into an eye rake while his opponent is down, drawing more protests from the crowd.

Nick Stuart: And there’s Cancer Jiles doing what Cancer Jiles does best – trying to cheat his way to championship gold from the very start!

Richard Parker: Oh look, the “Greek God of Cool” is showing off his entire moveset in the first minute. Eye rake, low blow – what’s next, is he going to pull out his signature move of playing dead until Don turns around?

Nick Stuart: I don’t think I’ve ever heard you this critical of someone bending the rules, Richard.

Richard Parker: Listen Nick, I respect wrestlers who do what it takes to win. Jiles does what it takes to avoid actually wrestling. There’s a difference, and it’s why he has no business even being in this title match.

Jiles attempts to press his advantage, approaching the champion with a finger stomp in mind, but Don Winters suddenly grabs the challenger’s leg and executes a quick leg sweep. Before Jiles can recover, Father Don is on his feet and hoists Jiles up, driving him down with a thunderous scoop slam.

Winters doesn’t let up, transitioning smoothly into an abdominal stretch with a leg grab. King Cool flails desperately, reaching for the ropes, but Don has him positioned perfectly in the center of the ring. When Jiles finally manages to squirm free, he’s met with a snap suplex that sends him rolling to the corner. The Greek God of Cool pulls himself up using the ropes, only to walk right into a running bulldog that plants him face-first into the canvas!

Nick Stuart: Don Winters showing exactly why he’s the Five-Star Champion – technical precision mixed with raw power!

Richard Parker: And yet Jiles will somehow cockroach his way through this match. He’s like a bad penny, Nick – he just keeps turning up no matter how many times you try to get rid of him.

Nick Stuart: You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience there, Richard.

Richard Parker: I once found him going through my car trying to steal my registration. Said he was “just looking for his T-Shades.” The man’s a menace to society, Nick, and I won’t rest until everyone knows it.

The champion maintains control, lifting Jiles up and driving him into the corner. Winters delivers three thunderous knife-edge chops that echo throughout the stadium, but as he winds up for a fourth, the challenger drops down and rolls out of the ring. Father Don gives chase, but Jiles slides back in under the bottom rope and catches the champion with a back rake as he follows.

The Greek God of Cool presses his advantage with closed fists to the back of Winters’ head, drawing a warning from Ashley Barlow. As Don tries to fight back to his feet, Jiles grabs his left leg and stomps down hard on the knee – returning to his targeted assault on the champion’s weak knee. Jiles follows up by wrapping that same leg around the bottom rope and yanking back, using the full five-count before releasing.

Richard Parker: See, THIS is what I mean about Jiles. He’s not even trying to win – he’s just trying to injure Don’s bad knee because he knows he can’t beat him straight up!

Nick Stuart: For once we agree, Richard. Jiles living up to his manner — being a cockroach — by targeting a known injury, and Barlow needs to get better control of this match before Winters suffers serious damage to that left knee.

Richard Parker: You know what the worst part is? Even with all this underhanded targeting, Jiles is STILL going to find a way to lose. It’s like watching someone try to cheat at solitaire and somehow still mess it up.

After taking full advantage of the rope break count, Jiles transitions smoothly into a picture perfect knee clip, dropping all of his weight directly onto Don’s vulnerable left knee. The champion lets out a grunt of pain but manages to roll away before the challenger can follow up. The Human Cockroach stalks after him, clearly smelling blood in the water.

Don makes it to his feet, visibly favoring the left leg, and meets Jiles’ charge with a thunderous lariat that drops both men to the canvas. The champion is slower to get up than usual, the damage to his knee evident in his movements. Still, his fighting spirit shows as he manages to catch the rising Jiles with a classic sleeper hold, synching it in tight as the challenger thrashes.

Just when it seems Jiles might be fading, he drives his elbow back repeatedly into Winters’ injured knee, forcing the champion to release the hold. The Greek God of Cool immediately capitalizes with a shin kick to the damaged joint.

Richard Parker: It hurts me to say this, Nick, but Jiles might actually have a strategy here. A terrible, cowardly strategy that makes me want to throw up in my mouth, but a strategy nonetheless.

