ReVival 65

PRIME returns to the Western Hemisphere after an extremely eventful tour through Australia and Japan. Culture Shock saw the crowning of four new champions and a new Crumbhunter (Mancrumb? Macrumbter?)

2025 has been all gas and no brakes…but before we accelerate through tonight’s edition of ReVival, SIGNS!

CARDIAC CANCER
I HOPE FELIX MULLEN DIDN’T GET EATEN BY THAT TIGER

SHE’LL GET SICK
THE MANHUNT MAY BE OVER BUT CANCER JILES IS STILL THE FUCKHEAD
I WOULD LIKE TO START A LOCAL JOLF LEAGUE, I HATE MY COMMUNITY
AS AN APOLOGY FOR THE [GESTURES VAGUELY AT AMERICAN GOVERNMENT], WE OFFER YOU FINE CANADIANS THIS QUALITY AMERICAN-MADE WRESTLING PRODUCT
THE COLD OPEN WILL RUN LONG I KNOW IT.
FARTHINGTON, FLAMBERGE, FONTAINE…SORRY, HAYES HANLON HAS TO GO
FAYES FANLON
COME BACK TO US, SID FILLIPS
KRAKEN > JELLYFISH
BEN LANCH FOR CHANP
GOT MILK?
MANHUNT? MORE LIKE SCOTTHUNT (BECAUSE OF SCOTT HUNTER, THE RIGHTFUL WINNER)
FALL VAE VICTIM TO SCOTT’S MANHUNTER
CECILWORTH d. ROLLERCOASTER by submission (0:38, arm? bar)
CALL GARY (GARTHOLOMEW) FOR THE BEST TIPS IN CALGARY
LET ANNA DANIELS HAVE A KNIFE. AS A TREAT.

ReVival 65 begins in a simple and humble manner – the ring is shrouded in darkness as we hear the murmurs of a Calgary crowd who are about to settle into their seats for a hot hot night of PRIME action that will be a full beauty for their eyes to behold. With things still dark at ringside and the surrounding, the first thing we hear is the voice of Nick Stuart.

Nick Stuart: Welcome fans to ReVival 65! We had two absolutely wild nights in the Tokyo Dome that I think will be hard to forget…

Richard Parker: I’m still in counselling over the Manhunt result.

Nick Stuart: I’m Nick Stuart, and the voice you heard wallowing in the misery of a Cancer Jiles victory is Richard Parker and we have one hell of a main event for you this evening…

The hype job for the night ahead by Stuart is cut abruptly up as suddenly the ring is basked in bright white light and it becomes very apparent why everything was in the dark until a few seconds ago. Standing in the ring are…

Cardsworth.

Hayesboard.

CardJoe.

FLAMBoard.

Yes, the two dimensional Glueminati stand proudly in the ring, and these aren’t your mother’s boards, no, no… these ones have been upgraded to reflect the results on Culture Shock Night 1. Each paper Gluite has their new championship gold on display – CardJoe and FLAMBoard with the Tag Titles, Hayesboard with the Intense, and of course the Cardworth is proudly displaying his newly won Universal Championship around his waist.

Nick Stuart: You know, given everything that happened in Tokyo, I am not surprised to be beholding what I am beholding right now…

Richard Parker: It’s beautiful Nick! The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen! Gods are weeping at the image in the ring right now and I’m electing to pretend Night 2 never happened so I can let this moment properly sink in.

A range of spotlights dance across the ring, basking our Gluey pals in a warm glow as a mildly confused Saddledome both cheer and jeer a bunch of paper that stands in the ring. Thankfully this moment of awkwardness doesn’t last too long as a song cues up on the Saddledome’s speaker system. A tender piano ushers into the beautiful voice of…

Carly Simon?

Nobody does it better
Makes me feel sad for the rest.
Nobody does it half as good as you…

BABY YOU’RE THE BEST

At the top of the entrance way, a single spotlight shines upon the centre as “Nobody Does It Better” brings our PRIME’s new Universal Champion – Cecilworth Farthington.

Nick Stuart: Of course, of course this is how we start the show in the Glue era. I don’t know why I expected anything different.

Richard Parker: BE QUIET NICK! I’M TRYING TO LET THIS EMOTIONAL MOMENT SINK IN.

Farthington basks in the spotlight because he knows wrestlers who use subtext and they’re all cowards. The Calgary crowd erupts, but erupts in a curious way where it’s sort of a wall of noise of both cheers and boos, maybe in a ratio of 52% to 48% in favour of Farthington. As the camera pans down to Cecilworth’s waist, we see the Universal Championship buffed and polished for this very moment.

Nobody does it better
Though sometimes I wish someone did
Nobody does it quite the way you do

WHY D’YA HAVE TO BE SO GOOD?

The champion sways his way down to the ring with the voice of Carly to guide him, reminding him of just how rather good he is.

Nick Stuart: Do you think he’s been sitting on this for two years?

Richard Parker: That implies a degree of calculation from Cecilworth that I’m not sure that even I can go along with.

The fans at ringside are clearly part of the 52% of Farthington fans, reaching out to touch the new champion with a gentle graze as he slowly makes his way to the ring and enters it. As soon as Farthington pivots into the ring, he immediately hugs each of the cardboard doppelgangers one by one before giving a cheeky kiss to the cheek of his own one.

Richard Parker: Is it incest if it’s the cardboard version of yourself?

Nick Stuart: RICHARD!

With a microphone in hand, Cecilworth signals to cut off the hauntingly beautiful voice of Ms. Simon, placing himself dead centre in the middle of his cardy compatriots. Cecilworth takes a moment to let the raucous nature of the crowd sink in, his head spinning in all directions of the Saddledome. Satisfied at his inspection of his new subjects, he speaks his first words as Universal Champion.

Cecilworth Farthington: For Coral!

The self-satisfied smirk as he pats the Universal Championship says it all.

Cecilworth Farthington: And for Glue!

Cecilworth looks up and down at all the Golden Gluites.

Cecilworth Farthington: Night 1 of Culture Shock was a truly wonderful moment, an era defining moment, a turning point in the industry of PRIME… nay… of professional wrestling itself. Now I could stand here like some American Bears I know and self-aggrandise, subjugating my Soap Opera Slop pals to another interminable rant about my greatness. I could try and propagate my superiority like an insecure little mouse but let’s be honest, the results speak for themselves, do they not? No, this is a new era, this is a different PRIME, this is a PRIME where we recognise the efforts and contributions of all. I didn’t become Universal Champion on my own, because I had people watching my back. I had people see what the Cancer Jiles and JCHs of the world had pulled with me and I saw people choose justice. GIVE IT UP FOR JUSTICE!

Cecilworth drops the mic for a few seconds, jolf clapping into it as he yells “YEAH, JUSTICE!”, saluting the Cardminati as he does so.

Cecilworth Farthington: Tonight’s a night of gratitude. A night where I thank FLAMBERGE for slicing up the pineapple as if someone was about to place it on disgusting pizza (another 52/48 crowd reaction), a night where I thank Hayes Hanlon for proving that not every Rose has its thorn, a night where I thank Joe Fontaine for swinging for the moon and hitting the stars… well actually it was Ivan who was seeing stars… not the point. The point is… boys, I would like to request your company so this Calgary crowd can see what true heartfelt gratitude means.

As if on immediate command, like the whole thing was pre-planned by four lads backstage earlier in the day, “Razzmatazz” by I DON’T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME tastefully blasts out.

🎵
WAIT
DON’T HOLD YOUR BREATH FOR GOODNESS’ SAKE
NOBODY’S HOME
🎵

Where do we even start? How can we ever start? Well, let’s begin with Joe Fontaine, because Mr. Fontaine draws the attention. It’s kind of what he does. What we have here is a man in a bedazzled green suit, the kind that gets tailored and sewn in exotic green, and then someone says to someone else “You know what would be better? All of the sparkles. Forever.” So, naturally, it’s a man carrying a big gold belt who decided that the big gold belt wasn’t gaudy enough.

He also has a party hat on, and at least two party blowers in his mouth. Because of course he does. On the bright side, he hasn’t had the manbun since coming back from death, so there’s that I guess.

Just as the fans in attendance are able to readjust their pupils after being blinded by the sheer shimmer wattage of Joe’s jacket, another incredible getup worn by another incredible man appears. It’s a shining copper coat, a gleaming metallic orange, with more buttons and zippers and patches of bonus fabric than would strictly be “necessary”, but it must be said, it’s all very European. As are his tight teal lizard-scale pants, bright and un-creased white Jordan Retro 1’s, and oversized yellow plastic sunglasses. The Lizard King, FLAMBERGE, sidles next to Fontaine and holds his own matching big gold belt over his shoulder.

He’s honestly like half a step away from cosplaying a Charizard at this point. Joe offers him one of the used party blowers, but FLAMBO opts out.

And of course, you know it needs to get a little louder before anyone quiets down.

“WHEN MY BACK’S TO THE WAALLLLLL!!!”

I!!

WILL!!

CON!!

QUER!!

Home Run Hayes bursts onto the ramp with a mighty baseball swing of the 6 iron jolf club, “AVALON” still scrawled across in sharpie. The newly crowned Intense Champion is all smiles behind that ‘stache, regardless of the crowd’s reaction.

Nick Stuart: Love him or hate him, the victory over Jason Snow was an enormous shift in tone for the Event Horizon, and it’s written all over his face.

Richard Parker: It was THE shift, Nick! The kid’s had it all along! He just needed Lindsay Troy to wake up and give him another shot!

Hayes points to his boys in the ring with the 6 iron, grinning wide as strolls down the ramp, and soon, he joins them with open arms, taking a moment to pose next to Hayesboard. Cecil shakes all their hands, and the whole thing is just very nice and sweet. And classy. Very, very, classy. Even Richard Parker stands from his set to snap a few pictures of the lovely display of sportsmanship. However, when the UNIVERSAL Champion raises the microphone to his mouth to publicly express his adoration, well, he doesn’t get the chance. Instead, he gets the opening guitar riff of “I am the COOL” and Screamin’ Jay Hawkins hitting those notes. You can see a distraught Cecilworth mutter “but I had gifts” under his breath.

Nick Stuart: You knew this was coming. Just a matter of when.

Richard Parker: The nerve of this classless crumb! How dare he! These are sportsmen! They don’t deserve such treatment!

Not long after, the Bandits start to trickle out from the back… Tony, Hessian, Fuse, Vickie and her 5-Star designer belt, Jiles…… and then eventually Bobby. They all gather at the top of the ramp like a pack of rats, and make no mistake about the ratio; it is 100 percent boo.

BOOOO!!!!

Most of the gang is decked out in electric-blue. Jiles, though, while his bottom half is EB tracker, his top half is sporting a new vest he had tailored out of the blazer Coral gave him. It’s very hunter-like, and would be a hit around Halloween.

If you weren’t an actual manhunter.

Anyway, with all the parts now moving, let’s put the picture together.

Cancer Jiles: Cut the music.

Rude or not, whoever is in the back does indeed do so, and Screamin’ Jay will just have to finish his serenade during the MAIN EVENT.

Cancer Jiles: Ya know, as much as I hate to admit it, you’re right Cecil. You are. It’s impressive what you guys accomplished. There’s so much gold down there it makes wearing sunglasses indoors look like a good idea.

There’s confusion coming from the crowd.

Even Nick and Dick have their heads cocked.

Cancer Jiles: That said, friend of mine, well I guess it’s more like friends of mine, I want to take this moment to congratulate all of you on a job well done. You guys did it. You really did. Go on. Take a victory lap, or a trot around the bases. You deserve it. A monster slain, and… whoever the rest of you beat to become Champions. Bravo, boys. Bravo.

More confusion.

Cancer Jiles: I mean, I know what these guys up here did for me when it mattered most…. on Night Two in the biggest match of the year, and how proud it makes me feel.

Even Fuse gets a hearty thumbs up before Cancer returns his attention to the ring.

Cancer Jiles: This rotten lot means the world to me. They really do.

Captain Manhunter smiles. It’s no ordinary smile, either. No, it’s the kind of smile you make just after you’ve placed the bait on the hook and are about to cast out into the lake to catch that first fish of the year.

Cancer Jiles: So I could only imagine with all that gold now, just how proud he is of all of you.

A pause. King Crumb is about to set off a five alarm fire, and not even all the condescension in the world is going to stop him.

Cancer Jiles: Your humbled proprietor that is.

Ha.

The Valkyrie of the Bandits holds the 5-Star Championship high in the sky for all to see as if it’s according to plan. It helps her cause when Hessian grabs her by the waist and hoists her up another ten feet to match where Cancer’s perceived ego is.

Cancer Jiles: From one Champion to another, for Phil.

And there go the gloves. FLAMBERGE’s eyes go too wide, but Joe puts a hand on his shoulder. This is not the time for this fight. Still, the line from Jiles did splash damage, and we don’t see the Frenchman blink again.

Cancer Jiles: Oh, and let me guess, they don’t make wheelchair cardboard cutouts?

Like he doesn’t know.

Vickie erupts with a volcanic cackle and it’s almost louder than everyone booing.

Almost.

BOOOOOO!!!!!

But a hearty laugh from the ring does steal the attention.

Hayes is doubled over, slapping his thigh, eyes closed on the verge of hollering. None of which is appreciated by the crew on the ramp. The Comeback Kid gestures for the mic from Farthington, taking it in hand.

Hayes Hanlon: (laughing) Man, you really think you did something, don’t you?

Hanlon takes a moment, settling himself.

Hayes Hanlon: Congrats, though! Big win, buddy! Be proud, Jiles! You outscored all the Glue Boys at Manhunt! But man, it’s a shame.

Hanlon’s tone shifts, and he paces across the mat.

Hayes Hanlon: A shame, that all of us, were too busy crushing legends, and beating Time Lords, and slaying GIANTS, to win alllll this gold on Night One!

He points to the cardboard versions of the Glueminati in earnest, as they all hold the four championship belts around their cardboard waists. Cecilworth looks behind the cardboard, clearly checking that nothing has happened to the precious gifts, not wanting to interrupt his good friend Hayes as he cooks.

Hayes Hanlon: But hey, you got us at Manhunt, man!

Hessian drops Vickie back off on planet Earth and starts to make a move towards the ring, ready to tear a throat like a telephone book. Jiles hastily calls his dog of war back by telling him not to worry, that the boy is simply confused with all these men around, and that he wouldn’t be talking like that if the match were called Prepubescenthunt.

Ha.

Hayes Hanlon: When we were beat to absolute shit, winning. It. All; you beat us, beaten and broken and champions, alongside a bunch of B-Listers to win a shot at the Big Belt. What a hero!

Hayes pans the crowd, snickering behind that dark mustache, before pointing back to the kInG oF CoOl.

Hayes Hanlon: And I’ll bet you feel like one, man. Who could blame you? I mean, you gotta feel good when you can just barely beat the Anglo freakin’ Luchador –

Voice: Funny you say that, cuz your financier didn’t beat me.

Cecilworth mutters “did we all just forget the Almasy?” but the microphone picks it up nonetheless

Richard Parker: Oh no.

Spotlight.

Not on a luxury box.

They might have been fit for a King, however crownless he was until around late 2024, but not for heroes.

Even heroes that belong to, well, nobody.

Crash Jackson,  munching a hot dog while leaning on the railing.

Sebastian Gold, looking out at the ring, doing calculations in his head to see how far he’d have to run down the arena steps before he could clear the barrier and do a perfect tuck and roll on the mats before springing and sliding into the ring.

And in the middle of them, in the foyer to the concession area around mezzanine level, the runner-up to the Manhunt.

TAL: In fact, I’m on record as having put his shoulders on the damn ground.

RRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Richard Parker: Nobody likes a braggart!

Nick Stuart: The city of Calgary seems to, Rich.

Richard Parker: Of course they do, they also like rodeos and giving birth to ugly children.

TAL: Honestly, Hayes, I’m not shocked that you’re in denial that you’re following in my footsteps just to try and kick dirt all over them. I’m just disappointed that you went out and chased the title that I brought back with a vengeance and then puffed your chest out over beating the guy I got to first.

Hayes is grinning big, sneering and laughing. He slaps Joe on the shoulder, thumbing in TAL’s direction, mouthing “getaloadathisguy” or something.

TAL: In fact, I’m gonna offer my preemptive congratulations for your win on the next tag team round robin thing we do here, and I hope your involuntary partner doesn’t leave you high and dry.

FLAMBO turns to Joe, eyes still wide from the Jiles line, and mutters something about “does he not know what the glue bottles meant?”

Richard Parker: Need I remind everyone Hayes Hanlon won two titles that this clown will never sniff before all this.

Nick Stuart: My broadcast partner, a bastion of the truth, ladies and gentlemen.

TAL: But I’m not here for you, party boy. It’s the kingpins I need to address.

Richard Parker: You know what they say about coming for the king, Nick.

TAL: Now, I’m not gonna run either of you two down because hey, you two had the best weekend out of any of us in Tokyo. Cece, you beat Ivan Stanislav at Culture Shock. Can we get a round of applause for the financier for taking down that lummox?

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

Everyone who isn’t cheering or a member of the Heroes looks really annoyed at present.

TAL: And Crumbo, you actually survived that car crash we all were in and won the right to await whoever the Universal Champion is at UltraViolence. No irony, no sarcasm, that takes a lot of guile and skill. Round of applause for King Bandit!

The cheers are a little less enthusiastic this time, mainly because there’s no mention of Ivan Stanislav as a counterweight. Funny how the Red Army makes even the worst of villains seem popular.

TAL: Lost in all that is that even though I, relatively speaking, had a rough weekend, given that Joe and his lizard have my old belts and I’m not on the challenger line for the Night 2 main event, overall, things weren’t so bad. How many people here held their breaths while I was on top of the leaderboard with seconds left on Manhunt?

RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

Richard Parker: I wasn’t. Let the record show I was not okay with him winning this!

Nick Stuart: Not even over Jiles?

Richard Parker: Look, the Eagles won the Super Bowl, okay? There should be a moratorium on good things that happen to the city of Philadelphia for AT LEAST five years now. Can we just strike this and give the Manhunt title to, I don’t know, Kerry Koalayama?

TAL: And even more curious, you know, I didn’t just get to the brink of victory feasting on cupcakes like Felix Mullen and Quinn Fleetwood. As I mentioned earlier, Cece, I pinned you.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Cancer Jiles: Okay, okay get to the point, Anglo Saxon.

Cecilworth Farthington: I’ve pinned him before, do people forget I’ve pinned him before?

FLAMBERGE points at TAL and holds up one finger; then to Crash, holding a second; then to wherever he imagines the gluefied remains of Zapp Scatino are, holding up three and four.

TAL: You don’t think the fact that both of you got one over on me before eats at my soul? Of course you don’t. But that’s okay, none of you asked so I’ll just keep moving along.

Richard Parker: I am in hell.

TAL: And since I was so nicely asked to get to the point by our resident Kenzo over here, I will. I’m saying no matter what the bottom line says, I belong in these conversations. And just because I got derailed from my mission that started around this time last year? It hasn’t changed.

The Luchador begins walking down the steps towards the front of the guard barrier, with Crash and Bash following behind him.

TAL: I’m still a wrestler, and for the first time in a really, really long time, I feel like the path is opened up for me to show everyone how wrestling, the pure art of it all, stacks up to whatever bullshit you two and your coteries have injected into it.

He reaches his destination and leans ever so slightly over.

TAL: So what do you say? I’m throwing the gauntlets down, gents. You wanna prove to the world that I ain’t worth the skidmarks in Bobby’s underoos over there that Hayes seemed to think I am? Or are you scared that the old fuck in the mask might run circles around you both?

RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

There is one little wrinkle as the Glueminati stare down the Bandits.

A man walks out from behind the cardboard cutouts inside of the ring. We’re not sure how anyone missed him, but this man has the swagger of someone that’s got a very important date later in the night. He doesn’t really stand with the Glue, but the Glue don’t seem to mind his presence, either.

Steve Harrison smirks and winks at Cancer Jiles.

Hayes looks over his shoulder, shoulders jumping, caught off guard as Harrison appears from behind the Cardboards. He looks around, confused, then peeks behind the cutouts. His eyes widen, and he looks to Cecilworth with surprise.

Hayes Hanlon: You got us gifts!!

The Glue Boiz excitedly look behind their cardboard cutouts. And that’s how this ends. Everyone appearing took all the time they were allotted for this episode of ReVival. Perhaps we’ll find out the contents of the gifts another time.

We cut away.

https://prime-wrestling.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/ReV65-Commercial.mp4

Vince Howard: This opening bout is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first…

ONE FINGER AND A FIST
I’LL CLAW MY WAY OUT OF ANY SITUATION
I GOT A ONE TWO PUNCH
I’LL FIGHT MY WAY OUT OF ANY CONFRONTATION

Vince Howard: Hailing from Frederick, Maryland! Weighing in at 223lbs, he is THE CHARM CITY CHAMPION…M. D. STOOOOOORM!!

The Calgary crowd pops as Drowning Pool’s “One Finger and a Fist” hits the PA and Storm emerges onto the stage with purpose, throwing up his trademark gesture. Fans all along the aisle and throughout the crowd raise a finger and a fist along with him, headbanging to the music and cheering. As he makes his way down the ramp he bumps fists with as many outstretched arms as he can without breaking stride.

Nick Stuart: MD Storm had quite a time of it at Night 2 of Culture Shock, being one of the unfortunate souls to find themselves at the mercy of the Red Army and the Pirates of the Dark Tuber in Korakuen Hall during the Manhunt match. He’s got an opportunity tonight to deliver some comeuppance however!

Richard Parker: I’m pretty sure the comeuppance is coming his way, partner. There’s gonna be consequences for hitting Ivan and Alexei with that Patriot Punch.

Storm rolls into the ring and pops up facing the fans on the hardcam side, leaning into the ropes as he throws his arms up once again and hollers “LET’S GO!” at the crowd. As they cheer back, Drowning Pool fades out.

Vince Howard: And his opponent!

The cheering quickly turns to boos as Micah Ray’s trap remix of the Soviet National Anthem blares throughout Scotiabank and two figures emerge onto the stage.

Vince Howard: Being accompanied by Randall Schwartz! Hailing from Los Angeles, California! Weighing in at 160lbs…he is one half of the MASTERS OF THE MOSCOWVERSE! KENNYYYYYYY FREEEEEEMAAAAAAN!!

As they make their way to the ring, Freeman raises a fist and cups the other next to it to represent the hammer and sickle. Schwartz copies the gesture while surveying the sold-out crowd and settling on MD Storm in the ring.

Nick Stuart: The Red Army will be looking for a modicum of revenge after MD Storm dished out multiple Patriot Punches at Culture Shock. One in particular that prevented Alexei Ruslan from breaking up a six-person dogpile on Ivan Stanislav that resulted in – get this – Kerry Kuroyama, Sebastian Gold, Crash Jackson, Blaze Claymore, RIA and Scott Hunter picking up three points each after simultaneously pinning the Russian Bear!

Richard Parker: You left out the part where Anna Daniels picked up three of the easiest points in the match by putting their feet up on Storm after Ivan had his way with him. But did Storm retaliate by going after Anna? Or taking the fight back to Ivan?? No! He assaulted Alexei Ruslan instead! A man who wasn’t even competing in the match! Alexei’s not a wrestler! Storm’s a coward!

