ReVival 69

Previously Recorded

The low rumble of a diesel engine echoes outside the Centre Bell Arena as a massive, red transport truck slowly backs into the loading bay. The trailer is nondescript for the most part, save for it being bright red and yellow, which can mean only one thing.

As the truck hisses to a stop, the back doors swing open with a creak as several large, stone faced men in moving uniforms exit and begin to unload an oversized desk, chair, a bust of Lenin, and several cases.

Looks like Ivan Stanislav’s entourage has arrived.

A large Hummer-like vehicle pulls up next to the truck itself, and The Russian Bear himself and Alexei Ruslan exit, causing the vehicle to shift this way and that as the weight is redistributed. Stanislav wears his crimson uniform (complete with plenty of medals) while Alexei is in his brown overcoat.

Yet, while the other Russians work to unload Stanislav’s furniture and lug it into the arena where he stays, his attention is drawn elsewhere.

Kenny Freeman, Randall Schwartz, Bryan Dawkins, and Rose are all standing near the doorway into the arena, with Dametrius and several Enemigos standing in their way. Ivan growls as he looks at Ruslan and approaches. From the backseat of the humvee emerges Arina Timofeyevna and Speedy Riggs.

Stanislav booms.

Ivan Stanislav: What is meaning of this?

Kenny Freeman: Dam says we can’t go to our locker room!

Alexei Ruslan: What?!

Ivan snarls while Bryan Dawkins leans against the wall, wholly uninterested in this argument.

Dametreyus: Orders from the top, Stanislav. You heard the news last week. You got sensitivity training. All of you.

Ivan shakes his head.

Ivan Stanislav: Lindsay Troy was serious about that?!

While Ivan pushes past the rest of The Red Army to bear down on Dametreyus, the veteran is unperturbed. He might not be as big or strong as Stanislav, but he’s stared down enough monsters in his day to know every one of them can be beaten on any given night.

He also knows that for all of Stanislav’s bravado, The Bear has got to know he’s on thin ice after ReVival 68.

Dametreyus: Every one of you got matches tonight. And if you wanna have those matches, and you wanna have your jobs, you go to the training and learn how to feel.

Rose: Tell Lindsay I’m in touch with my feelings and consider this me sharing them with her through you.

Two middle fingers. Of course. Lovely.

Dametreyus: I used to babysit you.

Rose: That you did. My feelings are the same.

Ivan stares down at Dametreyus, his expression one of barely-bottled rage. He glares back at Arina.

Ivan Stanislav: Don’t bother unloading the truck.

Arina looks back at the Russian workmen and speaks their mother tongue. They look confused, and then start to re-load the truck with all the furniture. Ivan snarls back at PRIME’s Head of Security.

Ivan Stanislav: Sensitivity training, eh? Fine! We play Lindsay Troy’s game. Sensitivity training will not protect our enemies tonight!

With Stanislav staring daggers down at Dametreyus and The Red Army prepared to learn how to feel… in the background, a scantily-clad Bobby Dean is being hauled away from the building by the Service de Police de la Ville de Montréal.

Bobby Dean: Hey! What did you guys expect? It’s ReVival 69!

ReVival is live.

Signs. Now.

NICE
Ivan Stanislav doesn’t understand why everyone keeps giggling about 69
WHY DOES THIS ROOKIE KEEP GETTING SEMI-MAIN BOOKINGS?
WHEN I AGREED TO COME TO REVIVAL 69, THIS IS NOT THE KIND OF PARTY I HAD IN MIND
NED REFORM SINGS IMAGINE DRAGONS IN THE SHOWER
MY TEMU FABBY ARRIVED WITH BRUISES AND COMPLAINTS, 2/10
THE MAPLE LEAFS LOST BECAUSE THEY BOOKED A NATE COLTON APPEARANCE
NOUS VOULONS SURF EXPRESS BRO
Ivan and Dicky Tom can BOTH SUPPORT DEEZ NUTZ
HEY @Jake | Bring Back Muriel JUST MAKING SURE YOU SEE HOT JIM VARNEY IN THE ⁠#meme-girls CHANNEL
AWEILLE LUC LABELLE CÂLISSE TOKÉBAKICITTE