Nick Stuart: You can see how it’s affecting Don’s offense too. That sleeper hold is usually a turning point for him, but the knee injury forced him to let it go before he could really wear Jiles down.

Richard Parker: Jiles isn’t just targeting the knee anymore – he’s made Don’s entire left side a liability. I hate that I’m analyzing his work right now. I feel dirty. I need a shower.

Nick Stuart: Well, you might want to hold off on that shower because Don Winters is pushing himself back up, and despite that damaged knee, there’s that look in his eyes that we’ve seen before!

Father Don rises with a determined expression, channeling his fighting spirit despite the visible limp. When Jiles charges in for another knee clip, Winters catches him with a sudden vertical suplex, using his good leg to maintain his base. Not letting the momentum slip away, Don follows up with a series of knife-edge chops that back the Human Cockroach into the corner.

The champion grabs Jiles by the arm and whips him across the ring, but the sudden pivot on his left leg causes him to stumble. The Greek God of Cool seizes the opportunity, rebounding off the ropes with his Terminal Cancer superkick aimed directly at Don’s head. However, Winters ducks at the last second, causing Jiles to hit nothing but air! As the challenger spins around from the momentum, Don catches him with The Gospel – his running high knee strike delivered with his good leg!

Both men crash to the canvas, Don clutching his left knee while Jiles lies motionless in the center of the ring.

Nick Stuart: THE GOSPEL CONNECTS! But at what cost to the champion’s injured knee? Don had to put everything he had into driving that right knee home!

Richard Parker: As much as it pains me to analyze anything Jiles does without vomiting – and I mean that literally, Nick, I’m fighting back bile – watching him force Don to use his good leg for The Gospel might be the first legitimate wrestling strategy I’ve ever seen from him. It’s like watching a circus monkey accidentally solve a Rubik’s cube.

Nick Stuart: The question now becomes: can either man capitalize? Don Winters is down clutching that left knee, and Cancer Jiles might be out cold in the middle of the ring!

Richard Parker: Oh please, Nick. The only thing more fake than Jiles being “out cold” is his self-proclaimed nickname of “Greek God of Cool.” I’ve seen better acting in my nephew’s third-grade production of Charlotte’s Web. The real question is whether Don’s knee gives out before Captain T-Shades over there remembers which way is up.

Ashley Barlow begins checking on both competitors as they slowly stir. Don Winters is the first to move, rolling to his stomach and using the ropes to pull himself up, still heavily favoring his left leg. As the champion steadies himself, Jiles suddenly springs to life – proving Richard’s skepticism correct – and launches himself at Don’s injured knee with another shin kick!

The attack causes Winters’ leg to buckle, but he manages to catch Jiles with a desperation double underhook DDT before he can press the advantage. Both men are down again, but this time Don forces himself up first, pushing through the pain. He limps over to the prone Jiles and signals for Absolution – his crucifix powerbomb finisher.

The champion hoists Jiles up despite his unstable base, but as he tries to transition into the powerbomb position, his left knee gives out! Jiles slips behind Don and immediately goes for a rollup, grabbing a handful of tights!

Nick Stuart: BARLOW DOESN’T SEE THE HANDFUL OF TIGHTS! THIS COULD BE IT!

ONE!

TWO!

Richard Parker: Don’t make me root for Don Winters, Jiles, I swear to-

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: THE CHAMPION POWERS OUT! Even with the tights grab, even with the damaged knee, Don Winters refuses to let Jiles steal the Five-Star Championship!

Richard Parker: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank god. If Jiles had won the title with that pathetic excuse for a rollup, I would’ve had to turn in my broadcasting license out of sheer embarrassment.

A furious Cancer Jiles immediately protests to Barlow, claiming it was a three count. While he’s distracted with his theatrics, Don Winters uses the ropes to pull himself back up, gritting his teeth through the pain in his knee. Cancer turns around directly into a massive lariat that spins him inside out!

Drawing from his deepest reserves, the champion limps over to the corner and begins ascending to the second rope – a rare sight for the technically-minded wrestler. Winters waits for Jiles to stagger to his feet before launching himself off with a diving knee drop, but the Greek God of Cool rolls out of the way at the last second! Don crashes hard onto his already-damaged knee, crying out in agony.