As Randall takes his place at ringside, Freeman slides into the ring. Referee Jimmy Turnbull stands between both competitors with his arms outstretched to keep them at bay while he delivers his pre-match spiel. Storm’s gaze is locked on his opponent while Freeman bobs his head sarcastically in response to Turnbull’s patter. Before the referee can finish however, Freeman’s expression turns serious and he leaps forward, barreling past Turnbull and delivering rights and lefts to Storm!

Nick Stuart: Freeman’s not wasting any time!

Storm gets his arms up to defend from the blows as he staggers back into the ropes, firing back with well-timed counter punches as Turnbull dances around them and scolds Freeman. As the shots rain down, Storm blocks a right hand and returns with an uppercut, dazing Freeman and opening him up for a blistering knife edge chop that sends him reeling. Storm roars at Turnbull to ring the bell, and the referee obliges.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: And we’re officially underway.

Richard Parker: Can’t fault Kenny there, he’s defending the honor of the Red Army after all.

Nick Stuart: …Suuuure. One thing he’s not defending are those stiff shots from Storm!

Storm doesn’t let up on his offense, firing off another knife edge chop. As Freeman clutches his chest he catches a forearm to the chin, followed by another chop and another forearm as Storm sends him reeling into the ropes on the opposite side of the ring. The Charm City Champion takes Freeman by the arm and presses him into the ropes before whipping him back across the ring, but K-Free reverses halfway and follows up with a knee to the gut. He flashes a cheeky smile at the crowd and receives more boos for it as he hooks Storm’s arm around his neck and drags him back a few steps.

Nick Stuart: Freeman looking for a suplex…

But Storm braces his leg against Freeman’s to prevent himself being hoisted. Freeman tries again, but once more Storm blocks the move. With a grunt of frustration, Kenny releases his opponent and as Storm straightens he catches a slap to the jaw that causes him to pivot back to the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Ohhh! A slap to the face!

Richard Parker: A bitchslap for a bitch! That’s what happens when you assault a helpless manager!

Nick Stuart: Helpless??

Storm places a hand over his cheek, stunned by the disrespect. Behind him, Freeman nods enthusiastically towards Randall who nods approvingly. Pride gives way to regret however as Storm turns back, fixing Kenny with a stern look before kicking him in the gut and doubling him over. The crowd cheers as Storm angrily delivers clubbing blows to Freeman’s back, dropping him to one knee. The Charm City Champion grabs Kenny by the hair and tilts his head back, delivering a hard right that lands square between the eyes and causes Freeman to crumple to the mat as Turnbull admonishes Storm for pulling the hair.

Richard Parker: Now he’s pulling hair. Totally making my point for me.

Nick Stuart: Is this going to be your narrative for the entire match?

Richard Parker: Would you rather I focus on the fact Storm hasn’t won a single match since his debut?

Nick Stuart: I don’t know why I even bother…

Storm mounts Freeman and grabs him by the back of the head, firing off a series of shots to the temple as Freeman flaps his arms and kicks his legs futilely. Grabbing his head in both hands now, Storm flattens his opponent with a headbutt. Getting back to his feet, he first sneers at Randall standing at ringside then hits the ropes and drops the elbow into Kenny’s sternum on the return, causing K-Free to flop like a fish as Storm bundles him up for a pin.

ONE

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Shoulder up on one, but Storm had his eyes on Randall during the count. The Charm City Champion’s making a statement here.

Richard Parker: What statement, Nick? That it’s easier to pick on the elderly than a young stud like Freeman??

Nick Stuart: Of course not! He’s letting the Red Army know that there are consequences and repercussions for their actions, that they can’t just get away with the likes of the shenanigans they pulled at Culture Shock!

Richard Parker: By…not getting a three count. Gotcha.

Storm peels Freeman off the mat as he’s clutching his chest and whips him into the northeast corner. Storm charges in for a leaping elbow, but K-Free sees it coming and quickly ducks out of the way as Storm comes down on the turnbuckle. Freeman counters with a roundhouse kick and a spinning back kick in quick succession, then sweeps the legs for good measure causing Storm to drop to the mat. Before his opponent can find his footing, Freeman hits the ropes and delivers a hard knee to the head on the rebound that rattles Storm. The booing intensifies as Freeman pulls the Charm City Champion out of the corner and executes a sunset flip that sends Storm crashing back into the bottom turnbuckle!

Nick Stuart: If it wasn’t for the padding on those buckles, Freeman might’ve split Storm’s head open on that one! That was nasty.

Richard Parker (calling to Randall): Did you hear that?! Nick says you need to do something about the turnbuckle padding!

Nick Stuart (swatting at Richard): Hey don’t give him any ideas!

Randall cocks an eyebrow at Richard.

Richard Parker: Huh, guess he isn’t looking for advice…

Nick Stuart: Ha ha, even the Red Army don’t want anything to do with you.

Richard Parker: He’s clearly looking at you, Nick! Stop calling out Red Army plays in front of the referee!

By this point, Freeman has dragged Storm back into the middle of the ring, hopped over his prone opponent and is now moonsaulting through the air after jumping on the second rope. Storm fails to get the knees up in time and Freeman lands flush, hooking the leg as Turnbull makes the count.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Storm kicks out at two after the moonsault from Freeman off the second rope.

Freeman eyeballs the referee and gets back to his feet, planting another slap across the face of Storm as he does so. Storm recoils and covers up as Kenny puts the boots to him, slamming his heel into Storm’s head twice before targeting the exposed ribs with a toe kick that causes the Charm City Champion to curl up into a ball. Freeman shrugs and leaps into the air, delivering a double foot stomp to the knee that causes Storm to sit bolt upright and clutch the joint.

Richard Parker: Attaboy!

Freeman follows up with another kick aimed squarely at the chest, but gasps as Storm eats the impact and snatches the leg, clutching it tightly. The crowd comes alive as Kenny hops on one foot, panic coming over him as Storm glares up at him. Freeman waves both hands, pleading with his opponent as Storm rises up off the ground with the leg firmly in his grasp.

Nick Stuart: Freeman’s in a bad spot here!

Freeman begs for mercy but Storm shakes his head in retort and drives him into the mat with a dragon screw. Freeman hits the ground with a yelp but gets right back up along with Storm, limping and pleading still. A smile spreads across Storm’s face as he slaps Freeman’s arm aside and batters him with hooks and jabs, and with his opponent staggered the Charm City Champion follows up with a massive discus lariat that turns K-Free inside out!

Nick Stuart: Blizzard Barrage! Storm goes for the cover!

ONE

Before the count of two, Randall Schwartz sneaks around to where Freeman is pinned next to the ropes and casually props Freeman’s leg onto the bottom cable. Then he pops up and starts bleating at the referee to look at his handiwork.

TWO

NO! FOOT ON THE ROPES!

Nick Stuart: Schwartz with the save for his partner! Turnbull was on the other side of that interference and missed it!

Richard Parker: What are you talking about Nick? Kenny got the leg up himself and his partner called it out before Storm could steal a victory!

Nick Stuart: I’m calling it as I see it Richard, that was daylight robbery!

Richard Parker: And yet the match continues.

Storm notices the leg draped over the rope and Randall standing right there with a sheepish grin on his face, and when they lock eyes that grin gives way to alarm as Storm gets up and leans over the ropes to threaten Schwartz.

Nick Stuart: Schwartz isn’t looking so smug now!

Richard Parker: Freeman with the rollup!!

Indeed, with his attention diverted, Storm suddenly finds himself bowled over into a cover as Kenny takes advantage of the distraction. Turnbull drops at the head of the pin to make the count.

ONE

Out of sight of the referee, Kenny lifts one leg onto the middle rope, then the other.

TWO

Randall darts forward and grabs his partner’s feet, anchoring them in place. Despite his extra size and muscle, Storm struggles against the extra leverage.

THREE!!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner…KENNYYYYY FREEEEEMAAAAAAAN!!

Nick Stuart: They stole it!! Kenny Freeman just robbed MD Storm blind with the help of his partner Randall Schwartz!!

Richard Parker: That’s funny because, from where I’m sitting, Kenny just served some Soviet justice to that uppity Charm City Champion for what he did to Ivan and Alexei at Culture Shock!

Storm’s no fool, he knows he was done dirty there. By the time he’s shot back to his feet however, Kenny has already made his escape out of the ring and is bounding towards the ramp, pumping his arms victoriously and hooting at his irate opponent in the ring. Schwartz looks very pleased with himself as he accompanies his partner, both men beating a hasty retreat as MD storms across the ring, cussing them out.

Nick Stuart: That was shameful on the part of the Masters of the Moscowverse, the fans deserve better than that! This one was over before it even really started, but that goes to show you how much power Storm’s Patriot Punch packs – that Kenny Freeman would end the match the way he did before he could get a taste of what Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Ruslan felt in the Manhunt match!

Richard Parker: A great man once said “you win or you learn,” and MD Storm just learned that you don’t mess with the Red Army! Folks, it’s gonna take my partner a minute to find the binky he just spat out – let’s see what else is going on in Scotiabank tonight!

…COMING SOON…

…Snark Darkly presents…

…The return of the Number One segment in PRIME history….

…Won Action News is back on air…

…ReVival 66…

…heh-heh…

Elsewhere at the Scotiabank Saddledome…

Alexei Ruslan sits in his dull overcoat, positioned in a chair with his back to a desk. The exact location is unclear, but he seems to be alone. He rolls up his sleeve to check his watch and listens intently, as if hearing a distant noise.

As the scene becomes clearer, we realize what lies ahead of him: The Steel Door O’ Doom. However, there’s a catch. Alexei clearly isn’t outside in the hallway.

He’s inside, within Lindsay Troy’s office, simply sitting there.

When the Door finally unlocks and opens, Lindsay Troy’s initial confusion quickly shifts to irritation as Ruslan rises and clasps his hands behind his back.

The Queen looks out to the hallway, then back to Alexei, and the scowl of disgust she usually reserves for him returns.

Lindsay Troy: How did you get in? And what are you doing here?

Ruslan gives a shrug.

Alexei Ruslan: I knocked plenty of times, but there was no answer. Out of concern for your well-being…

He reveals a lock picking gun from behind his back and slips it into his overcoat pocket.

Alexei Ruslan: …I let myself in.

The Russian’s voice, and his eyes, are completely devoid of warmth.

Lindsay Troy: (flatly) Uh huh.

Lindsay walks toward her desk, moving close to and around Alexei, keeping her hazel eyes fixed on his. The same key ring used to unlock the Steel Door o’Doom also has a key to unlock her desk, and she reaches into a drawer to grab a messenger bag. Alexei lifts a brow.

Alexei Ruslan: Worried I broke into your coveted desk, Lindsay?

Lindsay Troy: Not really.

Alexei crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward slightly at the waist.

Alexei Ruslan: And why not?

Lindsay gets comfy in her championship throne chair and smirks.

Lindsay Troy: Because, you little weasel, I stopped bringing anything worth stealing to the shows after I hired you and Ivan. I’m not as dumb as you think I am.

To prove her point, she opens the messenger bag and tosses some folders on the desk.

Lindsay Troy: You can have a look, assuming you didn’t already.

Alexei smirks and shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively.

Alexei Ruslan: No, I did not waste my time going through your desk. I did check to make sure Wade was not curled underneath though.

Alexei exhales loudly, straightens his back, and brings both of his hands behind him. He snaps his heels together.

Alexei Ruslan: But enough with whatever this conversation is. I come to formally congratulate you on your masterful display at Culture Shock. I figured your ego would appreciate it.

Lindsay Troy: If you mean selling out the Tokyo Dome two nights in a row and pulling off an unprecedented match on the second night that hasn’t been seen in 20 years then…yes, I would say that’s pretty masterful.

She smiles.

Lindsay Troy: And thanks, Alexei. I have to say, I didn’t expect a compliment from you ever in my lifetime.

Alexei growls and narrows his eyes.

Alexei Ruslan: You know what the fuck I mean, Lindsay. Screwing over not just Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav, but the rest of PRIME!

For the second time during this interaction, The Queen of the Ring is confused.

Lindsay Troy: I’m confused. How exactly did I screw over Ivan and the rest of my company?

Alexei shakes his head and walks off to one side as he speaks.

Alexei Ruslan: You know, Lindsay, if I take a piss in a urinal, and I miss? You fine me.

He stops to look at her, and then walks back the other way.

Alexei Ruslan: I spit on the floor? Oh, there will be consequences.

He stops in front of her desk once more and faces her.

Alexei Ruslan: Universal Title match, however, someone can run down with a chair and bludgeon the champion? (Ruslan shrugs) Not a damned thing. I do not think there is much that is confusing about it, Troy.

Lindsay purses her lips, narrows her eyes, and nods, thinking over what Alexei has said.

Lindsay Troy: Well, first off, it wasn’t a chair, it was a club.

Alexei Ruslan: Come again?

Lindsay Troy: It wasn’t a chair. It was a club. A jolf club. There’s a very clear, distinct difference.

Ruslan simply mutters in Russian and rolls his eyes.

The Queen ignores him, and continues.

Lindsay Troy: Second, you do realize you started it, right?

Ruslan explodes and waves a finger in her direction, his anger nearly boiling over.

Alexei Ruslan: No! I did not. Look beyond the match, Lindsay Troy, you incorrigible liar! Through all of Culture Shock, those sons of bitches did same thing, over and over again, crash matches and attack with whatever it is YOU want to perpetuate! We had every right to be on guard for their bullshit, which YOU allow day in and day out!

Alexei slaps the back of his hand into his palm.

Alexei Ruslan: For someone who is concerned about her roster, you certainly rewarded that band of miscreants well, didn’t you? When they attacked Don Winters out of nowhere, and retired him. Not a word from the “Queen” there, eh? Oh no, rather, you hand them all title shots! And then let them steal all of them!

Lindsay Troy: I suppose we could say I’ve certainly rewarded Ivan for all of the things he AND you have done to my roster since I shook all the dust and cobwebs off you both and gave you another shot at relevancy. And before you chime in and say that Ivan’s earned what he’s been given –

She holds up a finger; Alexei shuts his mouth.

Lindsay Troy: So did the Glue boys. So spare me whatever this sob story is that you’re trying to recite here. I know you don’t give a damn about Don Winters, so that point’s irrelevant. What is relevant is you interfering in practically every match of Ivan’s but Hoyt forbid someone retaliate to even the odds and give you a taste of your own medicine. Your argument is bullshit, Alexei, and no matter how much you try to spin this to justify your actions, the fact is if you didn’t start interfering in the Universal Title match, then Joe Fontaine doesn’t bring the jolf clubs. Then the Red Army doesn’t come out, and neither does the rest of the Glueminati. And Joe doesn’t hit Ivan in the head a half-dozen times.

Lindsay rises from her chair, places her hands on her desk, and leans forward.

Lindsay Troy: Do you understand what I’m saying, Alexei? Or are you too bullheaded to figure out that what happened isn’t because of some vendetta you think I have against you and Ivan….it’s because you screwed up and caused this to happen.

Alexei mirrors Troy and leans forward, placing his own hands on her desk, almost nose to nose with her.

Alexei Ruslan: There was someone very special to me at that match, and even more special to Ivan. You let your ‘boys’ get away with everything. You put kids gloves on them from day one, Lindsay. Not even slap on the wrist for interfering in Ivan’s match at 64. Not even a fine for Farthington ignoring your rules and not breaking the hold at 62. So do not tell me this is not a pattern of favoritism. You want to blame me? Fine. Blame whoever and deflect wherever so that you can sleep at night.

Alexei narrows one of his eyes and tilts his head to the side.

Alexei Ruslan: Believe it or not, Ivan has respected you. He has worked, tirelessly, to respect your rules as best he can in the midst of all the forces exerted upon him by you and elsewhere. I would think you are old enough, and wise enough, to at least recognize that to some degree you have recognized his restraint. But… I am afraid we are done with that. You have what you have. You have what you want: Successful shows with all the money it has made you, built off the broad shoulders of Ivan Stanislav. You have your little boys skipping through PRIME, making a mockery of the hard work of all the others because…

Alexei speaks in a mocking, sing-songy voice and makes air quotes.

Alexei Ruslan: “…there are worse people out there.”

His face flattens and he straightens his back.

Alexei Ruslan: So be it. We are done restraining ourselves because… there is no one left behind that desk to try to respect.

Lindsay Troy: I don’t want to hear any more crying about interference and rule-breaking from you, you hypocrite. I have made it very clear from the beginning that I am not going to police my roster, and if I feel the need to step in, I will. I don’t step in every time the Bandits interfere in a match, or the Whoresmen, or the Glueminati, or the Red Army, because if I did then things around here would look a lot different, and not for the better, I promise you. Don’t bitch when it benefits you all, and then boo-hoo when it doesn’t, you fucking child.

The Queen stands straight as well, and looks down her nose at Alexei.

Lindsay Troy: Keep making threats, though. They didn’t scare me 20 years ago, and they still don’t scare me now.

Alexei purses his lips and stares straight at Troy, who stands slightly taller and casts a larger shadow than him. He shakes his head.

Alexei Ruslan: This is getting nowhere. But rest assured, we will make every attempt to compel you to do your job, Lindsay. And someday, if you conjure up the nerve, you’ll answer for this to Ivan on your own.

He turns on his heel with a squeak and takes two steps towards the Steel Door O’ Doom.

Lindsay Troy: I talked to Fanya.

Ruslan stops in his tracks and turns, slowly, to look at Lindsay.

Alexei Ruslan: Pardon me?

Lindsay Troy: Two weeks ago, before the show. She asked to see me.

Lindsay studies Alexei quietly for a moment. He gently removes his hat as his angered expression melts imperceptibly. Most might not see it, but Troy has plenty of experience with the Russians.

Lindsay Troy: Ivan didn’t tell you?

Alexei shakes his head, slowly, both stunned and, perhaps, thoughtful? He clears his throat, but his expression doesn’t shift.

Alexei Ruslan: No. He has had a lot on his mind, Lindsay.

Lindsay Troy: Hm. That’s interesting.

She sits once again.

Lindsay Troy: You can let Ivan know that I look forward to our next conversation.

Ruslan blinks his blue eyes and shifts his mustache as he wriggles his nose. He clears his throat.

Alexei Ruslan: For what it is worth, Lindsay, (he clears his throat) I wanted Ivan to be right about you, and I to be wrong. But… I think we can all agree that the time for conversation is over. Da svidanya.

He replaces his hat back on his head, turns, and strides out the door, shutting it gently behind him.

We’re back ringside.

The arena lights dim as “Shake the Room” begins to play. Golden spotlights sweep across the crowd before a synchronized golden pyro burst lights up the stage. A spotlight reveals Asher Creed stepping out, exuding charisma and confidence, dressed in a white-and-gold hooded jacket. At the top of the ramp, he pulls back his hood and raises an arm, mouthing, “Shake the room!” as the crowd erupts.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, from Eden, Texas, weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds…ASHERRRR CREEEEEEEED!

Walking to the ring with purposeful energy, he fist-bumps fans and acknowledges kids in the front row with the declaration, “This one’s for you!” Climbing the steps, Asher pauses to scan the crowd before stepping through the ropes. At the center of the ring, he raises both arms as golden pyro shoots from the ring posts. He removes his jacket with a flourish, steps onto the middle rope, and shouts, “We shake this room together!” before the music fades, leaving the crowd buzzing.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, from Joshua Tree, CA, weighing in at two hundred and one pounds, SAAAAAAGE PONTIFFFF!!!

DING DING

The two circle for a moment. Asher sizes up Sage. Sage susses Creed’s vibe. They lock up in the middle of the ring. Asher looks to have the upper hand, but Sage reverses into an arm drag that sends Creed down. He strikes him with his elbow. Once! Twice! Pontiff jumps up and boomerangs off the ropes into a running forearm straight to Creed’s jaw that lays him out.

Nick Stuart:  The Guiding Light might’ve just had his lights knocked out.

Richard Parker: Sage takes it slow so he can kill rookies fast. I respect it.

Nick Stuart: He goes for an early cover…

ONE

…KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: A strong kickout from Creed. The veteran may be looking for the quick victory, but you can’t underestimate Asher Creed.

Richard Parker: Why not?

Sage hooks an arm and sets Creed up for the Atharvaveda, but The Guiding Light is ready for him. Creed reverses, hooks both of Sage’s arms and picks the smaller man up and slams him back down.

Nick Stuart: PICK-UP POWER BOMB.

Richard Parker: Ohhh, that’s why.

Sage’s back THUDS against the mat, but Asher doesn’t let go. He deadlifts Pontiff back onto his shoulders…

Nick Stuart: Creed showing off his raw strength here, Sage if he can-

Richard Parker: SIT OUT POWERBOMB! THE LUMINOUS DIVER!

The ring shakes. The crowd OHs. Asher put all his strength into power-bombing Pontiff into dust, and it shows. Sage’s vibe now gives ‘splattered bug on a windshield’ but there’s still some life. He gasps for breath, wind knocked out of him. Creed drops an elbow to Sage’s chest, knocking whatever breath was left out of the Bodhisattva.

Nick Stuart: This could be it. Creed with the pin-

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

BOOOOOOOOOO!!

Nick Stuart: Creed has the crowd behind him.

Richard Parker: Why? Sage is a spiritual leader. I quit drinking ‘cause of him-

Nick Stuart: Really!?

Richard Parker: -then started again the next day. Because winners don’t quit, Nick. Sage taught me that too.

Nick Stuart: No, he didn’t.

Creed lifts Sage back to his feet, but Sage suddenly springs back to life with a series of strikes to Creed’s midsection, topped off with a pele kick that spins Asher’s head like a top. He aims a kick at Creed’s midsection but Creed sidesteps and hooks the leg and nails a dragon screw leg whip, smashing Sage’s knee into the mat. Sage clutches his leg in agony.

A battered Asher roars with adrenaline and pumps his arms for the crowd. He kneels behind Sage, violence in his eyes.

Sage struggles to his feet. He doesn’t see Asher as he turns around and – EDEN’S WRATH! The spinning spinebuster rearranges Pontiff’s spine again. Asher sits him up and signals for the GUIDING STAR!

WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: Creed getting ready to send Pontiff to the next plane of existence.

Creed hits the ropes at top speed and goes to hit the running blockbuster, but Sage throws up an elbow just in time. The strike staggers Creed, and Sage rolls a koppo kick into Asher’s gut. With his opponent doubled over, Sage slams his head into Asher’s. Once! Twice! For the third, Sage backs up and headbutts Creed’s chest like a charging bull, sending both men to bed on the mat.

Nick Stuart: I can’t fault Sage for using his head, but will the brain damage be worth it?

Richard Parker: Nick, you don’t get to the top of this biz with a fully functioning brain. Sage knows this and is using it to his advantage. Genius, really.

Sage recovers first, his head more used to butting than the youngster’s. With Asher still down he starts to climb the ropes. It’s slower than usual, the damage to Sage’s back clearly slowing him down. He gets to the top and closes his eyes to align himself with the universe.

Nick Stuart: He’s on the top rope! The Guiding Light is out! This could be it!!

Everything’s aligned, Asher’s still dead, Sage LEAPS FROM THE TOP ROPE! ELECTRIC FEEL ON ASHER CR-

NO! Creed returns to life to get his knees up for the counter!!! Sage crashes face-first onto Creed’s knee, which cannot be headbutted. The crowd gasps. Sage clutches his head in pain, staggering, doing his best to stay upright. The ref asks if he can continue, but Pontiff ignores him, spits out a wad of blood, and rounds on the still recovering Creed.

He grabs Creed’s head but gets caught in a small package.