A piercing siren rings out as a blue Fleur de Lis fades into existence on the big screen. As the bluesy riff of Émeute Dans La Prison blares through the arena, images of Montreal flash along to the beat. The first few are glitzy, glamourous landscape pictures of the skyline, but they gradually shift more and more into the underbelly of the city, until images of low-income neighbourhoods adorned with graffiti are playing on the Tron.

The chorus kicks in and out marches Luc Labelle, an almost-permanent scowl etched onto his face. He’s a killer, but not a silent one, as he jaw-jacks in French with any fan that dares to boo him. The man just doesn’t shut the fuck up, no matter whether or not anybody can understand him.

When he finally rolls into the ring, as intense as ever, the young man can’t help but to shit-talk either directly to his opponent’s face or right into the camera. He runs his mouth any chance he gets, all things that the network would surely censor if he were to say them in English. Can he cash the checks that his mouth has been writing?

Richard Parker: I wonder what he is saying?

Nick Stuart: No clue, it’s not in English.

Richard Parker: Probably really dirty. Bet it would get censored if he could say them in English.

Nick Stuart: Well, I think he can speak English, Dick – he’s choosing to say it in his native tongue.

Richard Parker: Why would you choose to speak French? Yuck.

Steve Lemieux comes out.

Richard Parker: Is that what I think it is?

Nick Stuart: I don’t know, Dick.

Jimmy Turnbull checks both of the competitors for weapons. This interaction scares Steve Lemieux. After a bit of coddling and assuring him that he will not hurt him, Jimmy Turnbull signals for the bell.

DING DING

The bell rings and Steve Lemieux moves towards the middle of the ring.

Richard Parker: Is he trying to… shake hands? My god, man – the bell has rung.

Nick Stuart: Labelle reaches out a hand like a real gentleman.

Richard Parker: I guess all of those things I said about the French were untrue.

Nick Stuart: And Labelle grabs ahold of Lemiuex’s wrist and pulls him into a waistlock for a massive belly-to-belly suplex.

Richard Parker: Nope, I was right about the French.

Lemieux  bounces up off the mat, twisting in the air like some kind of disgusting carny pretzel left on the ground by a crying child, and slams into the turnbuckles. His head bounces like a flat basketball, much to the amusement of Labelle. Labelle doesn’t immediately capitalize, sitting back on his heels and giving Lemiuex the time needed to recover.

Richard Parker: I like this guy’s gusto – toying with the Sandwich Man. But could you, stay with me here, could you imagine if Lemieux somehow pulls this one out? Labelle would have to go into Witsec.

Nick Stuart: Indeed, but there’s no signs of that happening as Lemieux pushes himself up and strumbles right into another waistlock. The Montreal Main Event hoists him up and drills Steve with a release German suplex that sends Lemieux rolling halfway across the ring. Lemieux pulls himself up by the ropes and… leaves thering.

Shaking and trembling, Lemieux tries to escape the ring. Halfway up the ramp he is nabbed by the Enemigoes, who kindly remind him he has a contractual obligation to continue being beaten into oblivion. They roll him back in to the ring and he takes one look at Labelle before trying to escape once again.

Luc grabs him by the hair and yanks him into the corner.  Thunder and lightning echo throughout the arena from a series of ungodly knife-edge chops. Lemieux’s chest turns an unnatural shade of red – something angry and historic that shouldn’t have been awoken. With a smile, Luc whips Steve from one corner to the opposite. Chiropractors everywhere can be heard rubbing their hands together as Lemieux crumpled into a mixed up ball.

Richard Parker: That doesn’t look natural.

Nick Stuart: It’s not. As Lemieux tries to regain himself and figure out why he decided to take on this endeavor, Labelle saunters over to him. With a swift movement Labelle once again grabs a wrist, and wrenches Lemieux into a short-arm clothesline.