Jiles pounces immediately, grabbing the champion’s leg and wrenching it around the bottom rope again. Barlow begins her count, but this time the Human Cockroach doesn’t release at four – instead yanking back even harder as the official reaches five!

Nick Stuart: Cancer Jiles with yet another despicable attack on that injured knee! He finally releases at Barlow’s five count, but the damage may already be done!

Richard Parker: Say what you want about his methods – and believe me, I have PLENTY to say about them – but Jiles has systematically destroyed Don’s base through this entire match. It’s like watching a termite infestation, except the termite is wearing T-Shades and has worse fashion sense.

Nick Stuart: Don Winters has overcome adversity before, but you have to wonder how much more punishment that knee can take. The champion is clearly in tremendous pain!

Richard Parker: I never thought I’d say this, but Jiles might actually have a legitimate path to victory here. I feel like I need to gargle with bleach after saying that out loud.

After finally releasing the hold, Jiles drags Don away from the ropes and sets up for his Terminal Cancer superkick. The Greek God of Cool measures his target as Winters struggles to stand on his one good leg, but just as he launches the kick, Don catches his foot! With a surge of adrenaline, the champion uses his grip on Jiles’ leg to pull him into a sudden Fisherman’s Suplex!

Both men are down, but Don’s fighting spirit takes over. He forces himself up, ignoring the shooting pain in his left knee, and lifts the dazed Jiles onto his shoulders. Cancer desperately throws elbows to the side of Winters’ head, but the champion refuses to let go. With a mighty roar, Don pushes through the pain and hoists Jiles up into position for Absolution!

The challenger flails wildly, trying to escape, but Father Don plants his good leg and rotates for the crucifix powerbomb. Just as he begins the downward motion…

Richard Parker: Oh god, THERE’S THE POISON MIST! Right as Don was starting to drop for Absolution!

Nick Stuart: The Coolympian Yoljk! Cancer Jiles just sprayed that yellow mist directly in Don Winters’ face! The champion is blinded!

Richard Parker: And there’s the Terminal Cancer! The superkick connects flush as Don staggers blind! Both men are down!

Nick Stuart: Jiles crawling into the cover! This could be it!

ONE!

TWO!

THR- NO! DON WINTERS GETS THE SHOULDER UP!

Richard Parker: HOW?! Even I thought that was it! Between the knee, the mist, and the superkick – that should have been academic! What is wrong with you, Jiles?!

Jiles pounds the mat in frustration before climbing to his feet, arguing with Ashley about the count again. Behind him, Don Winters begins to stir, using his good leg to push himself up despite still being partially blinded by the mist. The Human Cockroach turns around just in time to eat a massive knife edge chop that echoes through the stadium!

That fighting spirit that has defined Don’s career takes over as he delivers three more thunderous chops, each one backing Jiles further into the corner. When the challenger tries to slide out, Don catches him with a capture suplex that plants him in the center of the ring! The crowd erupts as the champion, running purely on instinct and adrenaline, follows up by catching Jiles in a waist lock and delivering a release German suplex!

Still unable to fully see but sensing his opportunity, Don forces himself to his feet and signals for The Gospel. The crowd rises in anticipation as Jiles groggily stumbles up…

Nick Stuart: The heart of a champion on display! Even partially blinded, even with that damaged knee, Don Winters refuses to stay down!

Richard Parker: I hate to admit it, but those chops were like a reset button! The pain in his knee, the mist in his eyes – none of it matters when Don Winters finds that second wind!

Nick Stuart: We’ve seen this before from the Five-Star Champion – that moment when pure determination takes over! And now he’s setting up for The Gospel!

Richard Parker: Jiles better get his bearings quick or he’s about to eat a knee that’s going to knock those ridiculous T-Shades right off his merch table! And for once, I actually want to see it happen!

As Jiles turns, Don charges forward with The Gospel, but the Human Cockroach manages to duck at the last second! The challenger spins around looking for Terminal Cancer once more, but Winters catches the leg and transitions smoothly into a dragon screw that sends Jiles rolling to the center of the ring!