ONE

A quick kickout by Pontiff gets followed by a dropkick from Asher. The Light lands a few more boots to the downed before effortlessly lifting him into a fireman’s carry.

Richard Parker: Creed picking up Sage like a venereal disease.

Nick Stuart: I…Wha-

Richard Parker: Very easily, I mean. He’s a strong kid, I give credit where credit is due.

Nick Stuart: Could you not?

Creed hoists the dazed Pontiff high above his head to the roar of the crowd.

Nike Stuart: Just say he’s impressive and people like him. There? Was that so hard?

Richard Parker: I’ll tell you what’s hard!

Nike Stuart: NO-

Richard Parker: Sage’s landing when Creed hits The Creed Collapse.

Creed has Sage in position for the Collapse when Pontiff comes back alive and starts kicking and elbowing for his life. Creed stumbles but doesn’t let go. Sage can’t stop it! THE CREED COLLAPSE!

ONE

TWO

ROPE BREAK!

The crowd BOOOOOs. Asher looks at the ref in desperation, who points to Sage’s leg. He’s not in the middle of the ring and by reflex or good luck, Sage’s foot is out of bounds.

Nick Stuart: Good eyes from our referee but a devastating call for Creed. I thought this one was over.

A tired but determined Asher pulls Pontiff to the center and tries again for the cover.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!!!

If Sage knows one thing, it’s recovery. He rises from the dead at the last second to kick out.

A frustrated Asher scrambles to his fee,t but Sage stops him with a kick to the head. Sage is up and hooks Creed’s arm. Creed reverses just like before, but the Bodi learns, and reverses the reversal into a double underhook DDT!!

Nick Stuart: Pontiff setting Creed up, does Creed have enough energy to counter??

Sage drags Creed to the middle of the ring, takes a deep, calming breath, and then-

Nick Stuart: SHAMANIC DREAMWEAVER!!

Richard Parker: He just caved in Asher’s skull!

Nick Stuart: That was clearly the last of Pontiff’s energy, will it be enough??

A barely conscious Sage collapses onto Creed.

ONE

TWO

THREE!!!!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: HERE IS YOUR WINNER…SAAAAAGE PONTIFFFF

Nick Stuart: Asher Creed took Sage Pontiff to his limit tonight, but the veteran’s experience-

Richard Parker: -and insanity-

Nick Stuart: -shone through!

Sage can barely stand to celebrate his victory. The ref checks on the recovering Asher.

Nick Stuart: Sage pulled out another impressive victory tonight. Is the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience manifesting a win streak?

That’s to be determined.

Right now, let’s go to commercial.

www.defiancewrestling.com

ReVival returns from commercial to Lindsay Troy’s office, once again. The Queen of the Ring doesn’t seem to be in a better mood since Alexei Ruslan left, which we can attribute to the fact the man is an absolute bitch-made joyless dick.

Regardless, she stands behind her massive desk, probably made of mahogany or oak. I’m not up to date on my wood variants. But nonetheless, there she stands, until a trepidatious knock on the Steel Door O’Doom interrupts her train of thought.

Lindsay Troy: Yeah?

It takes some doing, but finally Annabelle Dean gets the door open and nervously walks in.

Annabelle Dean: Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to see about that thing?

The Queen’s mood instantly lifts, and she smiles.

Lindsay Troy: No bother at all, Belle, come in. I’ve got everything drawn up exactly like we discussed.

Waving the youngster over, Lindsay walks around the side of her desk and motions towards a stack of papers with a fancy looking calligrapher’s pen resting on top. Annabelle, being the teenager that she is, doesn’t bother to read anything, she simply steps forward and grabs the pen hurriedly, signing and initialing everywhere LT tells her to.

When it’s all said and done, Lindsay Troy,  her smile growing larger, offers out her hand, pulling the youngster up to her feet while shaking it.

Lindsay Troy: Now I can welcome you, officially, to the PRIME family.

Annabelle Dean: Thank you so much!

Lindsay Troy: I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do after all the training we put in, but I have to ask, what’s your dad think of this?

At that moment, an exuberant Bobby Dean rushes into the room. Lindsay’s mouth drops open as Annabelle is shocked into silence. Bobby Dean is holding a pair of blue and white pom poms in hand. He’s dressed as a cheerleader, with a tiny blue skirt with white undershorts that do nothing to hide the giant mooseknuckle peeking from below, and a blue and white sports bra stretched across his massive chest.

Bobby Dean: Come on Annabelle! If she can’t do it, Anna Daniels can!

He proceeds to start leaping through the air, attempting the splits mid-air, then executing high kicks, if you call shin level, “high,” while shaking and rattling his poms. All the while he’s shouting encouragements at his daughter, who appears to wishing she was born to someone else, anyone else.

Just then the large man fumbles a pom pom and the two ladies watch in horror as the big man bends down to pick up the runaway pom. Bobby Dean’s whale tail will haunt Lindsay Troy for the rest of her days.

Mercifully, we go elsewhere.

We go backstage, where Simon Tillier is standing by with a microphone in his hand, and a lit cigarette between his lips.

Simon Tillier: Yeah, hey, what’s up?

Far from his usual chipper self, he takes a final drag off the dart and unceremoniously tosses it aside. Tonight, he comes off as irate. Irascible. Even downright agitated.

Simon Tillier: Let’s get right into it then. You know who I am. If you don’t, production has a very lovely chyron at the bottom of your screen to help you out. And if you can’t read, then, well… maybe learn?

He hasn’t even bothered putting on his trademark blue suit this evening, instead favoring a set of ragged jeans and a cheap, basic, bottom-of-the-PRIMEporium-discount-bin sleeveless black shirt bearing the classic PRIME logo. His hair is also spiked up, for some reason.

Simon Tillier: Anyway, we’re here tonight in Calgary, Canada, a fine place that is very much not on fire, and doesn’t have its citizens being dragged off the street by masked government agents. But while the rest of the world sit on their hands while everything around them slowly descends down the toilet of authoritarianism, we’re here doing something that “matters”, which I guess means asking wrestlers banal questions, like, “What are your thoughts on so-and-so” or “How are you feeling about such and such?”

Were it not for his characteristically thick red-framed Log Lady-style glasses, we’d hardly recognize our faithful junior reporter. Clearly, it’s a very different Simon Tillier we’re seeing this night.

Dare we say he’s looking… punk rock?

Simon Tillier: I’m sure the world is just dying to know the deep, meaningful answers to these pressing questions. Whatever… joining me at this time–

Before he can say anything else, Scott Hunter comes flying into the scene with a hearty scream, leaps into the air, spins, and delivers a precision elbow strike right to Simon’s temple. Simon goes sprawling out onto the floor and stares straight up at the lights while Scott stands over him, his chest heaving and a dire look of disdain on his face.

Then…

Scott turns to the camera and smiles, then waves.

Scott Hunter: Hey everybody! My name is Scott.

Scott waits for no reason.

Scott Hunter: Anyhoo… You are all welcome for what I just did because I could tell that Simon was about to say something dumb while also looking dumb, and I am sick of his dumb face and his dumb mouth, and also I am glad he is maybe dead now.

Scott looks down at Simon, who is still staring at the lights. Scott frowns, then looks up at the lights himself and almost blinds himself. He shakes it off and looks back at the camera again.

Scott Hunter: Since Simon is dead, it is incumbent upon me to explain what is going on with Kerry, who is currently busy doing things that make people busy, the other Kerry, who is busy eating leaves and catching up on Traitors Australia, and Scott Hunter, who is me. I hope all of you have been enjoying my most recent work, which consisted of learning new wrestling things, beating people up with those things, and developing as a human being, an athlete, and a deadly fighting machine. My apologies to those of you who felt my wrath during Manhunt, but unfortunately, you were collateral damage in my quest to eventually become the PRIME University Champion, which will be extra special because I never went to college.

Scott holds a hand up to his chin.

Scott Hunter: That reminds me, for those of you who technically pinned me during that match, it is my unfortunate duty to let you know that none of those pinfalls technically counted since it happened in a foreign country and I do not have a functioning passport. That makes all losses null and void but multiplies my own wins by two. So please do not ask me for an autograph even though I managed 452 points in Manhunt because my point total is currently in litigation, so it may go up or down; we can’t be sure.

Simon starts to stir, so Scott mean-mugs him REAL HARD and he goes limp again.

Scott Hunter: I don’t like that guy.

Scott looks back again and squints his eyes.

Scott Hunter: I’m sorry that Kerry isn’t here right now. He has recently learned that his grandfather is not who or what he thought he was. I do not know what he is or who he is, but apparently it is bad. You will all be happy to know that I am here, however, so if there is any Vae Victis business to conduct or if anyone does or says anything dumb, I will be able to fly into camera shots and hit people in the head with one or more of my elbows. In fact, I am prepared to hit pretty much anyone with up to two elbows. If I am able to attain more elbows, I will increase that number, but for now, we will stick with two.

Scott gets a super serious look on his face and points directly at the camera.

Scott Hunter: So, since I have all of this time to myself and since Kerry and the rest of Vae Victis is not here to stop me, I have some words, both serious and aggressively stern, to say to a few people who have recently incurred my wrath and/or done absolutely nothing to deserve what I am about to say. I’ll let you decide which. The first person who is a low down son of a bitch OR is a wonderful person who is a tough but classy competitor is…

Scott waits for a drum roll that never comes.

Scott Hunter: IVAN DRAGONISLAVOGORBACHEVISTANYELTSINKRUSCHEVOVICH!!!!

Scott holds the finger point a little longer than necessary, then…

Scott Hunter: That’s right! Just because you recently lost the University Championship does not mean you will stop me from taking you to school! You cannot escape my wrath!! Now you may be saying to yourself, ‘I didn’t even know I was subject to your wrath’, and you may be saying to yourself, ‘socialism is a sacred cause for realizing the demand and desire of the masses of the people for independence’, and you may be saying to yourself, ‘this is not my beautiful house’, and you may say, ‘this is not my beautiful wife’, and you may ask yourself, ‘well, how did I get here?’

I’ll tell you how you got here!!!

YOU LOST!!

Also, you are big, dumb, have stupid hair, and ridiculous suspenders! You may think ‘big’ is a positive thing, but I bet you have high cholesterol and poor circulation in your big dumb communist feet, because human beings weren’t meant to be shaped like a cinder block and smell like stewed beets and live in worn-out hovels somewhere in the Russian wastelands. What even is Russian anyway??? It is soft, and probably creamy, based on its namesake salad dressing! You don’t see an ‘American Dressing’, do you?? NO! Because of freedom! Because of liberty!

Whoa, I just inspired myself with that line.

SO STOP BEING WEIRD!! YOU LOST!! GET IT, CUM-RADE?!?!

Scott kind of full body shakes it off and takes a deep, healthy breath to center himself.

Scott Hunter: I am sorry, everyone. Normally, I am not so aggressive and borderline vulgar, but I cannot stand bullies or people who wear flat tops. So it had to be done. Now, I want to talk to and about the other person on my mind. And that man’s name is none other than FARTHINGTON!! First of all, you are a saint and a scholar, sir. You are the PRIME University Champion for a reason, and you have my utmost respect. I want to congratulate you on your fine win over that gigantic pile of walking, talking boiled skin-on potatoes and wish a very productive and healthy new year. I do not think the end of March is technically the new year, however, it is the thought that counts, so please take this as a very big and generous thought. One day, I very much hope I am able to earn the chance to stand across the ring from you, and not just stand across from you, but also to fight you for that championship. I know I have not earned it yet, but one day I will. It is a long, hard road in front of me, but I promise it will be cecilworth it.

Scott straightens up and places a hand on his chest, then breathes a sigh of relief.

Scott Hunter: Well, that is all I have to say this evening, so until the next time we meet, so long as we are not fighting each other, I wish you all well, hope that you remain strong, suggest you avoid two day old oysters, and say from my heart… good evening.

Simon starts to stir, which enrages Scott, who turns and jumps high up in the air and comes down with a pointed elbow straight to the chest while screaming…

Scott Hunter: I SAID GOOD EVENING!!!!

Scott frowns at Simon, then turns to the camera with a smile… and waves.

The feed cuts abruptly to a close up of the Alias Title, but not the Alias Title. That is to say, what we are looking at is a picture of the Alias Title, and not one taken with any fancy iPhone16, 17, or 17Teen. No, this photo is of a genuine, vintage, Polaroid variety.

And holding this photo, as the camera zooms out, is none other than the Alias Title challenger, BEN LYNCH.

Ben Lynch:  Look at this photograph.  Every time I do?  It makes me laugh. Ah, yes, humor.  Wanna know what makes Ben Lynch’s ears wiggle?  The fact that Nickelback is Albertan royalty.  Ch’yea! Nickelback.  Worst rock and roll band in the history of making noise.  I think the only tariffs Canada needs is on talent.  Nickelback is such a vibe hater, which sounds like vibrator, which is kind of what Michael J. Fox is like nowadays.  I do give an exception to Michael J. Fox.  C’mon, you know I’m a Marty McFly type’a’guy.  And, since I’ve said a whole lot of nonsense, and absolutely nothing about winning the PRIME Alias Championship tonight, I’ll go on to climax by saying that the greatest thing to ever happen in Alberta will be when Ben Lynch stands over the fallen Sebastian Gold and raises the Alias Championship, victorious, as the new legend of Alberta lore.  They’re even planning to rename Poutine “A Steamy Pile of Ben Lynch.” I’m partial to it. And another thing-

We see a hand slowly creep up behind Ben’s shoulder and grab on tight.

Ben Lynch: SWEET BABY JESUS!

Ben spins around and does not, sadly, find the Father, Son, or Holy Spirit, but instead is looking at a beaming Blaze Claymore.

Blaze Claymore: Ben! Oh thank goodness.

Blaze goes in for a hug, but Ben holds out his hand and pushes Blaze back by his forehead. Blaze doesn’t seem to mind.

Blaze Claymore: I wasn’t sure you’d be here after Culture Shock. I thought you had been dragged back to the Murdercycle’s lair where they would turn your arms into handlebars and twist your legs into wheels just like what Kevin Smith did to Justin Long in Tusk, except, you know, as a bicycle, not a horrifying walrus creature.

Ben Lynch: You know, sadly, there was no body horror. They do something much worse.  Ever hear of a guy named Lance Armstrong?  It wasn’t cancer that took his tour de testes, friendo.  However, if you don’t mind, I’d like to never remember Manhunt and focus on the man that hunts men for sport: Sebastian Gold; because he has something that belongs to me, and it’s the championship holding up his diaper.

Blaze claps his hands together excitedly. Too excitedly.

Blaze Claymore: Ooh! Yes! The Alias Title. You’ll have to introduce me to Jessica Alba when you win. Ooh or Bradley Cooper. Or Terry O’Quinn, or Balthazar Getty, but just not JJ Abrams. I think he’s still canceled….

Blaze trails off as Ben looks like he’s been hypnotized by Blaze’s inane stream of consciousness.

Ben Lynch: Um, we are in Canada, Blaze.  This will be for the show Alias Grace, which was a Canadian TV show, originally a book, and for whatever reason David Cronenberg was involved.  Oh, because he’s Canadian! But, yeah, I’ll hook you up.

Blaze looks at Ben, wide eyed.

Blaze Claymore: Yes! The king of body horror. Oh. What sights you’ll have to show the crowd tonight!

Ben Lynch: That’s Hellraiser, Blaze. You want The Fly. Or… Videodrome.

Blaze slaps his forehead.

Blaze Claymore: Of course! But, hey, I know you’ll raise some hell out there in the ring, amiright? Jesus wept!

Ben smirks.

Blaze Claymore: I just wanted to say that I’ll be rooting for you out there. I mean, not literally OUT there, but us Warriors have to stick together, right? Also, not… literally. I leave that to the professionals in hair and makeup.

Ben Lynch: You know what? Because of your good vibes and positivity?  You’ll be the first to get a shot at my Alias Championship!  Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to win some gold…from…Gold…

Blaze Claymore nods confidently.

Blaze Claymore: Go out there and win one for the Gipper!

Ben furrows his brow.

Ben Lynch: The Canadian luchador who dresses like a fish?

Blaze flashes a confident thumbs up.

Blaze Claymore: That’s the one.

Ben nods and flashes his own thumbs up as he walks down the hallway, vanishing into a soft focus tunnel just like in Rudy. As the camera turns back to Blaze, he ponders.

Blaze Claymore: Or was that the Gupper?

And now, to ringside!

The strange, guttural, sound of fast, deep, breathing. The music hits and the drums lead the way for about 20 seconds until SNWBLL opens “NML”, a song by the ancient species (only seen around Las Angeles) known as the One and Only PPL MVR.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the PRIME ALIAS CHAMPIONSHIP! Making his way to the ring, weighing in at two hundred twenty five pounds…

It takes about another 20 seconds for anyone to appear while the PPL MVR lead us into the hook. Ben Lynch struts out and just as the trio of Yeti musicians shout: “FIGHT! FUCK! FEED!” The antagonist is wearing a black t-shirt with Guy Gardner Green Lantern on it saying “I always was the best”, all black tights, and all white wrestling boots.

The PRIMEates are unsure how to react, but they boo his annoying face anyway because they can tell a Jerkass Woobie from a mile away, as Lynch slowly struts to center stage while his name appears on the screen above. He’s wearing a cocky smirk on a face that’s clearly judging everybody behind the scenes. It’s probably the other way around because he’s got a unique look with that receding hairline and dad bod.

Vince Howard: He hails from Chicago, Illinois…

Suddenly Lynch’s arrogance is washed from his visage with a tidal wave of disapproval.

Vince Howard: The challenger, the Jerkass Woobie…

We can’t hear Ben Lynch say it, but his mouth is moving in that direction: “What did you just call me?”

Vince Howard: BEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNN LYYYNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNCCCHHHHHH!

Ben rolls his eyes and continues his very ominous strut toward the ring. Fans reach over the barricade in an attempt to high-five the villain. Lynch denies every limb and even slaps a few fan-made creations from their dirty little hands.

He rips in half a poster board that says: “I JUST HOPE THEY HAVE A GOOD TIME.  OH, AND GO SEBASTIAN GOLD!” and then snatches a bowl of poutine away from a young fan. He tries a mouthful before spitting it out in disgust – rather than return the food to the youngster he launches it far into the crowd. The young fan bursts into tears.

The camera is the next victim as Ben laughs like a greedy little bitch and runs with high knees so that he can comically smack the camera away. That’s all followed up with Lynch sliding into the ring like a missile and then rising to one knee so that he can stare at the crowd with a very uncomfortable grin. The look of a sociopath; an image even a Serial Killer would love.

Nick Stuart: Two very different competitors here in this match-up. The human highlight reel that is the current Alias champion is taking on the self-proclaimed “Bob Ross of Submission Wrestling”.

Richard Parker: Bob was quite the scientific grappler back in the day you know!

Nick Stuart: Of course he was.

LIGHTS

The sound and flash of camera bulbs.

CAMERA

A reel of film is winding up. A man appears in the darkness, his back to the crowd. Who could it be?

BASTIAN

Lights up, pyro blasting, the figure spins around and OMG it’s SEBASTIAN GOLD, the Alias title gleaming around his waist. The stuntman’s theme kicks in and the crowd roars.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

Gold bounds down the ramp, high-fiving every fan he can while flashing that megawatt smile.

Vince Howard: Weighing in at one hundred eighty seven pounds from Los Angeles, Caaaaaalifornia…

Sebastian leaps onto the apron and then to the top rope with ease, where he holds his championship high.

Vince Howard: The PRIME ALLLLLIAAASSS CHAMPION… SEEEEEEBBBBASTIIIIIAANNNN GGGGGGGGGOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLDDDDDDD!

The champion backflips off the top rope as his theme hits a crescendo, goes down to one knee and spreads his arms to soak in the cheers until Elvis Nixon sends him to his corner before signalling to start the contest.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Lights out and away we go!

Richard Parker: What lights?

Nick Stuart: Never mind, Rich – The match is underway.

The Alias Champion and his challenger emerge from their respective corners cautiously, both men keen to avoid any early surprises. They circle each other briefly before Lynch extends his hands in a challenge for Sebastian to lock up with him – a challenge the Bastion of Action is happy to accept.

Their hands meet and link, stretched out above their heads, and with that it’s on!

No sooner have the two men locked up than Lynch pulls their arms from head heights in a circular motion to below their waists. In the rotation of the shoulder from this transition, there is a split second where the champion grimaces – the impact of one Bryan Dawkins still lingering in the joint. This wasn’t missed by Lynch, who cocks his head slightly and offers a greatly exaggerated sympathetic look to Sebastian.

Nick Stuart: It seems like Bastian is still feeling the effects of that Fujiwara Armbar Dawkins had locked in during the Manhunt.

Richard Parker: Ahh, Bryan Dawkins, now there was an Alias Champion to be proud of! Did you know that pineapples sales have gone up by two thousand percent in Russia since he joined up with the Red Army!

Nick Stuart: That sounds unlikely Rich.

Richard Parker: No it’s definitely true, Alexei told me!

Nick Stuart: Well then in that case…

Wasting no time in honing in on the weakness, Lynch breaks the grip of his left hand whilst maintaining it with his right hand. He spins wrenching Sebastian’s left arm and shoulder around again, this is met with another wince and a sharp cry of pain from Gold.

Lynch only gets a moment to revel in the satisfaction however, as an instinctive right fist from Sebastian makes contact with his jaw. The two men split apart and take a few seconds to lick their wounds from their respective first shots fired.

A smirking Lynch repeats his earlier offer of locking up, smiling back at him however Sebastian just wags a finger whilst shaking his head in response. Clearly unimpressed with this, Lynch charges forward, running at full steam across the ring towards the champion. Sebastian sidesteps the oncoming challenger and immediately sets off in a sprint in the opposite direction.

Both men rebound off the ring ropes and charge towards the other. Gold proves the quicker on this occasion and manoeuvres himself perfectly to catch Lynch just under the jaw with his signature running knee attack.

Nick Stuart: The Fade Out! Sebastian pulling out the big guns already!

Elvis Nixon drops down to make the count as Sebastian hooks Lynch’s leg for the pin attempt.

ONE

TW-NO! Kickout!

Sebastian rolls away as the pin attempt is broken up, putting some distance between the two men once more. Whether through embarrassment at being pinned so early, or anger at letting himself be caught out by the move, Lynch’s face is bright red as he pulls himself back to his feet.

Richard Parker: He is not a happy boy.

Nick Stuart: Nope, he certainly isn’t.

Our competitors engage in some good old fashioned shit-talkin’ as they advance on one another. As soon as they are within arm’s reach of each other they both begin unloading right hands at blistering pace.

For maybe ten to fifteen seconds they continue to barrage each other at the same time, but as a little fatigue creeps in the pace slows and with that the blows start to be exchanged back and forth.

The crowd again keen to play their part; ensure each one of Sebastian’s punches is met with a resounding cheer and of course, each of Lynch’s is met with just as loud a round of jeers.

BOOOO!

YAAAAYYYYY!

BOOOOOOOOOOO!

YYYYAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The crowd increases the volume with each punch, but it’s the final round of jeering that rings out loudest through the Scotiabank Saddledome as Sebastian drops to one knee. Advantage Lynch!

Before Gold can get back to his feet, Lynch spots the opportunity to get his own back from earlier in the match – he drives his right knee into Sebastian’s jaw. The champion drops flat on his back.

Wasting no time, Lynch rolls Sebastian over onto his stomach before sitting on the small of his back, reaching his hands under Sebastian’s shoulders he locks them together behind Gold’s head and then pulls back to apply pressure.