Richard Parker: He flipped like a ragdoll.

The crowd is a mix of excitement and empathy at the pain of Steve Lemieux. Luc pulls Steve up again, lifts his wiggling body up into a fireman’s carry, and dumps him with a rolling Death Valley Driver.  Labelle goes for a lazy cover, one hand on Lemieux’s chest. Turnbull slides down for the count.

ONE

TWO

Labelle lifts him up before the three.

Richard Parker: Man, I’m almost pulling for Lemieux here, if nothing else for the sheer hilarity.

Nick Stuart: Labelle stands over Lemieux, yelling something in French.

Richard Parker: I really don’t think he can speak English, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Here nor there. Labelle hits the ropes and bounces back with a brutal running knee to the side of the head. He lifts Lemieux up off the mat and his a snap brainbuster right in the center of the ring.

Richard Parker: Did they change the ring out? Lemieux bounced like it’s a trampoline there.

Lemieux, somehow, crawls to his feet again, and throws one desperate punch.

Richard Parker: Oh my god, it’s happening.

Labelle responds with a headbutt that drops Steve to his knees.

Richard Parker: Aw hell.

With no sense of urgency, Luc wraps up Lemieux and destroys him with a brainbuster. Steve’s body shakes slightly. Is he dead? We can only hope so.

Labelle leisurely pulls up Steve and whips him into the ropes, sliding out of the way to wrap the Sandwich Man’s arms up from behind. With ease he lifts Lemieux into the air, spinning him around upside down before dropping him directly on his head with La Fin.

Richard Parker: More French.

Nick Stuart: Turnbull getting into place for the count now.

ONE

TWO

THREE!!!!

Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Luc Labelle showers himself in the boo’s coming from the fans, blowing kisses and speaking dirty in French to them as he makes his way up the apron. Meanwhile, Steve Lemieux is attended to by Medical, whom put a cartoonish neck brace on him and assist him out of the ring.

Richard Parker: I would love to find out the odds on a Lemieux fight. Bet we could get Daytona to throw one to him.

Nick Stuart: Yes, let’s describe gambling fraud on live television. And we’ll be right back.

ReVival moves on.

…previously on…
…THE NEWS…

☠️☠️☠️☠️

We are treated to a formal looking office with a large oak desk front and center. One one corner of the desk was a United States of America flag and on the other, an Arkham, Massachusetts flag.

Stumble-running to the desk comes the Herald, a panicked expression on his face.

The Herald: Stay tuned for an important announcement for I am Sub-Marquis Be-

Before he can continue he is violently shoved out of the way by Arkham native and #1 Ranked News Anchor in PRIME, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, in his usual three piece black suit and #D60000 red tie.

Max Kael: Good people of the world, and more specifically my fellow citizens of Arkham… I am Maximillian Wilhelm Kael, long time resident, life long lover of my beloved Arkham.

Coiling around the edge of the desk, Max settles into the leather chair, a practiced, silver toothed grin stretching across his face.

Max Kael: After the tragic and completely unexplainable disappearance of our late Mayor, what’s his face, our great city has engulfed in a cloud of uncertainty. It will take bold, strong leadership to steer the great ship of Arkham back into calm seas. Ask anyone who knows me, chaos, bold and ship are all words frequently associated with me.

Pausing thoughtfully Max quietly counts with his fingers, getting up to six.

Max Kael: Yeah, probably calm and leadership as well. Heck, probably humble as well… heh-heh..

Clasping his hands together on the desk, Max leans forward, his grin stretching into a wide smile.

Max Kael: Which is why I am formally announcing my candidacy for Mayor of Arkham. In a time of great chaos and uncertainty, you want someone with the most experience in both making the important decisions! My fellow Arkhamites… Remember this day for it is the first day.

His right hand snakes its way up his chest, looking for his heart though he seems to have trouble locating where he’s supposed to hold it.