Fighting through the searing pain in his knee, Don catches the rising Jiles with a massive Piousdriver that spikes him into the canvas! The crowd erupts as both men lay motionless for a moment before the champion begins stirring. Don slowly pulls himself up using the ropes, his vision finally starting to clear from the earlier mist attack.

With one final surge of adrenaline, Father Don lifts the dazed Jiles onto his shoulders. This time, when he hoists him up for Absolution, there’s no escape! The crucifix powerbomb drives Jiles into the mat with devastating force! Don collapses into the cover!

ONE!

Richard Parker: ABSOLUTION CONNECTS! Not even the Human Cockroach can survive- OH NO HE GOT THE FOOT ON THE ROPE! How?! HOW?! It’s like trying to kill a cockroach with a nuclear bomb and watching it scurry away!

Nick Stuart: The referee catches it at the last millisecond! Cancer Jiles somehow managing to get his foot on the bottom rope just before the three count! And look at Don Winters – he can barely stand on that left leg after driving all his remaining energy into the Absolution!

Richard Parker: I’m going to be sick, Nick. Not because Jiles survived – though that’s nauseating enough – but because I actually find myself WANTING Don Winters to put him away! This match has broken me. I need therapy after this.

Nick Stuart: The Five-Star Champion trying to gather himself for one final surge, but that knee may be completely shot after the impact of delivering his finishing move!

The champion slams his fist into the mat, frustrated at his own oversight in not dragging Jiles further from the ropes. Don pulls himself up and yanks Jiles to his feet by the hair, drawing a warning from Ashley Barlow. Winters ignores her, whipping Jiles into the corner with such force that the challenger crumples to the ground.

Father Don follows up with a series of closed fists to Jiles’ head – completely out of character for the typically honorable champion. As Barlow tries to separate them, admonishing Winters for the illegal strikes, the champion shoves her aside to continue the assault. Barlow immediately moves to check on the downed Jiles, who’s playing up the punishment.

That’s when it happens – two figures slip over the guardrail through the crowd. Hessian and Tony Gamble rush to the ring apron, each grabbing one of Don’s legs and yanking him off his feet! The champion’s head bounces off the canvas as his bad knee twists awkwardly on impact.

Nick Stuart: WHAT THE- It’s Hessian and Tony Gamble! Two members of his eGG Bandits are here and changing the direction of this match. They’ve just taken out Don Winters’ legs while Barlow was checking on Jiles!

Richard Parker: And of COURSE Cancer Jiles is suddenly looking mighty spry for someone who was just “injured!” The Human Cockroach had this planned the whole time! I should’ve known something was fishy when he started actually wrestling earlier!

Nick Stuart: Ashley Barlow completely missed the interference! And now look at Jiles stalking the champion – Don is struggling just to get back to his feet after that ambush!

Richard Parker: You know what the worst part is, Nick? Jiles is going to act like he orchestrated this whole thing. But I’ve known that cockroach long enough to know he just got lucky his fellow scumbags showed up at the right moment. It’s like failing upwards, but with more T-Shades!

Seizing the moment, Cancer Jiles springs into action as Don tries to push himself up. The Greek God of Cool delivers a series of vicious stomps to the already-damaged left knee, causing the champion to cry out in agony. Ashley Barlow, having missed the earlier interference, can only watch as Jiles systematically breaks down his opponent.

Jiles drags Winters to his feet, positioning him in the center of the ring. With a theatrical flourish, Jiles points at his boot and then at Winters’ jaw, setting him up for Terminal Cancer. Don wobbles on his one good leg, barely able to stay upright after the assault from the Hall of Famer.

Jiles launches forward with the superkick, but somehow Don manages to duck it! The challenger spins around… right into The Gospel! Both men crash to the canvas as Hessian and Gamble leap onto the apron, drawing Ashley Barlow’s attention away from the ring as Winters drapes an arm across Jiles chest!

Richard Parker: HOW IS DON WINTERS STILL HITTING THE GOSPEL?! This is like watching a three-legged horse win the Kentucky Derby! It shouldn’t be possible!