Nick Stuart: An interesting variation of the Full Nelson there from Ben Lynch.

Richard Parker: Not where you want to be with a bad wing.

Nick Stuart: Yep, Lynch has definitely been targeting that area throughout the match.

Richard Parker: He’d be mad not to, there’s a title on the line and Gold might as well have painted a target on himself before he came out here. I bet he’s a lousy poker player!

Screams of support for Sebastian fall on deaf ears, the champion has to focus all his efforts on resisting this hold. With no way to escape it he must endure. The challenger wears a smug grin as he applies more pressure to the neck and shoulder – it’s obvious he feels that his work is done and it’s only a matter of time now before Elvis Nixon will be awarding him the Alias Championship.

Sebastian begins to fade – Nixon asks him if he wants to submit but with gritted teeth the champion shakes his head in defiance. Cue more pressure on the hold from Lynch; that deranged look coming back into his eyes, victory is within his grasp.

Or is it? Frustration begins to take hold as Sebastian continues to defy the obvious agony. After almost ninety seconds in the hold, Lynch decides enough is enough – there are other ways to win this match and after all, the damage is done! Maintaining the Full Nelson he climbs up from his seated position and places his right foot between Sebastian’s shoulder blades; one last bit of pressure before releasing the hold. As he lets the Full Nelson go however he drives Sebastian face-first into the mat with that boot on his back.

Kneeling behind Gold, he drives several well placed forearm strikes into the rear of the champion’s skull. Standing upright, Lynch throws his arms out demanding the acknowledgement and praise of the crowd. They respond as you’d expect, with jeers that threaten the structural integrity of the building. Music to Lynch’s ears.

Richard Parker: You know, I like this Lynch guy. I think he’s going to make a fine Alias Champ.

Nick Stuart: Bastian isn’t beaten yet Rich!

Richard Parker: I don’t know what match you’re watching – That guy is cooked.

A battered Sebastian Gold slowly climbs to his feet, surely now regretting not having had more time to recover from the Manhunt as he can feel his title slipping away. Ben Lynch watches this struggle with unmistakable glee on his face.

Worst luck for Gold, when he does finally make it upright; there is no sign of Lynch in front oh him – which can only mean…

WHACK

Richard Parker: (sarcastically) He’s behind you!

Another forearm from the challenger catches the back of Sebastian’s head. Before he can react however, he can feel Lynch’s arms around his midriff, hands locking together and then suddenly the world is rushing backwards. Not one, nor two German Suplexes in succession, but three. Lynch is in complete control and at this point, there is surely no way back for Sebastian Gold.

Lynch pulls Sebastian to his feet with some difficulty, the champion trying desperately to resist, but to no avail. With that sociopathic look on his face once more, Ben sends his exhausted and battered opponent towards the ring ropes with an Irish Whip. As the helpless form of Sebastian Gold rebounds back, Lynch wraps him into an Uranage position.

Richard Parker: Here we go!

Nick Stuart: Ben Lynch is going for the Eraserhead.

But as Lynch drops to a knee, ready to deliver his custom version of the move, something happens. Sebastian shifts his weight which results in Ben collapsing forward. Sebastian grabs Lynch’s left arm and with it held between his legs he spins, the motion forces Ben up to both knees, his back bent forward. Maintaining control of the left arm, Sebastian throws himself over Lynch’s back and rolls into the pin.

Nick Stuart: LA MAGISTROL CRADLE!

Richard Parker: What the?

Nick Stuart: The influence of The Anglo Luchador turning the tide for Bastian!

Richard Parker: When did he learn to wrestle?

Elvis Nixon slides into position at Ben Lynch’s shoulders and makes the count.

ONE

TWO

THRE-NO! Kickout!

Nick Stuart: From out of nowhere Sebastian almost gets the three count.

A stunned Lynch staggers to his feet, the unthinkable counter when he was in such firm control has left his completely disorientated. Sebastian knows there won’t be another chance, so he takes it. He spins Ben around to face towards him and then in rapid succession he connects with a kick to the gut, a knee to the face and then a Roundhouse kick that might have put Lynch’s lights out!

With his fists pumping furiously to charge his battery, Sebastian lets the adrenalin fill him to the brim. The crowd are on their feet.

And with that he uses every last ounce of energy in his body to run to the corner, vaulting effortlessly to the top rope and coming to a stop standing upright with both feet planted on the top turnbuckle – The quickest of smiles flashes across his face.

It’s almost impossible to track the trajectory of the twists and turns as Sebastian Gold throws himself from the top, in a picture-perfect Corkscrew Shooting Star Press.

Nick Stuart: CRASH! DOT! COM!

Richard Parker: So what, does he just do everyone else’s moves now?

The leg is hooked, Elvis Nixon is in position.

ONE

TWO

THREE

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner, AND STIIILLLL PRIME ALIAS CHAMMMPIIIIOOOONNNN… SEBASTIAN GOOOOOOOOOOOOLD!

Nick Stuart: Wow, what an amazing show of guts from Sebastian Gold.

Richard Parker: He got away with one there.

Nick Stuart: A great effort from Ben Lynch in this match, I’m sure this won’t be the last time we see him fighting for championships in PRIME. But tonight the Alias Champion got the job done.

DOCTOR Ned Reform and his proteges, the Green Vale Gang, stand near Argyle, awaiting their in-ring debut. In the meantime, however, they’ve agreed to their first-ever interview.

But something is clearly distracting them. All three men glare in the direction of some object that sits off-camera, disgusted expressions painting the trio’s faces. The Good Doctor points before snapping his fingers.

Ned Reform: Gentlemen. Assessment?

Hugo Vale: Her hair is… Large?

Daniel Green: It’s not so much large as it is desperately thinning—held together like a spun wasp’s nest with cheap drugstore hairspray. The kind that coats your lungs, makes you cough and wheeze, until your deadbeat trailer-park boyfriend gets a little angry— a little rough, though not in the way you like—because he’s ten beers in and just remembered he’s due in court tomorrow morning. He can’t take the sound of you hacking anymore. So sure, it’s got volume—you’re right, it is large—but like her tits, it isn’t real.

Hugo Vale: You’re exactly right. The only things real about her are her pathetic career and her massive feet. How does one end up becoming a wrestling journalist, anyway? Do you fail as a wrestler and go into journalism, or fail as a journalist and go into wrestling?

Daniel Green: I imagine she went to journalism school—non-target, of course. Wanted to be a battlefield reporter, deep in the shit, observing, listening, filling notebooks for the book she swore she’d one day write. Maybe she dreamed of a Pulitzer. That’ll make Daddy proud. But her grades weren’t great—too much fun, not enough studying.

Hugo Vale: Hahaha, right. So! She pivots to sports journalism. The NFL won’t take her—not pretty enough. MLB won’t take her—not fit enough. Even the NHL passes, and their fans practically drool on command. So she ends up in wrestling. The money’s decent, sure, and it’s a mostly honest living. But every day, her little-girl dreams die just a bit more—slowly, painfully, with an idiotic smile plastered on her California soft-six face.

Ned Reform: Well done, gentlemen! Your powers of perception are, as always, sharp as knives.

The camera zooms out just enough to reveal Angelica Brooks, standing with a microphone in hand, a murderous look on her face, jaw agape not with mere shock, but something far beyond it, seasoned with equal parts disgust and anger.

Ned Reform: Now, Bachelor’s Degree, if you’d make an attempt at fulfilling this role that barely qualifies as a job: ask a question and get out of our way.

Angelica fumes.

Angelica Brooks: You know, personal attacks aside, I got into combat sports journalism because I love combat sports. I love my job. And yes – Ned…

Ned Reform: …that’s DOCTOR Ned Reform, dear…

Angelica Brooks: …this IS a job. And a damn good one.

Hugo Vale: First of all, not a question. Second, if your feelings have somehow been “hurt” because you eavesdropped on our private conversation, then that’s your fault.

Ned Reform: Ms. Brooks, since you’re outright refusing to do the one thing this hapless organization pays you to do  – something which, for the record, YOU proclaim to love – and ask my clients a question, I shall do so on your behalf.

The Sage on the Stage snatches the mic away from Brooks. He turns to face the GVG and puts on his best “wrestling announcer” cadence.

Ned Reform: Gentlemen. A concise but focused assessment of PRIME’s tag division. And… go!

Hugo laughs softly through his nose. Daniel’s grin also suggests amusement.

Daniel Green: Let me start at the top: Who the hell are the Glueminati? What the hell is fucking jolf? Do you mean GILF? Do you two weirdos like baggin’ old bags? Is that what you’re into? Why are these two idiots carrying the banner for tag team wrestling in this company? I hadn’t so much as held a golf club before Hugo dragged me onto a course… and yeah, it’s not exactly adrenaline-fueled… but at least it knows what it is. You two couldn’t even manage that. You had to invent some half-baked sideshow and pass it off as sport. For what—some inside joke that’s already run way too long? These are your standard-bearers in PRIME? This is the joke I’m supposed to take seriously?

Hugo Vale: Apparently so, Danny Boy – but we won’t. And don’t forget Nobody’s Heroes, the most aptly named team in the world, featuring a luchador whose true identity is already well-known – guess what? It’s an old white who is proud of his disgusting dad bod – and a man whose entire identity can be summed up with the word, “hotdog.” And we’re supposed to take them seriously too, is that it? Well, we were supposed to take our math tests seriously as well. We didn’t. Because like Nobody’s Heroes, they didn’t matter – and we still aced them.

Daniel Green: It only gets worse the further down the rankings we go. Fuck Your Tag Team. Real edgy. Real cool. I barely know who you are, but from what I’ve gathered, that’s for good reason. You’re not good enough to ever hold gold, and not self-aware enough to realize you teamed up because neither of you could hack it alone and misery loves company. Two nobodies clinging to each other out of pure desperation. Fuck FYTT. Stepping stones, the both of you—I scuff my boots on your backs, then take a sledgehammer to you so no one else can follow the path. We don’t just move past teams like you; we make sure the next guy trips over the wreckage.

Hugo Vale: And then we have the irreverent Bandits, err – pardon me, the irrelevant Bandits. You know, the giant invalid and the two books he can’t read? You know, Dikembe Mutombo and Muggsy Bogues? You know–

Hugo is interrupted by a rather tall and a rather not-so-tall figure cutting into the frame from the right.

Hessian.

Tony Gamble.

Bandits.

Incredulity creeps over the smile of Cancer Jiles’s Murder Shovel, a snort of bemusement escaping his nostrils as he folds his arms and slowly shakes his head.

Hessian: Oh, don’t stop on account of us. You were saying?

Hugo injects some more confidence into his posture while Daniel tilts his head and spits on the floor. Ned Reform noticeably steps backwards, ever so graciously allowing the spotlight to shine on his charges. Clearly, this is his motivation.

Hessian: Something about the most decorated stable in the whole company? More championship plaudits and Hall of Fame credentials than…whoever you are?

The giant turns to Angelica and motions to the Green Vale Gang, cocking an eyebrow.

Hessian: Do these children belong to someone on the roster?

A throat is cleared. A bald-headed bearded man steps forward. Rather… reluctantly.

Ned Reform: I represent these elite athletes, my good simpleton. And despite your accomplishments in the world of professional wrestling – a feat akin to winning employee of the month at the local fast food joint – I will not allow them to be disrespected by someone who calls themselves a…

One of the more dismissive and condescending chuckles you’ve ever heard.

Ned Reform: … “bandit.”

Tony Gamble: Slow your role, Doogie.

The Permascar Superstar lifts his hand, a gesture Reform and the GVG do not appreciate in the slightest.

Tony Gamble: I’m not sure how things are done on the Island, but you’re not in whatever failed project you ran off to when you couldn’t hack it here yourself. So before you and the Peaky Blunders write a check you’re clearly not prepared to cash, maybe you do more than just insult Angie.

Ned Reform takes a very forward step and begins to speak–

But Hessian interrupts.

Hessian: That wasn’t a cue for a rebuttal. You heard the man; put up or shut up.

The Bandits briefly look Hugo and Daniel up and down, then take their leave – offering one final remark as they make their way backstage.

Hessian: Just because you’re entitled to your opinion…doesn’t mean you’ve earned the right to voice it. And mind your damn manners in future.

Big Hess hammers the point home by violently shoving the double doors open, causing them to slam against the white brickwork. The sudden and very loud bang causes more than one person in Argyle to shudder. Reform notices the demeanor of his charges and he holds up both hands in assurance.

Ned Reform: Mr. Vale. Mr. Green. Hold fast to your resolve, gentlemen. I’ve been in situations like this before.

Reform turns, looking toward the doors through which the Bandits had exited.

Ned Reform: …and I know exactly how to handle it.

We fade elsewhere.

A beaming Sebastian Gold is limping his way to the Heroes’ locker room. Action Bastian may be wobbly after his match with Lynch, but the Alias champ’s joy can’t be repressed. He’s got the title belt slung over his shoulder and the Belmont trophy held in the opposite hand counter balances the weight.

He gets to the right locker room and pushes, but the door doesn’t open. He tries again. It won’t budge.  Shit. The door’s not locked.

It’s barricaded.

He wheels around but it’s too late. The last thing he hears is a voice behind him saying:

“Nice trophy you have there, bruh…”

WHAM

Bash collapses after the impact of the steel chair to his spine. The Belmont trophy lets out a lout clang as it hits the concrete floor. Bash’s body doesn’t make quite the same sound.

Dawkins follows up the initial shot with another, this one aimed directly at Gold’s dome.

CRACK

If you listen real close, you can hear the sound of the other Heroes yelling from inside the locker room. Gold’s body goes limp after impact, sliding down the concrete block wall until he’s seated. His head lolls to the side as Dawkins unfolds the chair and takes a seat.

Bryan Dawkins: Bash, Bash, Bash…we had this conversation a couple months ago before you stole that title from me. Remember what we talked about, bruh?

He leans back as a trickle of blood runs down Sebastian’s face thanks to a nice, new gash from the chair shot.

Bryan Dawkins: Apparently not, because you continue to fuck with me. You take my Alias Title. You crash my induction into The Red Army. And then you follow me around during Manhunt!

Dawkins sighs.

Bryan Dawkins: Why are you so obsessed with me?!

Sebastian is starting to come to, but is still mostly unresponsive. Out of the corner of Dawkins’ eye, the Belmont Cup glistens under the fluorescent lights of the hallway. His eyes light up briefly as he rises to approach the trophy. He picks it up and returns to the scene of the crime.

Bryan Dawkins: You know, kid…I never got a fair chance at this trophy. Back in the day I was supposed to take part in the tournament but then PRIME came knockin’…you know the rest of the story, right? Became kind of a big deal around here.

He plops back down onto the steel chair and examines Bash’s prized possession.

Bryan Dawkins: I’ve been thinking…I wasn’t able to take part in the Belmont back in the day but I definitely would’ve won. I mean, you somehow won the damn thing. So I think I’ll go ahead and take this with me. You know, as a former should-have-been winner of the tournament. Surely I’ll be able to give this thing the prestige it deserves.

He uses his shirt to buff out a smudge on the trophy. Sebastian groans in pain.

Bryan Dawkins: Don’t worry – I’ll take good care of it. If you want it back, you know where to find me, bruh.

CRASH

No, I literally mean Crash. Fueled solely by Hebro Nationals, Crash Jackson manages to blast through the barricaded door. Dawkins is startled, his eyes growing wide before taking a last glance at Sebastian.

Bryan Dawkins: Sorry bruh, gotta run!

For a brief moment, Crash considers chasing after Dawkins, who has fled in the other direction. His footsteps echo down the hall as Crash gives up and returns to his friend.

The scene fades to black as we go to Nick and Richard at ringside.

Nick Stuart: ReVival 65 rolls on, with a double debut for two promising young tag teams! Surf Express Bro has been around the block–one of them even had a singles match in PRIME a few years ago–but this will be their first time competing as a team on the big stage! Their opponents are the Green Vale Gang, the hand-picked prodigies of Doctor Ned Reform!

Richard Parker: Reform’s the smartest man in the business, so you know where my money’s at.

Nick Stuart: Yes. It’s in a lockbox backstage; otherwise you’d spend it all on hot dogs.

Richard Parker: Shut up.

Anyway, here’s Vince Howard.

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

How many is that in metric? Let’s see…double it, add thirty…that’s 32 metric falls.

Vince Howard: Introducing first…accompanied to the ring by their manager, DOCTOR Ned Reform…at a combined weight of three hundred and eighty-three pounds…Daniel Green! Hugo Vale! THE GREEN VALE GAAAAAAAAAAANG!

The lights dim. Not all the way. Softly. What light remains casts a gentle, yellow-orange hue around the arena as the jingle-jangling guitar of “Cigarette Daydreams” by Cage The Elephant hits the speakers.

Did you stand there all alone?
Oh, I cannot explain what’s goin’ down
I can see you standin’ next to me
In and out somewhere else right now

And out steps two young men, not even old enough to drink, in tweed suits you’ll never be able to afford, led by DOCTOR Ned Reform. Handsome bone structure, classic haircuts, it’s all very academic, in an elite prep school way. In another life, the pair would be the worst characters in a Fitzgerald novel. Hugo Vale, old American money reincarnated as a smug, brash asshole, and Daniel Green, a battle-tested gentleman who has made the most of his ample opportunities.

You sigh, look away
I can see it clear as day
Close your eyes, so afraid
Hide behind that baby face
Do-do-do
Do-do-do

They are imminently easy to hate, the way their childish hearts allow them to wrap their arms around each other’s shoulders, and sing their own theme music like drunk lads at a bar together, just as the bass and drum touch the track.

You can drive all night
Lookin’ for the answers in the pourin’ rain
You wanna find peace of mind
Lookin’ for the answer

Ned allows them to enjoy the moment, though his face conveys the concern a father might have when his children are being mildly embarrassing. Hugo and Daniel are in their own privileged, youthful world as they almost dance together down to the ring, a giggliness to their behavior that betrays the kind of carefree attitude that most people can’t afford.They glide up the stairs and walk to either side of the apron, before stepping through the ropes in unison.

Hugo and Daniel meet Ned Reform in the center of the squared circle. There, in front of the hoi polloi that is the PRIME fanbase, they pose, and soak in the jeers. Ned exchanges handshakes with both competitors, before exiting the ring as the pair move to their corner.

Vince Howard: And their opponents…from Pocatello, Idaho…at a combined weight of 425 pounds…Bowie Abrams! “The Bodacious One” Bradlee Nelson! SURF! EXPRESS! BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The familiar guitar licks and drum beats to “Nothin’ But a Good Time” by Poison hit your eardrums and from the back bounds Bowie Abrams and Bradlee Nelson in matching long tights and miles-wide smiles. They play to the audience, getting them into things as they make their way to the ring. Once they’re between the ropes, they’ll flex and pose a bit for the laaaaadies before the bell rings.

Nick Stuart: Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell, and this one is underway!

DING DING

Bradlee Nelson and Hugo Vale start off for their respective teams. They circle each other for a moment before locking up. Almost immediately, Vale grabs a fistful of Bradlee’s hair and pulls him down to the ground!

BOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: I like these guys!

Nick Stuart: You would. I’m surprised Ned Reform lets him wrestling in a full suit. That doesn’t seem practical.

Richard Parker: Mind games, buddy. While you’re playing checkers, Doctor Reform is playing five-dimensional Stratego.

Nick Stuart: …Sure.

Nelson gets up, but is immediately headlocked and taken down again. Vale wrenches the hold in order to shift Bradlee to one side…just so he can sneer at the camera.

Bradlee fights his way out of the headlock, so Vale quickly transitions into an armbar, and then a scissor hold. But with a few turns, twists, and hops, Nelson repositions himself and gets his feet under him, allowing to push himself up into a handstand! The resulting momentum as he lowers himself is enough to break free. With both men back on their feet, Vale charges in only to be thrown with an arm drag! Bradlee maintains the hold, flexing for the crowd with his free arm.

RRAAAAAAAAAAHH!

Nick Stuart: Surf Express Bro already proving themselves to be able performers–and showmen!

Richard Parker: Lucky break. These jokers will get theirs soon enough.

Nelson pulls Hugo into the corner, where he tags in Bowie Abrams. Bowie drives a double axe handle down on Hugo’s shoulder as Bradlee holds it in place. Bowie pulls Hugo up, then lays into him with a series of backhand chops.

WOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: The influence of Salvador Wooperneli is felt to this day.

Nick Stuart: Don’t you start that shit again.

Vale rocks back with each chop, but he’s about halfway across the ring before he fights back…with a thumb to the eye.

BOOOOOOOOO!

That’s enough for Hugo to tag out, and the PRIME faithful get their first sight of Daniel Green. “Danny Boy” heads right for Abrams and starts laying in fists. Bowie responds in kind, but while he may be bigger than Daniel Green, he’s not nearly as mean.

Richard Parker: I just thought of something. Why is Nelson “The Bodacious One?”

Nick Stuart: Huh?

Richard Parker: It should be Abrams, right? It’s there in the name. BOW-ie. BO-dacious. You see?

Nick Stuart: I see that it’s not relevant to the match–nice tag there from Abrams! And a double dropkick! Very well done.

Richard Parker: Is there a word that would fit better with Bradlee? All I can come up with is “Braditude.”

Nick Stuart: I think you’ve already put more thought into this than they did. Nelson with the cover!

ONE

TWO

NO!

Nick Stuart: Green with a forceful kickout!

Richard Parker: And a forceful punch in the throat!

Indeed, Daniel Green tagged Bradlee right in the neck, just as Nelson was getting off the pin. Turnbull starts to admonish him, but the young man is already mounting Nelson and pounding him with fists.

Nick Stuart: Oh, come on! Jimmy’s not done warning Daniel Green about his first infraction, and he’s already committing a second!

Richard Parker: It’s easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Something tells me he’s not going to ask forgiveness.

Richard Parker: He’s waiting for permission.

Turnbull forces the issue, and Green puts his hands up as he backs away from both Nelson and the official. He doesn’t look sorry in the least, and he’s not–he’s backing into his own corner, where Hugo Vale tags himself in.

Vale–still in his blazer, by the way–wastes no time in engaging Bradlee Nelson, bringing him down to the mat with a drop toe hold. He steps back, then drops a knee into Bradlee’s ribs. From there he sits on Nelson’s back, obviously impressed with himself, and wipes the sweat from his forehead. Or rather, the “sweat.”

Just as he starts taking off his blazer, Doctor Ned Reform jumps on the apron!

Nick Stuart: What’s this idiot doing now?

Richard Parker: He’s instructing his charge on the best way to remove a jacket! Those things are expensive; you could damage the fabric if you do it wrong!

Naturally, this draws Jimmy Turnbull’s attention, and naturally, Hugo takes advantage. Once the blazer is removed, he wraps it around Bradlee’s neck.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: And now you’re going to tell me that this won’t damage the fabric.

Richard Parker: Necks are very soft. FLAMBERGE taught us that.

Bowie’s had enough, and stalks around the apron where Reform is standing. He lines up for a superkick, but the Good Doctor jumps out of the way. Turnbull sends Bowie back to his corner, then turns to see Vale tagging in Green. Hugo tags in Daniel, who picks up Nelson and flattens him with a spinebuster!

Nick Stuart: There’s the cover!

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

Daniel is annoyed but not deterred; he tags to Vale and then locks Nelson in a full…himself? Whatever the case, Bradlee is defenseless as Hugo punches him in the gut.