Max Kael: The first day in reclaiming Arkham from the anarchy that has consumed it! A Vote for Max Kael is a Vote Me! Thank you!

Warbling patriotic music plays as a link to donations to the Arkham for Max campaign flash across the screen before cutting to black.

☠️☠️☠️☠️

Snark Darkly is standing out in the loading area of Centre Bell looking like a twisted mix of Mr. Rodgers and Cavil from Battlestar Galactica. His hands keep sliding in and out of his pockets, as though he were looking for something he could not find.

Max Kael: Lose your keys?

Slithering up next to his business manager arrives Max Kael.

Snark Darkly: Huh? No, no,  I’m just getting used to the concept of cloth pockets. What do you use them for? It’s like extensions of inward folded skin, like a birth pouch. But nothing ever comes out of them.

Laughing off his obviously bizarre question, Max shrugs.

Max Kael: I know, right? Pockets, what will they think of next. So, shifting away from pockets, did my new toy arrive?

There is a hint of excitement in his voice.

Max Kael: A little retail therapy to soothe the sting of losing.

Snark Darkly: Oh yes, I got word earlier today that they finished it. I sent your little Herald-boy to fetch it. He seemed almost as excited as you are.

Max’s face drops when Snark mentions that the Herald was dispatched to collect. Darkly notices his clients sudden drop in excitement, patting him on the back reassuringly.

Snark Darkly: It’s fine, I sent Kirk with him to make sure things work out.

This has the exact opposite effect. Max is about to speak when the sound of wheels squealing across the pavement echo through the loading bay area. Snark and Max look up to see a fresh, super-sick WON ACTION NEWS VAN screaming toward them. Both men jump out of the way as the van nearly collides with him, screeching to a stop.

This van is bitchin’, well, if you’re into that kinda thing. There are airbrushed murals of the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM, with Max’s being on the hood. There is also some kind of space and galaxy theme filling in all the spaces that aren’t taken up by faces.

The driver’s side door kicks open as the Herald jumps out looking as proud as punch followed by the floating former head of Lowell Dot Com now known as Kirk the Sports Head.

The Herald: I CAN CONFIRM, IT GOES VROOM VROOM!

Max charges forward, shoving the Herald out of the way as he hugs the hood of the brand new WON ACTION NEWS VAN.

Max Kael: My wonderful new vehicle! I will never love something in my life as much as I love this WON ACTION NEWS VAN. NOTHING!

The Herald: What about Sutl-

Max Kael: NOTHING!

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…Snark Darkly Presents…

…THE WON ACTION NEWS TEAM…

…SPORTS!…

Kirk the Sports Head!

…TRAVEL!…

Kai, Dawkin’s Baby Momma!

…LOCAL NEWS!…

The Herald!

…And PRIME’s Number One Lead Anchor…

MAXIMILLIAN WILHELM KAEL!

This week we’re treated to a real slamming guitar solo that plays over the opening credits of the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM. That music continues to slay as the screen flashes to the NEWS STAGE with Max Kael, seated behind his NEWS DESK, front and center. The music slowly fades away while Max clears his throat.

Max Kael: WORMS of PRIME, welcome to the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM, I’m your lead anchor, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael! Tonight we’re in the greatish land of Montreal, KEHBEK, Canada! I can’t think of a more miserable place to be, honestly. Except between Vickie Hall’s legs that is.

Across the stage the Herald, seated at a drum set, hits Max with a Badum-tish.

Max Kael: Thank you. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover tonight so let’s head straight to the interview portion of the show! Who do we have tonight, Kirk the Sports Head?

A quick cut to Kirk’s nook where the rotten head that was formerly identified as Lowell Dot Com, stares blankly at the camera.

Kirk the Sports Head: Uh.. I do sports, I have no idea.

Max furrows his brow in frustration, his smile slipping into an annoyed frown.

Max Kael: My the Herald?! Do you know who the guest is today?

The Herald: It is I, Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington the Heral-

Max Kael: Stop! Nevermind. I should have known better, that’s on me.