Nick Stuart: The heart of a champion on display! But Ashley Barlow is distracted by Hessian and Gamble! She’s missing the action in the ring! Winters has his arm draped across Jiles and she should be counting!

Richard Parker: And there’s Jiles’ buddies doing what Jiles’ buddies do best – making a nuisance of themselves! Though I have to admit, Nick, they’re probably better at it than he is!

Nick Stuart: Both men are down in the center of the ring! The champion somehow hit The Gospel despite that damaged knee, but there’s no referee to make the count! Don Winters trying desperately to crawl toward a cover while Barlow deals with the Hall of Fame Heat!

Don Winters abandons any thought of getting the pinfall on Jiles, instead using the ropes to pull himself up and hobbling toward Hessian and Gamble. The champion throws wild right hands at both men, catching them off guard and sending them tumbling off the apron. His fighting spirit takes over as he continues to swing at them through the ropes, forcing both members of the eGG Bandits to backpedal.

Ashley Barlow has seen enough, ordering both men to the back and following them partway up the ramp to ensure they leave. As she does, a blur of movement catches the corner of Don’s eye – but it’s too late. Vickie Hall has slid into the ring behind him, and before the champion can turn fully around, she sprays a stream of yellow mist directly into his face!

The crowd erupts in outrage as Don staggers blindly, pawing at his eyes. Vickie quickly rolls out of the ring while Cancer Jiles, who has recovered from The Gospel, rises to his feet with a sinister grin spreading across his face.

Nick Stuart: VICKIE HALL?! Where did she come from?! She just sprayed that yellow mist in Don Winters’ face! The same Coolympian Yoljk that Jiles used earlier! This was a setup from the beginning!

Richard Parker: I hate that I’m actually angry about this, Nick! Jiles couldn’t even come up with his own cheating strategy – he had to copy and paste it from earlier in the match! AND he needed half of PRIME’s roster to help him do it! I’m thinking of OJ’ing Vickie right here and now!

Nick Stuart: Don Winters is completely blinded for the second time tonight! And look at Cancer Jiles measuring him up – this could be the end of Don’s reign as Five-Star Champion!

Richard Parker: If Jiles wins the title like this, I swear I’m going to throw my headset at him! And for once it won’t be because of those ridiculous T-Shades!

As the champion stumbles around blindly, Cancer Jiles takes a moment to slide out of the ring and plant a theatrical kiss on Vickie Hall. The Human Cockroach then rolls back in, circling Don like a shark while taunting him. “Hey champ, over here!” he calls out, dancing around the blinded Winters. Father Don swings wildly, missing by a mile as Jiles continues his psychological warfare.

“Or maybe I’m over here?” Jiles taunts from another direction, causing Don to swing again and nearly lose his balance on his damaged knee. The Greek God of Cool soaks in the hostile reaction from the crowd, adjusting imaginary T-Shades before positioning himself.

As Don turns toward the sound of Jiles’ voice one final time, the challenger springs forward. Terminal Cancer connects flush to Winters’ jaw! The champion crumples to the canvas as Jiles drops into a cover, hooking both legs. Ashley Barlow slides into position.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: No! NO! NO! I refuse to acknowledge this.

Nick Stuart: Winters clutching at his jaw — Jiles may have broken it with that superkick.

Richard Parker: I wish I could break Cancer’s face. That’s what I wish would happen.

Jiles makes his way to his feet, cocky smile on his face in the process, as Hessian and Gamble enter the ring with Vickie, celebrating Jiles’ victory.

Vince Howard: Your winner… and NEW! FIVE STAR CHAMPION!

Richard Parker: Ugh.

Vince Howard: CANCER! JILES!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Hessian hoists Cancer onto his shoulders while Ashley collects the Five-Star Championship.

Nick Stuart: The reign is over and this is a way to start 2025 off!

Richard Parker: The worst way, actually.

Before Ashley can hand it to Cancer though, Vickie takes the title and hoists it into the air.

Richard Parker: The Manager of the Year and the Five Star Champion?! These two are going to be insufferable.

Nick Stuart: When are they not?