When Turnbull starts laying in the count, Green lets go and steps out of the ring, only for Vale to tag him in again. They put the boots to the surfer, and Green goes for another pin.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

Green tags out again, then muscles Nelson up to a standing base. He whips Bradlee in to the ropes, then both Gang members lower their heads for a double backdrop. The Braditude–er, Bodacious One hits the brakes just in time, dropping both men with a double DDT!

RRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!

Nick Stuart: What a great counter by Nelson, but now he’s got to reach his partner! But look at him–he’s so beat up, he doesn’t know where he is!

Richard Parker: Usually he doesn’t know where he is for a different reason!

Indeed, Bradlee staggers toward one of the neutral corners, and only finds air when he reaches out for a tag. The Green Vale Gang are shaking out the cobwebs, and Daniel Green is on his hands and knees before Nelson can fix his mistake. Bradlee takes a step toward his own corner, but that’s all he gets as Green grabs him by the leg. Nelson tries hopping toward his partner’s outstretched fingers, but can’t make any progress. Slowly, he turns to face his captor…and quickly, he brings his free foot into the air, straight at Green’s head!

RRAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

Nick Stuart: What an enziguiri! Nelson finally has an opening…but can he make the tag?

Richard Parker: No!

Nick Stuart: YES!

RRAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

Bradlee dives for the corner, and barely grazes Bowie’s fingertips. That’s good enough for Jimmy Turnbull, and Abrams comes in hot!

Punch for Green! Punch for Vale! Another punch for each! A hip toss! An arm drag! Two body slams! (Not at once. That’s crazy.) While Hugo bails out of the ring, Daniel Green tries to fight it out…until he gets rocked by a few more big punches, and a dropkick that sends him tumbling over the top rope!

Richard Parker: Smart move by the Gang here…get out of the ring, interrupt the momentum, catch your breath…

Nick Stuart: Yes, but only if Bowie Abrams lets them do that!

Spoiler alert: he does not.

Instead, he runs off the opposite ropes, then dives over the top and takes out both men with a tope con hilo!

RRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

Nick Stuart: There’s something you don’t see often–a surfer proud of a wipeout! But Bowie is all smiles here!

Richard Parker: He’s still gotta finish the job, though!

The young surfer looks to do just that, as he rolls Green into the ring and chases after him. Just as the groggy young prep student staggers to his feet, Bowie brings him back down with a running cross-body!

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

Abrams is back on his feet in a flash, and before Green even has time to get up, he’s on the receiving end of a springboard leg drop!

Nick Stuart: Another cover!

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

Daniel Green is apparently made from sterner stuff, and Bowie will have to dig deep into his bag of tricks. So he gets a running start, bounces off the ropes…

WHAM!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

…and faceplants, because Ned Reform grabbed his foot.

Nick Stuart: Oh, come on! That was blatant interference! How did Jimmy Turnbull not see that?

Richard Parker: He’s probably high. That can happen if you make eye contact with either member of Surf Express Bro for too long.

Abrams stands up and turns around to yell at Reform…which, unfortunately, provides an opening for the Green Vale Gang. Hugo Vale rushes the ring, plants his knees in the middle of Bowie’s back, and brings him down hard with a backstabber. Or, if you’re play-by-play man Nick Stuart…

Nick Stuart: The Assassination of Julius Caesar!

Richard Parker: That’ll take the starch out of his collar!

Rather than help Daniel make the pin, Hugo drags his partner’s arm and drags him toward the corner, where he tags himself in. On the opposite side, Bowie Abrams rolls toward his own corner and tags in Bradlee Nelson.

The Bodacious one comes in with a big clothesline, but Vale ducks it. Hugo responds with a backhand chop, which is blocked by Nelson! Bradlee loads up for a superkick…but Hugo sidesteps, slipping behind his opponent and shoving him into the GVG corner. Bradlee puts out his hands to stop himself from colliding with the turnbuckle…but that leaves him open for a vicious Deep Cut from Daniel Green.

BOOOOOOOOOOO!

Bradlee Nelson drops to the canvas, and for Hugo Vale it’s a simple matter of directing the action back to the center of the ring. While Hugo drags a groggy Nelson to his feet, Daniel Green steps through the ropes and takes aim.

Vale laces his leg around Bradlee’s to secure the inverted Russian leg sweep. As Vale brings Nelson down, Green rushes in and drives his knee into Nelson’s head!

CRACK!

OOOHHHHH!!

Nick Stuart: St. George’s Contempt! That move was brutal!

Richard Parker: I know, isn’t it great?!

Hugo Vale rolls Bradlee Nelson over and nonchalantly covers. Jimmy Turnbull drops down to make the count.

ONE

TWO

THREE!

DING DING DING

The victorious Vale pushes himself up, and saunters to the center of the ring. Daniel Green joins him, but not before giving one more shot to Bowie Abrams. They’re quickly joined by DOCTOR Ned Reform, who smirks with smug satisfaction as Jimmy Turnbull raises the arms of his charges.

Vince Howard: Here are your winners…THE GREEN! VALE! GANG!

Nick Stuart: A very impressive showing from these two young men as they pick up a big debut victory…with Ned Reform’s help, of course.

Richard Parker: Glad you’re finally recognizing his eye for talent, his motivational skills, his brilliant tactics…

Nick Stuart: His blatant interference…

Richard Parker: You must have been watching something else.

Nick Stuart: Maybe it was this commercial. Don’t go anywhere, fans! We’ll be right back after this short break!

Cut.

Fade in.

You ever see those Olive Garden commercials where everyone is smiling, and eating, and drinking, and just having a grand old time with life? Happy families all enjoying each other’s company. None of the kids are screaming. No one is arguing. It’s downright idyllic, right down to the fast casual Italian decor.

What sets it apart is the food. Sure, it has that same mass-produced look as your average chain, only there are no obvious plates. Instead everyone seems to be eating out of a bucket in different shapes, sizes, and colors. This is where the logo fades into view.

But since there isn’t one yet, we’ll just give you the name of the joint:

SKETTI BUCKET

And then there’s the voiceover.

Voiceover: Come on down to Sketti Bucket, the family-friendly pasta experience that everyone can enjoy! We’ve got skettis in all shapes and sizes. Try our traditional skettis, or take a trip to Southern Italy with our skettucini. Looking for something to fill you up? Let our bucketini carbonara do the trick!

Now we get a panoramic shot of the interior of the restaurant, which reveals it’s not just the pasta that comes in buckets. There’s a salad bar running through the center of the restaurant, and patrons line both sides to fill their bowls with fresh greens using tiny plastic shovels, like what you’d find in a set of beach toys.

Voiceover: Every meal at Sketti Bucket comes with a trip to our salad trough. Choose from dozens of options with your choice of dressing!

Now you might be thinking, “Hey, Matt, isn’t this the same commercial you submitted before?” Okay, first of all, yes. That’s how commercials work. They make one or two, and then air them endlessly. You think Sketti Bucket has the advertising budget to just crank out new nonsense every week? Further, you think I have the attention span for that shit? My guy.

Voiceover: And don’t forget to try our four delicious sauces. Classic marinara. Creamy alfredo. Garden fresh pesto. Aaaaaaaaaaaand purple! At Sketti Bucket there’s something for the whole family to enjoy!

Another pan of the restaurant. This time a family of five all flash a thumbs up in the direction of the camera. Yes, just like the other commercial.

And second of all – bet you didn’t think I’d come back to this, did you? – here’s some new stuff.

Voiceover: As the official family meal sponsor of PRIME, Sketti Bucket is proud to announce our latest dish from around the world! The Borscht Barrel!

A family of four are all seen walking through a park on a beautiful afternoon. Each of them has a large red barrel affixed to their front by a pair of matching suspenders. From the barrels protrude big-ass straws. Which is not to be confused with big ass straws, which would be butt-shaped. And definitely not Big Ass Straws, who exists only in my dream journal and a few pieces of erotic fiction. I mean wait what?

Voiceover: Enjoy the delicious soup straight from the motherland. The Borscht Barrell by Sketti Bucket. You’ll StanisLOVE it!

Now we get the official jingle.

🎵Run to Sketti Bucket!🎵

🎵Don’t be a snail!🎵

🎵It’s the pasta that your whole family eats from a pail!🎵

We fade to darkness, but the voiceover continues.

Voiceover: Sketti Bucket. Open at 11501 West Cottonwood Road in Brimfield, Illinois!

Fade.

The lights go off.

Anna Daniels: Are you pleased with yourself, Lindsay?

The lights pop on to reveal Anna Daniels (duh) on the tippy top of the ramp. Sat down all crisscross applesauce with a microphone in one hand and the knife in the other.

Anna Daniels: Fucking us over again. “Fixing” your Universal champion situation. Crowning your new heroes. You honestly think you did such a great job, huh? Figured you’d kill all the birds with one glue shaped stone. Have an Ivan problem? Throw Cecilworth at it. Have a failure as an alleged tag champion and two pains in the ass calling you out? Throw FLAMBERGE and Joe at them. Never mind the fact that absolutely none of these people have actually earned their shots. They were handed the shots.

The crowd’s reaction? A murmured mix. Why shouldn’t it be? On one hand, those Glue folks are wicked cool! But on the other…she’s not wrong. She isn’t even looking out to the crowd as she speaks either, absentmindedly scratching at her scalp with the edge of her blade.

Anna Daniels: The funniest thing is you can’t even use that lame ass excuse you used for Coral Avalon. Can’t no body on this entire roster say that a single shred of it was well deserved. There’s no “erm, actually” about it, Lindz. You’re getting bolder in your favoritism. It’s only a matter of time–no pun intended–before you take that mask off and reveal exactly what type of person you are and what type of place PRIME is. And when that happens? We’re expecting a lot of apologies from a lot of people in the back for doubting what we said.

Even when she’s looking at the floor, there’s a smirk.

Anna Daniels: You must be proud. Except…

The microphone is placed gently beside the Muse as she rifles through her coat pocket. After a minute, she finds exactly what she’s looking for.

Her half of the Universal Tag Team Titles. It gets placed on her shoulder, the mic picked back up.

Anna Daniels: There’s two birds you still haven’t killed off yet. Because the Glue still haven’t defeated the Universal Tag Team Champions.

The mixed reaction from the monkeys that make up PRIME’s fanbase only gets louder at the conclusion. It is only at this point that their head is raised.

Anna Daniels: Ol’ Flambo didn’t even pin the guy everybody here keeps pretending was a tag team champion. They pinned the guy who was given a title to hold for two seconds before ditching it for his seven hundredth hot dog that night. They didn’t conquer the fraud. They rolled up the fraud’s little bitch boy! And we’re so sure Tom coddled that boy’s ego when we all know that he absolutely sucks.

A small roar from the crowd. Maybe it’s the bluntness of the words. Maybe it’s just Canada being Canada. But she still isn’t actually looking at them.

Anna Daniels: You didn’t get the job done, PRIME. You failed miserably, Glue Boiz. No amount of delusional smoke blowing will change the facts.  And we’re going on record as saying that we really don’t wanna do this shit. We don’t want to go to war with you cunts. All we wanted was some fucking respect and we have been given absolute zero since we’ve got here. For the longest time, we heeded the words of Dr. Phillip McGraw. If everybody’s an asshole to you, that means you’re the problem, right?

She smiles. It isn’t a nice smile. It is all teeth and gums, uncanny valley.

Anna Daniels: Wrong. Everything society tells you is wrong. Everything PRIME tells you is wrong. All your heroes are a bunch of half-assed fakes and all your villains are true, even the ones we despise. We loved you boys. We fucking loved you and you decided to lick the taint of Troy because you didn’t have the stones to conquer PRIME by yourselves. You failed Phil Atken. You failed yourselves. All of you are a fucking disappointment and it hurts.

She does actually seem a little hurt by it. There’s a look down, a headshake, and then finally, a steeling in her eyes.

Anna Daniels: But we will do what we must.

Her eyes wander. For a moment, she considers adding to it before ultimately shaking her head, dropping the mic, and heading to the back.

Backstage.

Matt Mills is standing in front of a PRIME backdrop looking very put-together. Unless some danger befell him earlier in the evening, then he looks like hell. I dunno what y’all are up to, so let’s just cover our bases here. Also he has a microphone.

Standing next to him is a shorter man whose body is mostly covered in bubble wrap. I say mostly because we also have to account for the Chicago Bears football helmet on his head and the pool floaties on his arms. His name is Steve Lemieux, and he also has a microphone.

Okay, who gave Steve Microphone?

Mills opens his mouth to speak but is immediately cut off.

Steve Lemieux: Greetings and salutations, friends and fellows! My name is Steve Lemieux, and I’m the owner of LeMoo’s Fine Sandwiches in beautiful downtown Peoria, Illinois. This is the first episode of my new show, Lemieux’s Clues…

This fact seems very new to Mister Mills. Seriously, he looks hella confused right now.

Steve Lemieux: And I’m here with my first guest…

He turns to Matt.

Steve Lemieux: Can you tell everyone your name?

Steve holds his microphone out for Matt, despite Mills having a microphone of his own.

Matt Mills: I’m Matt Mills. I’ve been part of the PRIME broadcast staff for years.

Steve Lemieux: Hi, Matt! Let’s talk about some topics.

Matt looks directly into the camera. There’s a pleading in his eyes, but he will find no relief here.

Steve Lemieux: My first topic is can you tell me when rehearsals are supposed to be? I’m not getting the memos and I think they might be getting sent to the wrong address but I don’t know who to talk to. Do you know who to talk to?

Matt Mills: What?

Steve Lemieux: I want to know when rehearsals are so it doesn’t hurt when the stunt people pretend to beat me up.

Matt Mills: What?

Steve Lemieux: All of the stunt people were very mean in Japan. I think they went crazy.

Matt Mills: Stunt people? What? I don’t even know where to start with this.

Steve Lemieux: That nice Nathan man told me that it would be safer if I wasn’t here in PRIME Wrestling…

Oh, Steve. You’re not supposed to call it that, you delirious idiot.

Steve Lemieux: But I thought if I just wore some protection then I would be okay if the stunt people all went crazy again. I found a bubble wrap man who had lots of bubble wrap and now I have this padding!

Matt Mills: (deadpan) Great.

Steve Lemieux: Is there a number I call for the rehearsal information? Or a newsletter I can subscribe to?

Matt looks like he wants to respond, but instead his hand just drops down next to his side and he walks off camera.

Steve continues to stand there awkwardly, perhaps hoping someone will clue him in on when the rehearsals are. What follows is 30 seconds of silence. Just dead air. First Steve looks at the camera, and then off to the side, then back at the camera.

It goes on like this.

For a while.

Until finally, it fades.

We fade in to Comrade Speedy Riggs, resplendent in his tropical hammer and sickle shirt, standing side by side with former two time Universal Champion, The Russian Bear, Ivan Stanislav. The duo stands in what must be The Red Army locker room, as evidenced by the Soviet and Russian Federation flags standing smartly on flagstands.

The communist Cuban Red Army extraordinaire grins a wide smile as he holds a microphone aloft.

Speedy Riggs: Hola comrades of The Red Army! I am the official Red Army Interviewer, Speedy Riggs, here with—

The door to the locker room bursts open and in runs Bryan Dawkins. Ivan doesn’t flinch; there aren’t many people who would burst into his locker room as a threat, anyway. Dawkins looks at Ivan, then Speedy and finally to the camera. He’s out of breath and carrying the Belmont trophy.

Bryan Dawkins: (gasping for breath) Sorry, sorry! I just need…a second.

Dawkins scans the locker room, his eyes darting from wall to wall, corner to corner. He scans the various bags on the floor and lockers on the wall until his eyes fixate on one place.

The desk.

Ivan’s HUGE desk.

He looks at the Russian Bear.

Bryan Dawkins: Err…you mind, Ivan?

Ivan shifts his attention to Dawkins and growls.

Ivan Stanislav: You have match against Quinn Fleetwood in few minutes, comrade Dawkins. What are you doing?

Bruh stifles a laugh and resists rolling his eyes at Ivan.

Bryan Dawkins: Ivan – it’s Quinn Fleetwood. Not a problem, bruh. I just need one sec.

Dawkins quickly walks to the desk, yanks open a drawer and deposits the trophy inside. He slams the drawer shut and makes a bee line for the door.

Bryan Dawkins: And I’m off to murder Quinn Fleetwood. As you were, bruhs.

He offers a salute to the leader of The Red Army and his trusty interviewer and exits the room as quickly as he entered.

Riggs hesitates after the commotion for a moment. He clears his throat and gets back to it.

Speedy Riggs: Ahem. So, Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav, here we are on the other side of Culture Shock. Anything on your mind?

Ivan grinds his teeth, his granite jaw shifting slightly to one side as he looks down at Speedy. It’s hard to say if this was a planned question, but if it was, Ivan is doing a really good job of showing his annoyance.

Ivan Stanislav: You know, Comrade Riggs, one of basic fundamental tenets of Leninism is that imperialism prevented communist revolution from occurring. Elites distracted their workers at home, by exploiting others far away so that they could still reap rewards of their broken system.

The Bear growls gently.

Ivan Stanislav: Such is not so different here in PRIME.

Speedy purses his lips thoughtfully.

Speedy Riggs: Are you saying there’s a parallel between the concept of Leninism, imperialism, and what is happening in PRIME?

Ivan nods his head and snarls.

Ivan Stanislav: Absolutely. Just look at conversation Alexei had with that opportunist, Lindsay Troy, earlier today. She has done admirable job distracting me with titles and opportunities. Yet, she also proves that she does not care about hard work of others. She feeds her friends and looks the other way when she wishes. Like some imperialist, she uses titles and accolades to placate her roster.

Speedy looks positively engrossed with Ivan and every single word he speaks.

Speedy Riggs: I think there’s no doubt you’re the hardest working member of the roster, Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav.

Ivan Stanislav: I have won Universal Title twice. I dominated Brandon Youngblood and crushed Coral Avalon and brought glory to my Motherland. I have played by Lindsay Troy’s rules. I have respected her.

Ivan points an accusing finger at the camera.

Ivan Stanislav: No more jumping through hoops for a corrupt elitist. Let the fools scurry around hunting after your worthless, tainted titles. Let lesser men and women be blinded by the gold. You, foolish Queen of PRIME, have tarnished them beyond recognition!

Ivan waves a wide arm and shakes his head.

Speedy Riggs: It sounds like you’re frustrated with Manhunt as well. Could you speak more on that, Ivan?

Ivan Stanislav: Absolutely, Comrade Riggs. I was almost dazzled by it again. I had every right to win Manhunt, but that no good son of bitch Chandler Tsonda sacrificed himself to thwart what was dominating showing by me! How much money did you pay him, Lindsay? How many promises did you give him for his service?

Ivan shrugs.

Ivan Stanislav: Well, Chandler Tsonda, for better or worse, you played your role adequately. Now it’s my turn to pay you back. You’ve been scratching at my boots for months. I do not know if it’s the head injury or your own stupidity, but I will happily knock you out of PRIME once more! But now, you get a Russian Bear of old, a Russian Bear who does not care about any guardrails put forth in PRIME! I am going to bury you, Chandler Tsonda, and make that pretty face of yours unrecognizable!

Speedy Riggs: Sounds like Chandler Tsonda is in some trouble, eh Ivan?

Ivan Stanislav: There is no one to protect you, Chandler Tsonda. But I take my time. Why rush into this. I will finish off your carcass at UltraViolence, but until then, I think The Russian Bear is going to play with his food. No amount of plastic surgery or digital enhancement will fix your shattered body when I’m through with you! And with yet another “stalwart” of PRIME’s crooked regime destroyed, I will move on to the next.

Ivan grins.

Ivan Stanislav: It is a new day, PRIME. Lindsay Troy, prepare to reap the whirlwind! And Chandler Tsonda? You will be seeing red soon enough! DYAAHAAHAA!!

Speedy mirrors Ivan’s wide, yet angry grin and with that, we go elsewhere.

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

One day I will go back to the “one fall” bit, but today is not that day.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, from Hilo, Hawaii…

The arena’s lights fade to black momentarily before exploding in a pyrotechnic display of crimson and gold fireworks.

“The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir blasts through the PA system, eliciting a cascade of boos from the PRIME faithful.

Vince Howard: And weighing in tonight at two-hundred and thirty-two pounds…

Out steps the newest member of The Red Army, the former Flyin’ Hawaiian himself, Bryan Dawkins.

Clad in his signature Red Army issued crimson and gold sunglasses, he slowly makes his way to the ring devoid of any emotion. The young kids that once chanted “BRUH” now boo his presence and the worst part is? He doesn’t care.

Vince Howard: Representing The Red Army…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

He slides into the ring and does a quick check of the ropes before settling into his corner of the ring.

Vince Howard: BRYAAAAAAAAAAAAAN… DAW-KIIIIIIIIIIIIINS!!!!

Nick Stuart: Not the warmest reception for Dawkins here tonight.

Richard Parker: My guy, this is Canada. Nothing here is warm. Nothing except the hot, delicious taste of Tim Horton’s coffee! Try it in Original Blend, French Vanilla, or Dark Chocolate Dream!

Nick Stuart: Did… did you just sneak a product placement into this match?

Richard Parker: Wouldn’t be the first time. Won’t be the last.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Yeah, it’s gonna be one of those matches.

Vince Howard: Accompanied to the ring by Chet Fleetwood…

Nick Stuart: Oh. Great.

Nevermind. It’s going to be one of those matches.

Vince Howard: Hailing from New Orleans, Louisiana and weighing in at two-hundred and twenty-eight pounds…

The high-energy chords to “I Wanna Get Better” by Bleachers plays as Quinn Fleetwood emerges from the back, wearing his high school wrestling letterman’s jacket. It looks a little tight on him, but if it’s uncomfortable, he isn’t letting it show.

Vince Howard: QUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINN FLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETWOOD!!!

As he walks to the ring, he pretends to throw punches at the audience members, laughing at the ones who actually react to him. Finally he reaches the ring and begins to bounce on his feet, completely unaware of how murked he’s about to get.

DING DING

It should be noted that Chet Fleetwood, who is currently taking a casual stroll outside the ring, is carrying a book. Because of course he is. It’s a heavy legal tome, not unlike the other books he’s brought to ringside with him in the past. This one looks to be leather-bound, with an embossed cover that reads “BBW LAW” in gold leaf. Because of course it does.

Seriously, Chet. What the fuck.

Quinn proudly walks to the center of the ring and offers his right hand. It would be an obvious feint even if it wasn’t obvious that he wasn’t crossing the fingers on his other hand behind his back, because his last name is Fleetwood, so of course you can’t take anything he does at face value.

Richard Parker: I don’t know what this crowd was jeering a minute ago, because clearly we’re about to get a fine sporting competition between two fine, upstanding sportsmen.

Nick Stuart: Uh huh.

If Dawkins has an opinion on this it can’t be read on his face. He takes one step closer, which earns him a big grin in response from Quinn, but then quickly closes the gap when he shoots in for a double-leg takedown.

Richard Parker: See? Sports!

Dawkins rapidly passes Fleetwood’s guard into a full mount. That’s when he turns on the striking machine. It’s all Quinn can do to get his hands up to defend himself, as each blow – all tuned to find a gap in Fleetwood’s defenses – lands in succession.

A few closed fists are sprinkled into the mix, causing Ashley Barlow to issue her first of what will be many admonishments for the evening.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins better watch those punches, or he could be facing a disqualification here.

Richard Parker: Tell me one time in the entire history of this sport where that has happened. Go on. I’ll wait.

Nick Stuart: Charlie Burke versus Don Donaldson in 1954.

Richard Parker: You made that up.

Nick Stuart: What? No, I didn’t. You can look this up on your phone right now!

Richard Parker: Yes, I could. But am I going to?

In the ring, Quinn has managed to shift over close enough to the ropes where he can break the plane with his foot. This earns a count from Barlow, which isn’t helped by the fact that the elder Fleetwood is standing on the ring apron and pointing enthusiastically at his BBW LAW book.

I get it, Chet. Boy do I ever.

Nick Stuart: Chet Fleetwood trying to insert himself into this match. I don’t know what that book is supposed to be, but…

Richard Parker: Art, Nicholas. Art.

Nick Stuart: I thought it was law.

Richard Parker: Lawful art. I celebrate that title as part of my collection.

Fleetwood opens the book with his left hand and is now gesturing to the contents with his right. The page in question shows a black and white photograph of a Rubenesque figure in spandex leotard. The caption, large enough for the camera to see, reads: Mildred Thickle, 1928.

Chet seems to notice this, and quickly thumbs through the pages. Meanwhile, both Dawkins and Quinn are now back on their feet. Still no expression on the face of the Bruh.

Richard Parker: I don’t remember that picture, though.

Quinn darts in for a lock-up, but Dawkins ducks under and grabs a rear waistlock. The two jockey for position, each one trying to widen their base in an attempt to gain leverage. Quinn begins trying to snake his arm in between himself and Dawkins, but the Former Flyin Hawaiian shifts his grip and manages to take Quinn to the mat face-down.

Outside the ring, Chet Fleetwood is trying to get a chant started.

Chet Fleetwood: 👏 Let’s 👏 go 👏 Quinn 👏 you’re the apple 👏 of my tree 👏 and the tree 👏 in my orchard 👏 you’re the best wrestler 👏 in 👏 the 👏 world 👏 even 👏 better 👏 than 👏 Cecil 👏 Worth 👏 Farthing 👏 Ton!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think that’s going to catch on.

Richard Parker: Eh, some weirdo section of the internet will try to make it a thing.

Quinn gets up to his knees, and attempts to turn out of the hold, but Dawkins’ grip is like a vice. He rises with Fleetwood, runs him chest first into the ropes, then snaps back with a release German suplex. Quinn crashes to the mat, but manages to roll through onto his shoulders, so that when Dawkins stands he’s met with a running shoulder block that takes him to the mat.

Both men are quickly back to their feet. Fleetwood rebounds off the ropes and connects with a second shoulder block. Both men up again, and Dawkins swings with a palm strike that Quinn is able to duck. The momentum of the swing causes Dawkins to spin around, at which point he’s caught around the waist and lifted up into a spinning version of a back suplex.

Nick Stuart: I feel like I’ve seen this sequence before.

Hey, Nick. Shut the fuck up.

Richard Parker: Yeah, definitely something a little familiar about it.

You too, Rich’.

Quinn hits the ropes, lines Dawkins up, and drops an elbow across his throat.

Chet Fleetwood runs a victory lap outside the ring with his arms raised and his knees pumping.

Nick Stuart: And now we get our first cover of this match…

ONE

TWO

But that’s all Quinn gets before Dawkins kicks out.

Frustrated, Dawkins charges in and tackles Fleetwood to the ground again. Just as before, he tries to move past his guard, only this time there are no open hands. It’s all closed fists. Referee Barlow is quick to try and get a handle on things, immediately beginning a count when she recognizes the rule breaking.

Ashley Barlow: One… two… three… C’mon, Bryan, that’s enough… Four!

Dawkins gets back to his feet, hands raised in a show of temporary acquiescence.

Ashley Barlow: One more time and it’s your ass. You hear me?!

Richard Parker: Oh, she mad-mad.

Dawkins pulls up Fleetwood by his hair, ignoring the punches that are thrown in response. He bullies Quinn into the corner, grabs a waistlock, and hits a twisting belly-to-belly suplex coming out of the corner.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins dictating the pace of this one now.

Richard Parker: There are no dictators in the Red Army, Nick. No one denies this!

Nick Stuart: I’m pretty sure everyone deni…

Richard Parker: NO ONE DENIES THIS!

Dawkins keeps control via waistlock and repositions into a more traditional vertical suplex hold. But instead of bringing Quinn down onto his back, Dawkins snaps him straight down.

OOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

Nick Stuart: Brainbuster by Dawkins! A move that has special meaning here in PRIME, and especially to everyone that’s come through Grey’s.

Richard Parker: And Fleetwood’s brains done be busted, yo.

Nick Stuart: …what was any of that?

Richard Parker: Words, dawg. Don’t be hatin’ and shit. Shiiiiiiiit.

And yet again, Chet Fleetwood is on the ring apron with his BBW LAW book. This time the page is open to nothing but a wall of text. Just an avalanche of words across the page.

Richard Parker: Huh.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: That book’s not supposed to have words in it.

Hearing this, Chet turns and yells at the broadcast table loud enough for the arena mics to register.

Chet Fleetwood: IT STANDS FOR BIG BOOK OF WRESTLING LAW!

Richard Parker: Oh. Yep. Definitely a different BBW book than what I’ve got at home. Pretty sure my BBC LAW book is legit, though.

Nick Stuart: (sighing) Goddammit, Richard.

Richard Parker: It’s about British television!!

In the ring, Dawkins is trying to press his advantage further. He’s attempting to position himself near Quinn’s upper torso, but despite having just had his world turned literally upside-down, Fleetwood The Younger still has the wherewithal to try and kick Dawkins away. Instead of forcing something that isn’t there, Dawkins instead moves to pull Quinn up to his feet. This is countered by a European uppercut to create some distance, and then a running clothesline puts Dawkins down on the mat.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins looked like he had this well in control, but Quinn Fleetwood is not going down without a fight.

YOU BOTH SUCK!!!

YOU BOTH SUCK!!!

A fact that the crowd tonight does not seem to appreciate.

Quinn follows up his quick offensive burst with a cover attempt of his own. One that happens to be quite close to the ropes.

ONE

Close enough that he can use them for leverage.

TWO

Leverage enough that, despite flailing to kick out, Dawkins seems stuck.

THR-

A fact that Ashley Barlow notices just before her hand hits the mat a third time. She rises to her knees, puts her hands on her hips, and just shakes her head.

Chet tries to object, but Barlow is there to cut him off before he can get a hand on the ropes.

Dawkins pulls Quinn up and cannon-fires him into the ropes in the direction of Chet. The younger Fleetwood rebounds and is scooped into a thunderous spinebuster. It may have looked like in the moment before impact that both father and son were reaching for each other across the distance of the ring, but I’m sure it was just a trick of the eye.

Nick Stuart: Big impact from Dawkins!

Richard Parker: Russian machine never breaks, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Okay, that’s an ice hockey blog.

Richard Parker: Still true, though.

With Quinn staggered near the ropes, Dawkins bursts in and tries to take his head off with a pump kick. Unfortunately, Quinn sees the move coming and is able to duck in time, pulling the rope down a bit in the process. Dawkins overshoots, kicks part where Quinn was standing, and while the rebound of the top rope doesn’t connect in any sensitive areas, it does clip the underside of his leg.

Richard Parker: Oooooh, Dawk’ is lucky he didn’t catch that one right in the Kremlins.

It also gives Quinn an opening.

Nick Stuart: Fleetwood behind Dawkins… He’s got an arm trapped.

The younger Fleetwood does indeed have the Bruh in a compromising position, because being the victim of a pumphandle setup never looks good for anyone involved. Quinn starts the lift.

Quinn Fleetwood: GREEEMAAWWWHARBARGLHAKKKKHAKKKHHkkkkj…

So here’s what just happened. Quinn started to lift Dawkins off of his feet in an attempt to connect with the Down Quinn Flames, but things didn’t go exactly according to plan. Instead, Dawkins slipped behind, reversed the grip on one of his arms so that he was the one in control, and then used his arms and his own body weight like a vice to lock in a D’arce choke on Fleetwood.

Nick Stuart: He calls that one “Garrota,” Richard.

Quinn Fleetwood, left with no other option before the world around him goes dark, is forced to tap out.

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: And I call that another dub for the Red Army.

Vince Howard: The winner of this match…

The bell has sounded. Vince Howard has started his announcement. But Bryan Dawkins is not letting go

DING DING DING DING DING

Quinn Fleetwood now lies completely limp in the arms of the Former Flyin’ Hawaiian, and the ringside area has spiraled into total panic. Chet Fleetwood is on the ring apron waving his book and shouting objections. The timekeeper is furiously ringing the bell, as if that has ever worked even once in the history of professional wrestling. Ashley Barlow is screaming at Dawkins to break the hold, otherwise she’ll reverse the decision.

Nick Stuart: Someone needs to get in there and break this up! A hold like that can cause permanent damage!

Richard Parker: I think you should do it.

Nick Stuart: I’m not joking, Richard!

Richard Parker: Neither am I! I mean I’d go myself, but, ummm… oh, ow. Leg cramp. Damn, what a shame.

Finally, Dawkins relents, releasing the hold and slowly stepping back. Ashley Barlow stays in his face the entire time, giving the Bruh an earful.

Nick Stuart: Well it looks like the decision will stand, which means Bryan Dawkins is the winner here tonight.

We fade on an image of Chet Fleetwood tending to his son, a small clap from the crowd coming as Quinn begins to stir.

The cameras catch up with fellow Canadian Conor Fuse as the fans inside the arena give a cheer, despite his Egg Bandit alliance (and unknown current contract alliance to PRIME). Conor is sporting lime green Adidas track pants and a “KING OF WRONG STYLE” Fred Dick branded t-shirt.

Conor is happy-go-lucky, skipping through the backstage halls and is one lollipop and 3DS system in his hands shy of having like, prolly THE BEST DAY.

Anyway, it’s clear he’s enjoying himself as he mumbles along.

Conor Fuse: Shit guy, shit. Manhunt was so much fun. “CONOR FUSE IS THE FUCKHEAD”, bahahahaha. Let the critics be spoken, the Ultimate Gamer, the Power-Up King, the Armlock Aristocrat, is like the most pop’n’fresh guy PRIME needs right- ummm…

Conor has stopped because he’s mesmerized by a locker room door in front of him. He finishes his sentence, nonetheless.

Conor Fuse: …now.

Conor is staring at the door all wide eyed, like a kid in the candy store.

The label on the door reads “WHORESMEN”.

Conor looks down at his Fred Dick t-shirt, putting two and two together and realizing Fred Dick is a Whoresman. He smiles, giggles and then nods as he carries on down the hall.

Conor Fuse: The eventual mashup of Conor Fuse and any of the Whoresmen would be the stuff of awesome sauce, let me tell you!

Down, down the hall he scampers, not a care in the world. A few twists and bends later and Fuse strolls past the “RED ARMY” locker room. He tries walking through this area rather quickly, though.

Conor Fuse: God, I can, like, FEEL the capitalism radiating off that place! Gross!

Conor means well, but sometimes he’s not all up there. Needless to say, if he stayed any longer, he would need a thorough shower.

The gamer continues throughout the locker room area as his eyes fall upon another door. He stops for a moment to take notice and try sounding it out.

Glueminati.

Conor Fuse: Glue-a-mani… Glue-a-man-genie… Glue-a-martini. This is a tough one.

He shrugs, he gives up.

Conor Fuse: Well whatever, Cecilworth is just lucky I am nowhere near allowed and able to challenge him for the Universal Championship. (Speaking louder and pointing his head in the direction of the Glueminati locker room) Because I am UNDEFEATED ALL TIME against him!

Conor keeps walking though, it’s a tossup between wanting and hoping anyone inside the Glueminati locker room can hear him and also by the time they open the door and check to see who’s there, Conor is long gone.

Ah, the last bend in the hallway.

Fuse comes to a stone cold stop.

His eyes are wide. His mouth is open. For a moment he seems to be stunned and scared.

But then his emotions change on a dime. Joy fills his face!

Conor Fuse: CLAY!

Conor SPRINTS full blast down the hallway and reaches none other than Clay Byrd. While most PRIMATES won’t know the history between Conor and Clay, all anyone really needs to know is they hate each other.

Conor is SUPER fast on his feet, however. He’s so fast that he arrives at Clay’s feet even before the giant from Plainview can figure out WTF is going on. Once Clay does, however, the Texan looks over Conor from head-to-toe.

Conor gives him a hug!

It’s a quick hug, Fuse is stupid but he’s not an idiot. Conor also takes a solid three steps back before Clay can do anything about it. ComiCONOR holds up his hands in defence.

Conor Fuse: Dude, it’s good to see you! I never thought we’d be in the same arena again after, well, ya know…

Conor’s face lights up once more. He reveals a small bag on his back and swings it around. He reaches in with his left hand and digs inside.

Conor Fuse: I have a gift for you, just in case we did run into each other and like, look, we did! Bahahaha!

Clay remains on the ready, despite Conor’s SpongeBob laugh.

Fuse pulls out an Xbox controller. Boxed. Branded. Limited edition.

He offers it to Clay.

Conor Fuse: Think of it as a peace offering! I just wanna say I loved working with you and wrestling you and hating you and you hating me and all that fun stuff man I miss it so much.

There is no pause between his words whatsoever.

The controller is still out there for Clay to take. Clay looks at the box, then back up at Conor. Box. Conor. Box. Conor. Conor. Box.

Clay reaches out and takes it while Conor gives a literal round of applause!

Conor Fuse: Yes! Sweet! Bingo! BOOM.

Conor thinks about walking over and either hugging Clay again or doing his trademark tussle of someone else’s hair but decides against it. Again, he’s dumb, but not stupid. Or stupid but not an idiot. Or whatever, you get the point.

Conor is already walking away in the other direction.

Conor Fuse: Well, Clay, it’s good to see ya again my large angry thump of a man! Let me know if you ever wanna meet inside Lindsay’s office! I think the three of us could have a super swell time! Okay, see ya later!

And Conor is gone, leaving Clay standing there with the Xbox controller in his hand as the scene fades.

A few things all human beings do every day: breathe, sleep, expend calories, grow older, piss and/or shit.

Oh, and eat. Everybody eats.

And wrestlers eat. They carb load, they protein pack, they veggie cram, they chase ketosis, they optimize wheys and blend blends and perfect macros. And there’s a few heads in the back who can’t stomach food on match day, but for the most part: wrestlers eat. And on the road you consider yourself one lucky sumbitch to stumble across a Sweetgreen, so you grab what you can, and when you get to the arena, you know where to find something approaching real food that offers real fuel to a body that’s doing caloric and metabolic miracles.

And so it is that we find Nate Colton, PRIME’s bright young star, at catering. But it’s not just us who find him.

“Naaaaaaate-O! Big Nate Dogg!”

There is only one type of entrance for Chandler Tsonda: grand. He enters, head-to-toe athleisure (as you do), and approaches Colton with warmth and only a slight limp. Clearly, the damage from Culture Shock is not fast to heal in the nearly-fifty-year-old.

Chandler Tsonda: Yo dude, how’s the grub?

Smiles have been rare for the New Diamond, and friendly faces even moreso. Even though the Model Citizen has been back for a few months, Nate looks as happy to see him as if he were a longtime fan.

He probably is. How could you not?

Nate Colton: I didn’t have to make it myself, so it’s pretty good. How are you holding up?

The Model Citizen grins back at his former War Games teammate. You’d think he was about to offer an update that’s all sunshine and daisies.

Chandler Tsonda: (still grinning) I’m ten types of fucked up. A piece of advice for you to tuck away for future forty-nine-year-old Nate: going through a barbwire table seems fucking cool from the outside. And the truth of it?

He soaks up the pregnant pause. He…impregnates it? No, don’t print that. Right, back to Tsonda!

Chandler Tsonda: It hurts even worse than I woulda thought. It super hurts. It hurts triple platinum. Don’t get old, and definitely don’t get old and chuck your ass into four hundred pounds of Russian through a table wrapped in shark teeth of wire. Like I said, ten types of fucked up. But I wouldn’t change a thing, ya know?

Oh, look? That smile that suddenly appeared on Colton’s face when Chandler announced his presence? It’s gone now. Nate might not be ten types of fucked up, but he’s working on a respectable six or seven.

Nate Colton: I hear you there.

Tsonda gazes at his shoes (marvels that they are) for a second. He appears to be gathering his thoughts, and a quiet, contemplative Viet Viper is rare enough to shift some of the mood in the conversation.

Chandler Tsonda: (still staring down) And, not to be all ‘Damien, this is all for you!’ but, ya know, you still had a shot to win the damn thing. And somebody had to take out the Bear. Has to, not had to.

The Model Citizen looks up, pleased with himself, although in an uncharacteristically sheepish way.

Chandler Tsonda: Guess the only somebody with the right mix of stupid, dangerous, crazy, and showboat was yours truly. Shame that you weren’t anointed The One Manhunter To Rule Them All, but you sure did get to throw a bunch of fuckfaces straight on their heads.

Nate Colton: That I did. Shame I wasn’t a little faster on the draw with one of them…but, hell. What are you gonna do, right? As for that other thing, about taking out the Bear? No argument.

A knowing nod passes between the two major dudes, before Tsonda shakes his head.

Chandler Tsonda: (frustrated) Wasn’t enough to take him out, though. Never is, it seems. You saw earlier tonight. “No one to protect you,” he says. “You get Russian Bear of old,” he says. “No guardrails.” Nine feet tall and big ol’ drama queen.

All of PRIME’s audience heard the threats from Ivan Stanislav a mere hour ago. They were not empty, and in them, menace dripped from the bared teeth of an uncaged Bear.

Chandler Tsonda: Which I guess is kinda what I came to ask about. He’s…

It’s more that the Model Citizen trails off than that the New Diamond cuts in, but Colton is certainly not mincing words.

Nate Colton: As dramatic as he is dangerous.

Chandler Tsonda: He didn’t know it was coming at Culture Shock. I don’t expect I’ll get the privilege of blindsiding him twice. So I figured I’d come and ask for a silver bullet from the chairman of the Ivan Is A Syphilitic Sore fraternity. Do fraternities have chairmen? I think you’re supposed to learn this at college, but I couldn’t go because, ya know (points to his face) handsomeness. Also GPA.

He may be plenty good-natured, but a thing Nate Colton spends far less time doing than Chandler Tsonda? Bits.

Nate Colton: There’s no silver bullet. I have advice, but it’s…

Trailing off isn’t really the Colton way. When he speaks, he does so declaratively.

Chandler Tsonda: C’mon, Colton. Not only would both of us neglect to piss on him if he were on fire, but we’d both reach for the gas can. I come to you as a friend and ask how to kill the devil, and you tell me it’s a trade secret?

There’s…is that an edge to Colton’s voice? But ever since the conversation headed in the direction of the Russian, PRIME’s knight in shining has something serrated in his tone.

Nate Colton: I’m not keeping it from you. I just don’t like to go to the place where I keep all my hatred for that man.

This is the moment, with every other roster member in PRIME, when Chandler does a riff like: “I thought the only thing you hated is when they’re out of plain turkey sandwiches on white bread.”

But either it’s the respect between two of the top dogs, the blood they’ve spilled together, or maybe the fact that nothing nurtures a bond like a common enemy. However it arises, there is deadly seriousness.

Chandler Tsonda: So you do still hate him. Yet another thing I like about you.

Nate Colton: You have to.

Colton makes direct eye contact when he brings the point home.

Nate Colton: You have to hate him more than anything you’ve ever hated in your life.

A beat passes.

Chandler Tsonda: (whispers) Dude, I know this is serious, but I have goosebumps. 

Nate Colton: Like I said, I don’t like the places I keep this, but it’s not a rivalry or a feud. It’s an oath: anything, anything at all, to end him. You should beat him, you should knock him down, but really, you should end him. And PRIME would be a better place for it.

Chandler Tsonda: Nothing I’d like more than to do some spring cleaning, and clear the vermin out.

Nate Colton: It’ll be a war.

Chandler Tsonda: I expect so. One where I’ll be outgunned. He’s got a whole Kremlin worth of cronies, Ruslan chief among them.

A look passes between the two do-gooders.

Chandler Tsonda: I don’t expect or want you to save me if they catch me in a dark alley somewhere.

Nate Colton: You know they’ll try.

Chandler Tsonda: Let ‘em.

They give each other a nod.

Chandler Tsonda: Good advice by the way.

Nate Colton: Pretty good flip through the table.

The Model Citizen raises an imaginary glass towards the Evansville native.

Chandler Tsonda: Here’s to bear-hunting season.

Colton toasts with his own imaginary beverage. It’s probably a Bud Light to Chandler’s champagne, but the sentiment is the same.

“I’ll drink to that.”

Fading in, we are blessed with the presence of our freshly clowned, very gluey, always mustachioed Intense Champion. The Comeback Kid making good on that nickname.

Hayes Hanlon, chest puffed out a bit with the silver Intense belt resting comfortably on his shoulder, strolls down the hallway, sipping a straw from a large plastic cup of gin and tonic. He’s also flipping a small black circular container; the most lavish and luxurious mustache wax a man can buy! A well received gift from the Financier, and by the sheen currently on the ‘stache, it’s safe to assume Hayes has already given it a test run.

There’s a swagger to the man we haven’t seen in quite some time, and he knows it. Perhaps still riding high from the eventful Glold Gopen. It’s looking like nothing and no one is going to ruin the young Intense Champion’s day.

Rexton William Bader: Ah-ha! There’s my guy!

Aw, maaannnnn.

“The Master” rolls forward from down the hall, and where you might expect Hayes to react…poorly, he grins instead, and saunters forward.

Hayes Hanlon: You should’ve swung a little harder with that tank, buddy-

The Event Horizon points at Bader’s air tank, then pats his Intense belt.

Hayes Hanlon: -It didn’t work out the way you wanted.

Rexton William Bader: I don’t understand what you’re talkin’ about, you should be happy I haven’t SUED your ass when your little buddy got in the way! And you tell him! Tell, ah, what’s his name…

Hayes Hanlon:…fabby?

Rexton William Bader: Yeah! That guy! Tell him he’s got a LAWSUIT comin’ his way!!

Hayes Hanlon: I’ll do that. And maybe you tell Snow to get a lawyer to take a deep dive into your contract.

Rexton William Bader: I could. I could do that.

“The Master” grins, and points a creaky finger over Hanlon’s shoulder.

Rexton William Bader: Or you can tell ‘im yourself!

Hayes squints, then turns instinctively, just in time to take a steel chair square to his forehead. Jason Snow, dented chair in hand, grinds his teeth as Hanlon sprawls back, his gin and tonic flying into the wall, his mustache wax flung far, far away. As he fumbles back, he trips over one of the wheels on Bader’s chair, backrolling onto the floor before scrambling to his feet.

Rexton William Bader: THAT’S A LAWSUIT!

Hanlon stands as Snow pursues, slamming the chair down onto the Comeback Kid, who manages to block it with his forearms. He scrambles, and the Original Villain stalks him down the hall.

Around the hallway corner, Hayes tries to find some manner of footing as Snow follows. Another swing nearly misses the Intense Champion’s jaw, and the next makes contact with his shoulder, sending him thudding against the opposite wall. Hayes clutches his shoulder with grit teeth, and turns his eyes to see Snow raise the chair for another overhead swing.

Pure instinct kicks in, and Hayes catches it in his hands.