Vickie struts around the ring while Hessian carries Jiles around on his shoulders, Tony keeps awkardly reaching up and patting Jiles on the leg because that’s all the higher he can reach, and Bobby Dean has snorted four times during his nap during just this celebration. He might even wake up. Barlow is in the corner checking on Don Winters who finally begins moving and is rolling around on the canvas kicking his feet.

Richard Parker: Fair enough.

The boo’s in the stadium are deafening as Jiles points towards Winters and directs his Hessian steed and Vickie back in Don’s general direction. Jiles begins to laugh and the crowd goes absolutely ballistic. Garbage begins getting pelted into the ring, The Greek God of COOL and his queen the crumbs they are, manage to slip by each and every drink. Hessian, his sheer size and proximity to Cancer isn’t as lucky. But Hessian keeps Jiles hoisted. Barlow begins waiving for the medical staff to come down.

Great start to 2025, eh?

FADE.

TO.

DAGGERS BY WE CAME AS ROMANS.

“Daggers” by We Came as Romans blares across the PA system and Hayes Hanlon comes bursting through the curtain.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: Finally someone is stopping this.

Richard Parker: It’s Cancer Jiles’ worst nightmare! YES!

Hayes barrels into the ring as The Bandits choose to take their triumphant leave. Vickie has some words for Hayes on the way out, but Hanlon cradles Don Winters as “I am the Cool” starts blaring again. Jiles and the present company make their exit slowly up the ramp, a convoy of COOL if you will.

Nick Stuart: Who knows what the Bandits would have done if Hayes Hanlon hadn’t made his way out there.

Richard Parker: They probably would have just stood there and acted pretty shitty, but with that scumbag Jiles you never know.

Nick Stuart: Hayes is helping the longest reigning Five Star Champion, ever to his feet.

Hanlon helps Don up, Winters’ arm is draped over Hanlon’s shoulder, but Hayes is holding Don’s far arm up in the air and points to the back. “Movin’ on Up” by Primal Scream begins to play and the fans give a standing ovation to Don “The Revelator” Winters. Winters’ jaw is hanging uncomfortably to one side, and Hanlon helps him over to the ropes.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Richard Parker: Look at Hayes, out here helping out, see he’s not a ba…

Nick Stuart: NO!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

As Don bends down and tries to take a step through the ropes, Hayes jumps up and crashes him down to the canvas with Flash Point! The garbage comes pouring into the ring, Cecilworth Farthington and FLAMBERGE sprint down to the ring past the Bandits who have turned around, very confused. Cecilworth and FLAMBO slide into the ring.

Richard Parker: Talk sense into him Cecilworth!

Hayes is basking in the boos, when he turns around and comes eyes to eye with Farthington and FLAMBERGE. The three share some words, Hayes looks down slightly dejected.

Nick Stuart: May— NO HE’S NOT RICHARD!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Farthington and FLAMBERGE immediately start putting the boots to Winters. The hall of fame PRIME security sprint to the ring, Enemigos everywhere, Dame grabs Winters and yanks him from the ring and into the arms of medical personel. Coral Avalon is out from the back and has at least Hessian marching back towards the ring with him towards Winters and the medical staff.

Nick Stuart: Enemigos, Dame, and the Universal Champion. Thank god.

Richard Parker: uhhh….

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Coral makes his way to Winters and the glue boys are waiving Coral on up into the ring. Farthington in the middle, FLAMBERGE and Hanlon flank him on either side. Coral looks up at The Financier, who finally smirks and makes a title belt around the waist gesture. Avalon is shocked as the medical team take Winters up the side of the ramp to the back, leaving himself, Hessian, Jiles, and Gamble on the ramp. He turns and stares a hole through Farthington. “The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir begins blaring.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: What the hell is going on here!

Richard Parker: I have no idea… I have no idea…

Ivan and the Red Army step out onto the stage. Stanislav in the front, flanked by Kael, Rose, Freeman, Randall, and Ruslan. Ivan points at Farthington and is shaking his head no and starts pointing towards Coral bellowing into the camera “HE’S MINE!” Vickie Hall is still obnoxiously carrying the Five Star Championship around, and that’s where we.

FADE.

TO.

BLACK.