Gripping the chair tight, Hayes backpedals down the hall while Snow holds onto the legs, following the momentum. They stumble into the catering area, where a handful of PRIME staff members are, taking a break. They scatter as the two clamber into the room, fighting for control of the chair.

Lucky for Hayes, size and age are his advantage, and he’s able to wrench the chair from the Original Villain’s hands, opting to fling it away.

Phoebe Gaskins, fresh off her communications degree last year, finds herself frozen by the cheese and salami platter. As a native to Calgary, her dream of working in production had come true weeks before when she received the call from PRIME’s hiring team. Those who know her best would know that a Nate Colton stuffed pig t-shirt is hiding under her PRIME uniform, and her mom had done an especially great job at braiding her blonde pigtails for her big break.

Unfortunately for Phoebe, the chair frisbees itself directly into her nose, breaking it instantly and sending a spray of blood all over the floor.

Hayes and Snow fail to notice as the Original Villain spears Hanlon into the mid-section, sending them into the catering table, sending plates and beverages flying every which way.

The two fight for footing, Hayes managing to stand first; the buttons of his shirt all nearly gone as he grabs Snow by the arm and throttles him in the side of the dome. Home Run Hayes whips Mr. 407 away, sending him tumbling onto the floor.

Poor Phoebe clutches her broken nose, blood soaking her uniform, and staining the Nate Colton shirt she really wanted the New Diamond to autograph tonight.

Hayes spits, rolling his shoulder, and stomps over to Snow, now standing. They begin trading blows. Head shots, body shots, every kind of shot, and the two meander toward two large metal doors. Snow catches Hayes in the jaw, forcing the younger man’s eyes to nearly roll in the back of his head. Clinging to consciousness, Hanlon returns the favor with a big fist to Snow’s stomach, almost doubling him over.

Taking the opportunity, Hayes barrels forward, driving into Snow’s stomach and lifting him into the air, directly into the metal bar of the doors, flinging them open, and sending both careening onto the pavement outside the building.

They roll against the hard pavement, and fight to stand. Soon, their fist fight is absorbed by the dim lights of the parking lot, and the camera crew can only follow for so long.

Phoebe, meanwhile, sobs next to the catering table, clutching her disfigured nose, and desperately hopes her boyfriend back at the University of Calgary won’t be mad that the Nate Colton shirt he bought for her birthday is ruined, and probably won’t get an autograph.

Nick Stuart: Think JCH is going to come out with his hair on fire for this one?

Richard Parker: I don’t, actually. His tears will put the fire out before he reaches Argyle.

Nick Stuart: Our next match promises to be a doozy, folks. It’s Tony Gamble, long time Bandit and thereby associate of Cancer Jiles–

Richard Parker hisses. Like a cat.

Nick Stuart: …and, thereby, a major enemy of his opponent, JCH.

Vince Howard: This match is for ONE FALL! Introducing–

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.

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

Vince Howard takes a moment to get over how this Newsman guy is stepping on his toes, then clears his throat.

Vince Howard: Introducing his opponent… from Folsom, Louisiana…

“The Best” by AWOLNATION hits the speakers.

Vince Howard: THE FOREVER MAN! THE VOW OF VIRTUE! THE ALPHA MALE LOVE BOAT!

Nick Stuart: Jesus, Vince.

Richard Parker: Is he saying all this just to hurt JCH? I’m all for it, I’m just trying to figure out why they’re beefing.

Vince Howard: JONATHAAAAAAN CHRISTOPHERRRRRRRR HAAAAAALLLLLLL!!!

A sullen Jonathan-Christopher Hall emerges from behind the REVIVAL logo. He sports black board shorts, frizzy blonde hair and heavy bags under his eyes that suggest he’s going through another depressive episode. However, as he slowly descends the rampway and through the long path to reach the ringside area (this is a stadium show, after all), his depression lifts itself from his body, little by little and is replaced by a scowl on his face.

But then he goes back to sniffling and potentially crying. He’s totally unstable.

Hall reaches ringside. He rolls under the ring, slinks over to his corner and slides down the buckle to sit on the floor, with his head in his hands. He might be crying.

Richard Parker: Grow a pair, Simp Boy!

Nick Stuart: While I disagree with your approach, I certainly can understand the messaging.

DING DING

Tony Gamble almost chuckles as he charges across the ring towards the sitting JCH and immediately nails a Bronco Buster! Gamble’s junk getting all up in JCH’s grill while he ass pounds JCH’s chest and neck area!

Richard Parker: (stifling laughter) A diabolical and outright disrespectful way for Gamble to open this match!

Nick Stuart: (also stifling laughter) I concur.

This Bronco Buster goes on for, like, way too long. You see, it takes JCH a moment to even recognize he’s getting embarrassed. Then he’s all, what else is new? Know what I mean? He’s been getting embarrassed by one Bandit and his ex, the only person who can right this ship of his, what’s another Bandit embarrassing him now? Actually, why should he just let this stand? Why should he just let Gamble continue to ass pound his chest and shove his junk in his face like this? Maybe he should fight back. Maybe that’s all he can do.

And he finally, after all that, sends a stiff elbow with limited room to negotiate right into Gamble’s groin.

Not so funny now, is it?

With the Bronco thoroughly busted and Gamble writhing on the ring mat, holding his junk. JCH reaches his feet and just takes a moment to observe Gamble. As he does so, one might note the way his eyes shift, and then darken.

But maybe they don’t note it, and it all comes as a complete surprise when Tony reaches all fours to crawl to his feet, and then–

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD JCH JUST PUNT KICKED TONY GAMBLE ACROSS HIS JAW!

Richard Parker: That’ll wipe that grin off his face.

Nick Stuart: And a low blow by Richard Parker!

JCH could possibly go for the pin here. Or he could run backstage and tell Vickie he misses her and he needs her home.

Or maybe he could just curb stomp Gamble!

NO! Gamble swiftly rolls out of the way, and keeps on rolling right out of the ring. He didn’t anticipate JCH having such backbone after looking like a sad little wimp in the corner to start the match. But this is far from Gamble’s first rodeo, and he just needs a moment to recalibrate.

Of course, and unfortunately, he didn’t look up in time to see the love bomb soaring through the sky.

Nick Stuart: HE’S ALL THAT!!! THE HIGH ANGLE MOONSAULT DELIVERED BY JCH TO GAMBLE FROM THE TOP TURNBUCKLE ALL THE WAY TO THE OUTSIDE OF THE RING!!

Richard Parker: He almost botched it!

Nick Stuart: He almost botches everything!

But almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, fellas. Besides, right now, at this exact moment, it’s all JCH. The Forever-ever? Man brings Gamble up to his feet and starts to roll him in the ring, but DAMN IT HE RAKES JCH’S EYES! JCH cries out in pain, and Gamble drops him with a DDT on the hard floor!

Referee Elvis Nixon had been counting them out, of course. Slowly. Typical wrestling speed. Had gotten to around 2 or 3 by this point. But Gamble rolls in the ring. The count starts over. Gamble demands that Elvis not only begin the count, but to also count faster. Nixon, to his credit or detriment, depending where you stand on this issue, refuses. Finally, he says one. Gamble rolls his eyes. This slow piece of trash ref. Elvis says two. Gamble gets bored and steps out onto the apron. He drops a knee from the edge of the apron onto the back of JCH’s head just as JCH reaches all fours.

JCH immediately rolls over onto his back after getting his face pushed into the mat with the force of Gamble’s knee. Blood falls slowly, but plentifully from his nose.

Nick Stuart: Oh my goodness, I think JCH might have a broken nose.

Richard Parker: Can I just say this is an unusually brutal match from these guys?

Nick Stuart: That’s fair. And you can feel the weight of what a victory would mean for both these guys – extracurricular activities involving Cancer and Vickie or not.

Gamble is the first one to reach his feet, and it doesn’t take him long. Immediately he glares at Elvis, arms folded across his chest, and taps his foot.

Elvis finally counts to one.

Gamble rolls his eyes again and stomps JCH in the mid-section. Then he helps JCH to his feet and rolls him into the ring. Then, as if to make a point, Gamble lingers outside the ring.

Elvis counts to two.

Nick Stuart: I’m detecting a bit of annoyance from Gamble here regarding Elvis’ count out speed.

Richard Parker: An opponent being counted out is a legitimate professional wrestling strategy and means of victory, Nate. Wrestling referees have almost ended count out victories altogether, Nick. It’s messed up if you think about it.

Nick Stuart: So you agree with Gamble?

Richard Parker: That depends. Does he agree with Cancer Jiles – on anything at all?

Nick Stuart: I’m not sure, but I think he might be contractually obligated to never disagree with Cancer Jiles.

Richard Parker: Then no. No, I do not. Screw count outs.

Gamble finally slides in the ring and grabs hold of both of JCH’s legs on the way up to his feet. He holds them apart for a lingering moment, which brings up the age old wrestling question: Will Gamble go ahead and put him in the submission hold, or will he stomp his nuts first?

Gamble stomps his nuts.

You knew he would.

Nick Stuart: Ouchieeees! Phantom pains, know what I mean Richard?

Richard Parker: I, too, am empathizing with JCH’s giblets.

Then Gamble turns JCH over for a Boston Crab.

Richard Parker: Just tap, JCH. Tap like you always tap! Tap like you tapped when your wife left you for the biggest scumbag in the frickin business!!!

Nick Stuart: …Richard…

Richard Parker: As I was saying it, I felt bad.

And he should feel bad. That was mean and rude. But he shouldn’t feel as bad as JCH feels, who has blood running from his nose and his back getting completely ruined by this Boston Crab from Gamble. Maybe he should just tap. He lifts his hand and hovers it over the mat. Tapping could be good, anyway. Then he could just leave, you know? Leave it all behind. But that just isn’t JCH. He doesn’t know how to leave it all behind.

JCH begins crawling on his forearms towards the bottom rope.

And he hears the audience cheer for him. He can vaguely here Nick Stuart call it.

Nick Stuart: He DOESN’T tap, Richard! He fights on!

And JCH realizes upon hearing this that, at least for now, it’s what he’s here to do. He’s here to fight. And he fights like hell. He fights like there’s everything to fight for, even if there isn’t. He fights like if he manages to get his hand on the bottom ring rope, everything in his life will go back to the way it was, the way he wants it to be! He is inches away from that bottom rope now! Inches!

…

And Tony Gamble drags JCH’s ass back to the center of that ring, and locks that Boston Crab back in once more.

And all that fight just melts away from JCH.

Richard Parker: He’s withering, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Come on, JCH! Don’t quit!

Richard Parker: He’s going to quit.

The fight inside someone with nothing left to lose is interesting. It gets sharper, somehow. They see more clearly, they evaluate more logically. JCH is someone with nothing left to lose. In the grand scheme of things, this match won’t actually change anything for what really matters to him, to his heart. And yet, he can see when he turns his head how Gamble’s right foot is just a little closer to JCH’s head than his left. And thereby, he sees an opening.

JCH ELBOWS Gamble in the Achilles tendon! Again, again, and again, and Gamble cries out with each strike! Finally, he lets go and falls to his knees, gripping at the back of his ankle frenetically, frantically. Checking, we can only imagine, to make sure it’s still attached.

It is.

Gamble manages to reach his feet, albeit a little wobbly on that right ankle, and JCH nails him with an enziguri.

Elvis and Gamble exchange a look as the enziguri sends Gamble through the middle ropes and onto the apron. JCH follows him through the middle ropes and meets him there.

Nick Stuart: Not only did JCH not tap, Richard – he’s gathering some momentum here!

Gamble starts climbing to his feet, but JCH wraps him up from behind. With accuracy we haven’t often seen from JCH, he delivers a picture perfect German Suplex onto the edge of the apron, sending Gamble writhing right off the apron to the ring floor.

Hugo Vale: (through a megaphone) Ouch! That looked painful. Why did you let him do that to you, Tony?

Nick Stuart: What the–

Richard Parker: Oh hell yes.

They stand on top of the entrance ramp. Ned Reform. Daniel Green. Hugo Vale, who holds a megaphone in his hand.

The Green Vale Gang.

Daniel and Hugo mosey towards the ring. Ned, however, lingers at the top of the ramp. This is a teachable moment after all, and perhaps he is observing his pupils and their execution of whatever plan they have, more so than leading the charge.

Nick Stuart: You know, just because they’re wealthy doesn’t mean they should just get free roam to interrupt a perfectly good match.

Richard Parker: I know… but they’re soooooo wealthy, though! And young! And cool!

Nick Stuart: Richard!

Richard Parker: (inhaling deeply) I can smell the money!

Hugo stands at the bottom of the entrance ramp while Daniel makes his way over to the commentary booth.

Richard Parker: Oh. Em. Gee. He is heading this way.

Nick groans.

JCH meanwhile has picked Gamble up from the floor and rolled him into the ring. Elvis never even began the count for keeping his eyes on the Green Vale Gang.

But JCH doesn’t enter the ring in the traditional way. He climbs up on the apron and then onto the top turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: JCH is setting up for a high risk move here, let’s see if it pays off!

Richard Parker: Mr. Green, how’s it hanginnnn’?

Nick Stuart: We’re supposed to be calling a match, Richard.

But suddenly, Richard’s headset is on Daniel’s head.

Daniel Green: Gentlemen, wonderful to meet. Richard Parker, right? Lovely.

Daniel and Richard shake hands, then he takes Nick’s.

Daniel Green: Nathaniel Stuart. Nice to meet you as well.

Nick Stuart: It’s Nick, actually.

Daniel Green: Oh, don’t bother correcting me, Nate. In this case, I don’t care if I’m right.

JCH steadies himself on the top turnbuckle.

Hugo Vale: (megaphone) Look out Tony, he’s going to jump on you or something!

Nick Stuart: What are you two doing here?

Daniel Green: Do you mean, why are we here? Should be pretty obvious, shouldn’t it? We’re here to completely fuck over Tony Gamble.

Richard Parker: (slightly off mic) Yeah, Nathaniel. It should be, like, totes obvious.

JCH leaps in the air!

THE SPACE BETWEEN US!!! FROG SPLASH!!!

BUT GAMBLE ROLLS OUT OF THE WAY!!! JCH EATS SHIT AND HIS FACE ONCE AGAIN COLLIDES WITH THE CANVAS!

Hugo Vale: (megaphone) Come on Tony! You’ve almost got him beaten. All you have to do now is put that boring, old Boston Crab back on him, he’s done for!

Tony Gamble is annoyed beyond belief. He walks over to the edge of the ropes, beckons Hugo to stop talking and be about that action.

Hugo Vale: (megaphone) You think I won’t? YOU THINK I WON’T? …You’re right. I’d never physically interfere in a match. Too unsportsmanlike. Not really my style.

Daniel chuckles into the headset.

Nick Stuart: Find this amusing, do you?

Daniel Green: I do.

Tony gets it. More than Hugo thinks. He’s been the brash, young jerkoff, and he knows the game well. Mere harassment meant to infuriate Gamble and distract him.

But just as Tony Gamble shrugs off Hugo Vale’s shenanigans and turns around?

He walks right into a small package pin from JCH!

ONE

Tony’s legs are flailing!

TWO

Not like this damn it!

THREEEEEEEEEE!!!

DING DING DING

“The Best” by AWOLNATION hits the speakers.

Daniel Green: Right, that’s my cue. Have a nice evening, gentlemen!

Vince Howard: HEEEEERE IS YOUR WINNERRRRR… JONATHANNNNN!!! CHRISTOPHERRRR!!! HALLLLLLLL!!!

Nick Stuart: Feels stolen, not going to lie. I don’t like Gamble as much as anyone, but this was one that could’ve gone either way, and he gets screwed by a couple of brats.

Richard Parker: Don’t act like he wouldn’t do the same thing, Nick.

Nick Stuart: That doesn’t mean I’m wrong!

As JCH gets his hand raised in victory, the GVG make their way to the back, an approving look on the visage of their manager, Ned Reform.

From ringside, we go backstage and are greeted by the beautiful bald head of Steve Harrison. He’s walking down a hallway with his wrestling gear on, sporting his cherished green robe that Rebecca Hines had gifted him when he first joined PRIME. After a few steps, Steve comes to a stop in front of the Steel Door o’Doom, which can only mean one thing.

Steve lets out a sigh.

Steve Harrison: This should be fun.

Before The Miracle Man knocks, he can hear muffled laughter coming from the otherside of the door. Not only that, but it’s in the form of a familiar cackle that rings his ears like Tinnitus.

Then, that voice says…

“Maybe I’ll pull a Sektor and put my career on the line right before the bell rings.”

More laughter ensues. Harrison gets fed up with the back channel jesting and bangs on the door like he’s the police. In fact, he’s so bothered he doesn’t even wait to be beckoned, and instead yanks open the door to find his worst fears are true.

Cancer Jiles: Well, well, well.

Jiles beat him to the punch, or this case to their sit-down meeting with Lady Troy. The reason for said meeting is, well, to make sure Jiles and Harrison stay somewhat within the boundaries of PRIME, and not forget where they are. Which, ironically enough, Steve has already managed to do.

Cancer Jiles: I remember the first time I barged in here. ReVival 1. I think I had to sit in a dunk tank for six hours afterwards. Thank Zeus it was for Make a Wish, I didn’t even need a towel when it was over.

Steve Harrison: Ugh. Yep I was right, this is going to be fun. What’s going on in here?

Cancer Jiles: Tell him he has to wrestle with a hand tied behind his back for his intrusion!

The man of Merch, Milk, and Miracles goes to talk, but the look on Lady Troy’s face tells him it‘s probably not a good idea.

Lindsay Troy: Pizmo, shut up. Harrison, sit down and shut up. Well, first, close the door you so rudely walked through, then sit down and shut up.

Harrison turns back towards the door to shut it. As soon as Queen Troy can’t see he grits his teeth angrily. He sighs and shuts the door slowly as he tries to calm himself down from this irritating situation. He turns back around with as phony a smile as possible and walks over and takes a seat.

Lindsay Troy: Thank you. At least neither of you broke in here like the Russian Cockroach did earlier.

A frosty look at Jiles.

Lindsay Troy: And you left the vulture in the Carton. Smart.

Cancer Jiles: I figured with you and Steve in here there was enough bitc– so, what was that you were saying again before Steve rudely cut in?

It gets quiet. Real quiet. Real quick. And awkward.

Lindsay Troy: I was saying, you crumb, no bullshit tonight. From either of you. It’s not a match until death. If you get crazy out there and I see a barbed wire hockey stick, or an IV stand, or a ballpoint pen, or a fax machine, or so help me GOD if I see you come out in those black and red tights…

The Manhunter quickly nods in an agreeable manner, as if to say not to worry since he brought another pair of tights to wear.

Lindsay Troy: I’ll have you both DQed right on the spot.

The Miracle Man raises his hand, and the Queen of the Ring obliges.

She will regret it.

Steve Harrison: We can still…….. cheat though? Like, regular style? I am just asking because The Bandits are literally openly chatting about cheating me tonight. I need to properly defend myself from their antics that they unknowingly told me all about. Good job on that, Krancer. Next time I need someone to protect my privacy I will definitely think about hitting up the Bandits.

Harrison chuckles to himself as he side-eyes Jiles.

Cancer Jiles: Those texts were supposed to be private damn it! Still, he does raise a good point for the first time in his life. Regular cheating is okay? I only ask because apparently I might not be able to win tonight because Steve DREAMed he beat me six years ago, so I’ll take every advantage I can get.

Steve Harrison: There it is. The DREAM Jiles is always in, unable to differentiate reality from that fantasy in his head. I was in a coma six years ago…but yea…I beat you almost five years ago. This isn’t about the past though, buddy. Why are you so obsessed with it, champ?

Cancer Jiles: Zee, zee, zee.

There’s the vein. The one pulsating on LT’s forehead. The one that means her patience is all but out.

Lindsay Troy: Why would regular cheating be off the table, you ingrates? It hasn’t stopped either of you before, or anyone else in this company. I could tell you both “don’t cheat,” and have all the Bandits locked in a room during the match, and Pizmo would call RICK and convince him to come back and interfere for him then kick him out of the group again.

Cancer Jiles: I’d never be that desperate.

Lindsay Troy: You got The Video Game Kid in the Bandits now, so don’t talk to me about “not being that desperate.”

Harrison lets out a groan when he hears Video Game Kid being said. He looks over at Jiles and shakes his head at him as if that was the tipping point between them.

Steve Harrison: Don’t remind me. I would rather fall back into a Pit than see that wide-eyed incel trying to shake my hand with his hand covered in Cheeto powder. We are getting off-topic though. So yea, you can cheat, if that’s the only way you can beat me, bro. Heh, or are you worried about earlier?

Undeterred, slightly anyway, King COOL gets up from his seat, collects his belongings, a travel sized hair gel, and adds one last remark before heading for the door.

Yes, that means his dick is in Harrison’s face.

Well, more like his ear.

Cancer Jiles: Who? Glue?

Ha.

One sided, deep dish cackling ensues.

Cancer Jiles: Steve, do you know who Phil Atken was? Even if not, let’s just say he used to be an “is”, and then I made him a “was.” You know what Glue did about it? Nothing.

The Culture Shock Battle Royal might disagree, but unfortunately it’s not around to speak up.

Cancer Jiles: And when they trotted him out trying to make him an “is” again, and I said not gonna happen, Jack; he’s much better as a “was” and will remain that way… you know what they did about it then…. NOTHING.

Somewhere, an ascot just got torn in half.

Cancer Jiles: Glue. Ha. Good one. They know better. They know I’m more scared of a downwind Honaleean fart than I am of them. That said, as far as you’re concerned, I guess you could consider yourself one of the boys.

After shielding his face from the STD-infected penis, Harrison stands up and walks over to a foot away from Jiles, before he can even think of exiting the room. He looks down at the smaller man. He smiles and pats Jiles on the head.

Steve Harrison: Good Bandit, good. Guess we found another trigger for the great eGG man. I can see your eye twitching under those cheap sunglasses, partner. I know you want to bluff, bluster and steamroll your way through any serious thoughts, but I will always be here when you want to grow up and have a serious chat about your failures as a man. After all, that is what friends are for.

The Immortal Jellyfish taps Jiles on the right shoulder and gives him a smile. He nods at the Queen of PRIME, turns around, and then walks out of the room.

The Lady of the Hour snorts as Jiles stands there, seething.

Lindsay Troy: So great seeing you two getting along again.

Cancer Jiles: Oh yeah. We’re just a couple of real good buddies.

Cut to ringside.

The match graphic appears.

Nick Stuart: And now the main event.

Richard Parker: I am going to be sick all over this match. The idea of Steve Harrison winning anything in this company puts me in rough shape. On the other hand–

Nick Stuart: We know, Rich. We know how you feel.

Richard Parker: I’ve thought about it long and hard. Cancer Jiles brainwashed Vickie. Vickie could’ve had any other man in this company -other than Jonathan-Christopher Hall, of course- and she was blindsided by- by him.

Nick Stuart: I thought you were blaming Jonathan-Christopher for the Vickie-Cancer duo.

Richard Parker: Oh, I am.

Nick Stuart: Enough about them. This is about two wrestlers who know each other. They know each other well. The fans in Calgary want to see the main event. So do I.

Richard Parker: That’s another thing. It’s too cold in this country to think, Nick. I’d like to leave Canada and Alberta in particular, as soon as possible.

Nick Stuart: We’re indoors. Anyway…

The scene switches to the middle of the ring where Vince Howard stands.

Vince Howard: This match is for…

He waits.

And waits still.

AND WAITS EVEN MORE STILL.

Vince Howard: …ONE FALL!!!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!

Vince Howard: And it is the MAIN EVENT!

Richard Parker: Guy gets more cheers putting the emphasis on ONE FALL than MAIN EVENT. There are deep seeded issues with this country.

Vince Howard: Introducing first… the challenger… from Montreal, Quebec, Canada…

Even though ReVival is in Alberta, the crowd gives a loud response! This overtakes the announcer for a moment.

Vince Howard: Weighing two-hundred-fifty pounds… he is The Miracle Man… he is STEVE HARRISON!!!

The lights dim and “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

Nick Stuart: What a response for Harrison!

Richard Parker: Ugh.

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

He smirks as the fans react to him, extending his arm a few times to smack hands with youth in the front.

Nick Stuart: Listen, we all saw the opening. We already READ the online messages between Vickie and the rest of the Bandits -more on this later-, there’s no doubt Jiles will have the Bandits in his pocket and perhaps Harrison may see help from the Glue?

Richard Parker: Smoke and mirror, Nick. Nothing is going to happen after Vickie and co leaked their plans accidentally online. My understanding is they mistakenly ADDED Steve Harrison TO THE CHAT. How dumb does Cancer Jiles have to be? He should put in his registration to PRIME immediately!

Nick Stuart: Unfortunately, that won’t be happening.

Harrison makes his way up the steel steps and into the ring. He walks to the middle of the canvas and looks out at the crowd. He 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.

The challenger’s theme song comes as the tension builds and builds and builds.

Richard Parker: I’m going to be sick.

The lights dim. A cool breeze whisks its way through the air. Harrison’s knees begin to shake — presumably.

The Crumbotron jolts to life.

Instead of the usual superkick montage that plays…

…The Pinnacle of All Crumbs

And instead of the instrumental version of “My Way” by Frank Sinatra blasting throughout the Saddledome, it’s the sound of waves gently crashing and the squawk of a gull. Then, a bone-dagger guitar riff kicks in, followed by the steady beat of a war drum and violent dance of a horsehead fiddle.

Ha.

Richard Parker: Yep. Kill me.

Nova
ReVival 3

No one thought my favorite man, my one-of-one, Cancer Jiles, stood a chance against Nova– let alone for Nova’s GOLDEN TICKET, let alone in the MAIN EVENT of the third show back! But boy, were they wrong! MY MAESTRO pulled off the upset of the Almasy tournament when he sent Nova packing. More importantly, on that night, both THE MAIN EVENT and THE GOLDEN TICKET were born.

Nick Stuart: Who would have thought Wolf Totem has an instrumental version for Vickie Hall to talk over?

Richard Parker: I never thought that despicable sack of shit would win Manhunt so I’m just going to focus on praying for his demise. Starting right now.

Flamberge
ReVival 10

After suffering back to back losses to Brandon Crumblood, my 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, but try as French Fry might, 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 Greek God of COOL versus Justine Bitchboy for “Wheelie” Phil’s freshly vacated UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP was a brutal affair about survival more so than anything else. Only one would walk away as UNIVERSAL Champion, while the other headed off  to the fast food line.

Nova
ReVival 18

Believe it or not, you could say the stakes were even higher the second time Nova and the COOLYMPIAN of my bedroom met inside the ring. They were back in the MAIN EVENT. COOLOSSUS SZN was in full swing. Cancer was the UNIVERSAL Champion and Nova was the first challenger to his throne. Sadly though, at least for PRIME and its fabled star, and Richard Parker of course, it wasn’t meant to be. King COOL once again eggstinguished the flame, and Nova fizzled back down Earth.

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 stays in the basement.

Richard Parker: Is this thing done yet?

Nick Stuart: We still have to get through Manhunt.

Richard Parker: Kill me now.

Coral Avalon/Nate Colton & Ivan Stanislav/Jonathan Christopher Hall
ReVival 52

I know it’s a tag match and technically they don’t count — even if it is a MAIN EVENT — but after Hessian’s performance during MANHUNT how could we not go back and add the time KING COOL and BIG HESS slapped around the top of the card? The rematch was all but set. Jiles. Crumbalon. UltraViolence. One year later. Universal Championship on the line. Before all that though, Mother Hen wanted to give my 5-Starred lover an ego boost it would seem in the form of PRIME’s first ever Triple Threat Tag Team match. ReVival era. Well, mission accomplished, and just look at the two of them now.

Ivan Stanislav
ReVival 54

There was no love lost when Ivan Stanislob and the greatest man I’ve ever slept with competed in the MAIN EVENT at ReVival 54. Ivan had slayed the COOLYMPIAN back at ReVival 21, which might have had something to do with putting him on the shelf. MIGHT HAVE. So, even after the events of 52, redemption and revenge were both on the line for my handsome hunk, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to walk out with both. The match itself was a treacherous affair, but after the salt had been poured and the yolks sprayed, Cancer the COOL had finally tipped the scales back in his favor.

Don Winters
ReVival 61

It was the ReVival after Colossus, and Don entered the match as the longest reigning 5-Star Champion. Little did he know, like so many others who have come before him, it would also be his last– both as a Champion and as a competitor. KING COOL is a lot of things, but a virgin to the MAIN EVENT he is not. Don was, and my man took full advantage of it. A hefty dose of the sleeping salts later and it was in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy COOL. AMEN.

Nick Stuart: Brace yourself.

MANHUNT
Culture Shock 2025

The Bandits were a man down. Their Captain had been put out to pasture, and the GOLDEN BANDIT was no more. Sure, they could have folded up shop and cried about it like GLUE, but that’s not what Bandits do. Not on NIGHT TWO. Not in the MAIN EVENT. Not when my man, Cancer Jiles, is at the helm. So, they circled the wagons, rolled up their sleeves, and doubled down on doing the unthinkable. For Coral.

Richard Parker: Is there a noose, or a knife, or a shotgun? Something?!?! Anything!!

Steve Harrison
ReVival 65
Stay Tuned.

Nick Stuart: Unreal. I counted three new matches! Four with Harrison! The balls on this guy! They just keep getting bigger!!! WHY AM I SHOUTING!?!?

The Crumbotron cuts out. Wolf Totem comes to a stop. Silence takes over. Anticipation builds. Seconds, that seem like minutes, pass. Then, el Crumbotrono comes back to life with the COOLEST superkick montage ever. Coinciding with its revival is another all too familiar guitar riff.

Next, Screamin’ Jay serenades 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: Love him or hate him, he does know how to go big.

Richard Parker: I quit this job, effective immediately.

…I AM THE COOL!

Captain Manhunter emerges with his Valkyrie by his side. They stand at the top of the entrance ramp and hit a pose for all to see.

Nick Stuart: Can you imagine the meltdown Vickie Hall is going to have if she has to relinquish that belt tonight?

Cue the hellfire volley of pyrotechnics.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM–BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!!!!!!

A grotesque kiss later and PRIME’s lovely couple heads towards 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 Hall.

Vince Howard: And his opponent… from COOLYMPUS, by way of Philadelphia… weighing two-hundred-eighteen pounds… he is The Greek God of COOL… he is THE MANHUNTER… he is the 5-Star Champion… CANCER JILES!

Upon reaching the ring, Jiles screams at Harrison to back away, and then implores Ashley Barlow to do something about it.

Nick Stuart: The bell hasn’t even rung yet and already with the head games.

Harrison reluctantly retreats. Vickie hands Jiles the 5-Star Championship, and who knows it could be the first time he’s touched it this week. He then slides under the bottom rope, prances around with his all of a sudden new favorite belt, mostly doing so in and around Steve Harrison’s face. The Champion comes to a stop, but only when The Miracle Man charges out of his corner to knock him down with a clothesline.

Ashley Barlow shrugs, grabs the 5-Star Championship which happens to fall by her feet, holds it up in the air for a second or two, and then calls for the bell.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: My GOD we are off with such fire!

Richard Parker: It’s going to be hard, VERY hard, for me to give support for Steve Harrison but anything in the face of this moron Jiles holding company gold!

Nick Stuart: We know, you hate him. It’s WELL documented. We all hate him!

While the two announcers go back and forth for a moment, Harrison is stomping the shit out of Jiles on the canvas. He’s worked The COOL into a corner of the ring and continues to unload boot after boot after boot.

Ashley Barlow interjects to a chorus of boos. Harrison has his hands on his hips although he does, eventually, back away but he never takes his eyes off Jiles.

The KING of COOL slowly raises his hands and latches onto the middle ropes to his right and left before peeling himself off the canvas and readjusting his face. His eyes are locked on Harrison, while Vickie Hall stands behind her man on the outside and screams hellaciously towards Steve Harrison, asking where is the disqualification.

Nick Stuart: So, there may not be another time to mention this, since this match is likely to be one all out war, but it was brought up earlier – the leaked messages from the Bandits, planning an attack on Steve Harrison in the match. Lindsay Troy and our office are not stupid, there are no dummies in PRIME management. There have been strict warnings issued to the Bandits upon potential interference. Ashley Barlow is a top tier referee and is going to have her head on a swivel all match long!

Richard Parker: That’s well and good, Nick, but as you can see… ONE of the Bandits does have her manager’s license!

Already, Vickie is trying to get in on the action. As Barlow asks Harrison to back away, it’s clear Vickie slips something to Jiles and he tosses it in his tights.

Needless to say, the 5-Star Champion pulls himself onto his feet and walks a clever step forward, as if asking Harrison to meet him there.

The crowd is white hot for the challenger. Harrison moves Barlow aside after nodding to her and agreeing he will acknowledge rope breaks from now on or risk being DQ’ed. The Miracle Man marches forward-

RIGHT INTO TERMINAL CANCER!

HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!
HOLY SHIT!

Some of the crowd SHOUTS at the top of their lungs! Steve Harrison walked right into Terminal Cancer…

Except that he didn’t!

He moved at the VERY last second.

And Ashley Barlow ATE the superkick straight in the face!

The crowd inside the Scotiabank Saddledome is ruckus! No more than one minute and few moves into the match, has the referee been taken out by an inadvertent shot!

Jiles looks down at Barlow. Harrison looks down at Barlow. Both of them look up at each other…

Nick Stuart: What the hell are they planning!?

Jiles immediately scrambles into his tights, as if his plan has suddenly been GREENLIT. He’s digging in there for something and no, it’s not that. He finally pulls out the brass knuckles Vickie gave him a second ago but Harrison races in and tackles Jiles down with a spear!

Harrison unloads forearm after forearm after forearm! The crowd is eating it up-

VICKIE HALL JUMPS ON HARRISON’S BACK!

She’s TRYING TO claw and scratch at the bald man’s face but she doesn’t have a ton of strength, although Steve is having quite the difficult go to remove her. So instead, he stands straight, still with her on his back and then jumps backwards himself…

Crushing Vickie between his body and the canvas!

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

PRETTY PINK© obviously lets go of the hold and rolls towards the ropes. Harrison rises to a loud ovation as he looks over to where Cancer Jiles was laying.

Nick Stuart: Harrison, LOOK OUT!

The challenger spins around too late-

WHACK!

Nick Stuart: This time Jiles connects with Terminal Cancer!

The Greek God of COOL falls down on top of Harrison…

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

Jokes on you, there’s no referee. Ashley Barlow is TKO’ed, thanks to taking the first shot from Jiles. The champion scans the ring and sees her laying across the way. Jiles stands, walks over quickly and grabs Barlow, placing her beside the fallen Harrison.

Jiles falls on top of the challenger and even hooks the leg.

Richard Parker: What’s he doing?

Nick Stuart: I think Jiles is going to use Barlow’s arm to COUNT THE THREE.

Richard Parker: Can he do that!? (Pause to think about it) HE CAN’T DO THAT!

Whatever. It’s what Jiles is trying to do, while keeping the pin on Harrison. He takes Barlow’s right hand and holds it up…

Then slams it down to the canvas.

ONE!

Jiles chuckles through a sinister shit eating grin like he’s going to steal this one clean. He lifts Ashley’s arm again…

And slam it down!

TWO!

However, Mr. Night Two ends up struggling to grab hold of Barlow’s arm for the third time. This costs him a few seconds and he also has to reposition himself, leaning OFF of Steve Harrison in order to take her arm once again.

Richard Parker: This. Shouldn’t. COUNT!

Jiles lifts Ashley’s arm in the air.

…

…

He slams it down to the mat!

KICKOUT BEFORE THE THREE!

The fans in the arena are going batshit bananas as Steve Harrison kicks out of what might not even be a legal pin, but regardless, here we are.

Nick Stuart: It’s a miracle!

The Canadian crowd is jacked to the rafters as Jiles snarls in shock and amazement, scanning his eyes around the ring, trying to figure out what he can do next.

Nick Stuart: This is a forty year old arena and I’m told the acoustics inside this building aren’t great. Well, right now, I can barely hear myself think!

Richard Parker: Of course the match was going to play out like this. Jiles gives minimal effort after going all the way through manhunt!

The 5-Star Champion lays eyes on the brass knuckles from earlier. He slithers over to them and puts them on his right hand. He stumbles into a corner and waits for Steve Harrison to get up so he can knock him down and out. Plus, there is more good news. It looks like Ashley Barlow is tough as nails… she’s starting to come to.

Jiles waits for Harrison to rise before he does. Then Cancer goes for it.

SWING AND-

MISS!

Jiles spins around and tries again.

SWOOSH! x2

Cancer takes such a free swing at Harrison the brass knuckles come off in the process when he misses the attempt!

Richard Parker: Like a batter striking out AND losing his bat in the process! I love it!

Harrison, meanwhile, hits Jiles with a side-to-hip snap suplex! Jiles goes flying halfway across the ring… as Steve wants to ensure he has the match in control when Barlow ends up standing. She’s on a knee…

Harrison decides it’s time to go for his own KNEE. With Jiles hung up on the middle rope, Harrison takes his charge. He’s looking for the running knee trigger to the back of the head.

WHAP!

Nick Stuart: Enlightenment CONNECTS!

Jiles’ body goes limp as Harrison lifts the champion into the air and looks for his crossface chickenwing suplex-

BBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Vickie Hall with a low blow!

PLUS Cancer Jiles with a desperation DDT that follows!

Vickie slides out of the ring, screaming and yelling at the top of her lungs while she holds onto her ribs, due to the earlier interference she played.

Nick Stuart: Both men are down and Ashley Barlow is back up! Good for her, she’s tough as nails!

Meanwhile, however, the merciless Vickie Hall continues to not STFU on the outside. She grabs a steel chair and slides it into the ring, right beside her honey bunch of oats.

Nick Stuart: No.

Richard Parker: You knew this was coming, we all knew this was coming!

Yes, the referee is on her feet but she’s still not looking into the squared circle. Jiles surveys the situation. He’s on his knees, Harrison is slowly getting to his while holding his balls with one hand and his forehead with the other, and Ashley Barlow is knocking out the cobwebs in her head, too.

Jiles figures he has maybe TEN more seconds to do something before the ref can call the contest.

Cancy grabs the chair. He springs upright and SLAMS it into Harrison’s back.

SMACK!

Jiles snickers. He looks over at Ashley Barlow again and goes for shot number two.

SMACK!

Right into the challenger.

Jiles keeps his eyes LOCKED ON Ashley Barlow. Maybe he can get one more shot in. He’s going to go for it, he’s going to try. Jiles raises the chair and is about to slam it down-

When Ashley Barlow spins around in-the-nick-of-time so Jiles tosses the chair behind him. No bother, he’ll just load up for Terminal Cancer again…

HARRISON WILL A RELEASE BELLY-TO-BELLY SUPLEX!

The crowd ROARS with approval as both men work through their various alignments. Stomps from the bleachers try to rally Steve Harrison, although Cancer Jiles is the first one who finds his bearings.

Jiles ROCKS Harrison with a forearm. Then he ROCKS the challenger with another. When it looks like Jiles is going for a third attempt… Harrison delivers a strong retaliation blow of his own. Then another. Another. ANOTHER. ANOTHER!!!!

And, in the words of Vickie Hall, who is letting LOOSE on the outside of the ring with meltdown #585727, Harrison delivers ANOTHERRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!11111

With all of the exclamation marks and 1’s associated with the blow.

Jiles is on rollerskates.

Harrison smirks, this next shot is gonna be a doozy.

Pluck!

Nick Stuart: Oh, c’mon! Jiles with a poke to the eyes!

Barlow didn’t see shit because while she’s now starting to call the match again, it’s clear she’s a little woozy. Jiles hits the ropes and slings himself across with a forearm smash coming-

POWERSLAM BY HARRISON!

Harrison pulls Jiles to his feet. He’s going to hit the ropes but the clever and crafty champion shows why he’s just that. He fish-hooks Harrison in the mouth, which significantly stalls the challenger. Jiles delivers an atomic drop, hits the ropes and comes at Harrison with a perfect knee clip!

Vickie changes her tune on the outside, from literally having a bloody meltdown to being one second away from sliding in the ring and having sex with Cancer Jiles in front of the Alberta cowboys.

She doesn’t, though. Not yet anyway.

Jiles stumbles into a corner, his eyes are locked on Harrison and it’s CLEAR he wants to end this thing ASAP. He sees the brass knuckles in the corner of the ring and he head-motions for Vickie to get up on the apron and provide the distraction.

Obvi. She does.

Vickie shouts at Barlow.

Vickie Hall: YOU ARE THE MOST USELESS REFEREE EVERRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!! WHY YOU GETTING KNOCKED OUT LIKE THAT!? MY MAN HAD THE MATCH WON SIXTY-NINE TIMES ALREADY! SIXTY-NINE!? DO YOU KNOW WHAT NUMBER THAT IS!? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS TO ME!?!? AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Vickie’s voice is so ear piercing, it rivals Regina George finding out her Kälteen Bars add weight.

…It’s also going to give Ashley Barlow post concussion syndrome because she’s already light headed from the inadvertent superkick.

Meanwhile, Jiles is looking for those brass knuckles. They were RIGHT THERE a moment ago but now he can’t find them.

Jiles gulps hard when he figures it out.

They’re already on Steve Harrison’s right hand.

THUMP.

And now straight into the champ’s forehead!

Nick Stuart: THE SHOT HEARD AROUND ALBERTA! Jiles is down! Jiles is OUT!

Richard Parker: We have a cover!

Ashley Barlow looks behind her and sees there’s a pin. She’s going to move towards the call while Vickie reaches out to grab her by the arm.

Vickie, however, has Mr. Burns-like strength and can’t do a thing about it.

Nick Stuart: NEW CHAMPION! NEW CHAMPION!!!

ONE!

TWO!

LAST SECOND KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: God dammit!

Everyone bites on the finish, as Cancer Jiles somehow shows signs of life while also revealing he’s bleeding like a stuck pig.

Harrison isn’t phased. Needless to say, he drags Jiles off the mat and props him up onto his knees. Harrison hits the ropes… looking for the knee trigger again…

WHAP!

Nick Stuart: Enlightenment connects!

Harrison makes a cover and hooks BOTH LEGS!

ONE!

TWO!

…

…

THREE?

WHERE’S THREE!?

Well, THREE can’t be counted because Vickie Hall pulls Ashley Barlow OUT OF THE RING!

Vickie is once again going fuckface extreme on Barlow, who, in fairness, has already ejected Vickie out of the arena but it’s not like that PRETTY PINK© maniac is going to listen.

Vickie Hall: BECAUSE OF YOU WE CAN’T HAVE BANDIT INTERFERENCE!!! AHAAAAHHHHHHH!!! THOSE TEXT MESSAGES DIDN’T MEAN ANYTHING!!

Nick Stuart: Vickie is soooo going to be suspended for this.

Vickie Hall: YOU ARE A HACK REFEREE AND PROBABLY A FUCKING DEMOCRAT! WHEN I THINK ABOUT HOW SHIT YOU ARE-

Steve Harrison is leaning on the ropes and pointing directly at Vickie, scaring the piss out of her.

Nick Stuart: Steve better look out… he doesn’t have eyes on Jiles!

Vickie stops yelling at Barlow and instead stomps around the ring, taking her exit to the back. Meanwhile, Jiles charges towards Harrison and slams into him. The Montreal native ends up bumping into Ashley Barlow who was trying to get back into the squared circle, too. The referee takes another dump, although this one is nowhere near as damaging. She falls out of the ring and twists her ankle.

Jiles’ eyes light up.

So do Vickie’s. She’s running back down the rampway!

Cancer shouts to his woman as she nods her head and makes a b-line to the announce table. She grabs the 5-Star Championship and enters the ring, while Jiles loads up for Terminal Cancer on Harrison-

NO!

The challenger ducks, hits the ropes and crushes Jiles with a running knee!

Nick Stuart: LOOK OUT HARRISON!

Vickie comes charging in with the title belt towards Harrison’s back-

Thick.

Oh yeah, that’s right. She has Mr. Burns strength.

Harrison barely moves and Vickie stumbles back, knowing she’s in deep, deep shit now.

Vickie holds the title in front of her.

Vickie Hall: This is MINE! Do you really want an object Cancy and I made love on LAST FUCKING NIGHT!? The leather… the leather strap… IT’S ALL COVERED IN BODILY FLUID! AND MOST ISN’T MINE!

Nick Stuart: Disgusting!

Vickie Hall: STAY AWAY FROM ME, STEVE! LEAVE MY TITLE ALONE!

Vickie is stalling, clearly. And Harrison hasn’t taken note yet. Because Cancer Jiles is crawling to his feet… creeping up from behind the challenger…

Harrison knew all along. He has eyes in the back of his head. He catches the Terminal Cancer at the last second. However, he doesn’t catch the yellow mist.

COOLYMPIAN YOLJK.

And yet, the crowd is NOT booing. Because Steve Harrison didn’t have to catch anything, he merely ducked.

The yellow mist goes RIGHT towards Vickie. Thankfully, however, she shields herself with the 5-Star Championship belt.

Harrison snatches the gold right out of Hall’s hands.

WHAM!

He CRUSHES it across Jiles’ face.

Vickie stomps her feet like a toddler in a temper tantrum, realizing there’s nothing more she can do. She’s screaming and crying. It’s the angriest she’s EVER looked, and this was a woman who once had her adultery shown on LIVE television, too.

Harrison merely smirks and blows a kiss at Vickie. It rattles the Egg Bandit Hen so hard she trips over her own two feet and falls out of the ring… right when Ashley Barlow gets into it herself.

Harrison smacks Jiles with Enlightened!

Followed by It’s a Harracle.

Nick Stuart & Richard Parker: OH MY GOD!

Barlow makes the count.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE!

RRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner… AND NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!

Howard can’t even get the words into the arena, it’s so loud. Harrison rolls over and takes the 5-Star title that’s covered in Coolympian yolk. He stumbles to his feet, holds the strap up and falls into the ropes for additional support.

Nick Stuart: We have a new champion and the extended rise of the Egg Bandits has fallen, merely ONE show after it shot back to the top of the ranks!

Richard Parker: I hope Steve has the title belt thoroughly disinfected!

The Calgary PRIMEATES cheer for their new champion as he holds the 5-Star Championship in the air and falls to his knees, right in front of The COOL, while the ReVival credits appear on the broadcast feed and the cameras switch to Vickie Hall outside of the ring, trying to sit up on the ground, tears rolling down her face, amidst an unforeseen anger on display, even for her. Will there be hell to pay?

Who fucking cares.

Because tonight, as Harrison celebrates with the fans…

It’s a miracle.

FADE.

TO.

BLACK.