Sighing, Max stares at the stage door to the far right of his desk. Biting his lip, Max’s wise narrow, trying to see through the door at whoever was standing on the other side. He gives up pretty quickly when it doesn’t immediately work, shrugging.

Max Kael: Uh… Please welcome… hit the applause button, we’ll edit this part out in post. YOU CAN COME OUT TO THE STAGE, GUEST!

Walking from seemingly out of nowhere is a large burly muscley man with a cardboard box on his head. He has a small bluetooth speaker in one hand and a motion light held up in the other, flickering it on and off like a strobe light. He wears red wrestling trunks and high top boots, with curly blonde hair peeking out from the boxholes. He also wears a PRIME branded “PCP” t-shirt, “Just One Dose.” He is the Man in the Box, Klein.

From behind him, emerging themselves out of the ether that is probably the Hammerverse, are a gorgeous half-Cuban half-Japanese smokeshow many PRIMEates would recognize as former PRIME 5*Star & Tag Team Champion Elise Ares. She has long, curly brown hair and wears a pair of LED sunglasses that flash the words “I’M” and “BACK” in sequence. Accompanying her is a thinner more athletic individual with a tearaway Armani Suit and a golden monocle. His slick jet black hair styled as if he were still living in the 2000s, spikey and short. He stands there triumphantly, hands on his hips as if it were a superhero pose. Known to the wrestling world as “The D,” the Pop Culture Phenoms have arrived.

Both Elise and the D look around their surroundings, and are instantly confused. It’s like when you’re a kid and you think you’re going to Disney World but your parents took you to the Dentist instead.

Elise Ares: Wait a second, this isn’t DEFtv 219. This is a surrealist, half-hearted ripoff of a an entertainment variety show aiming to shove unimportant gossip down the faceholes of millions of unsuccessful, boring poors who need to self-insert themselves into the lives of prettier people to justify getting out of bed in the morning and taking their diabetes medication. I like it.

The D: Elise Ares is a Goddess, the lead actress of the wrestling business, and the defeater of the so called QUEEN of the RING, aka YOUR BOSS, Lindsay Troy. Me? I’m just the sexiest mother fraker who’s ever lived, the greatest thing since Sliced Bread. Everyone everywhere desires the D!

Klein waves happily behind him.

The D: Ignore him. He’s just a small minded buffon.

Klein pouts, but shrugs and tosses both the bluetooth speaker and the motion lights of screen. There’s a large CRASH and the sound of five elementary school children crying in pain for some reason. Klein tries to apologize and rushes off screen.

The D: So, Mister News Man. What sort of interview questions are you going to ask us? Stupid ones? Probably stupid ones.

Elise Ares: Yeah, totes stupid… unless they’re about me. I love talking about me.

Max perks up once they finish their introductions, staring at the small gaggle of guests he was not expecting.

Max Kael: There is more than one of you…

He looks toward the camera and winks, or perhaps just blinks out of order, before turning his attention back to his guests.

Max Kael: Questions? Uh..

He stares down at his notes, which are blank. He looks back up nodding his head furiously.

Max Kael: No, no questions.

The D: Oh, okay then.

Elise Ares: Then what are we doing here? Are you going to ask me to do something weird? I swear I did that one time and I was poor then, I don’t do that.

Max Kael: Journalism! Wow, that was a good question, maybe I should hire you for these interview segments.

The D: So we’re here to promote the 9th anniversary blu ray box set of the Lake Placid Vi film series. Lake Placid Vi, Lake Placid Vi2 Electric Boogaloo, the much maligned Lake Placid Vi O3, and finally Lake Placid Vi 6 the Time Jump Paradox. Lake Placid Vi 4 is currently shelved by Netflix and those fuckers used it as a tax write off… so unfortunately you only get three of the five best Lake Placid movies for only $89.99, plus local sales tax.

Max Kael: Sounds like a good deal to me for under a hundred dollars. Three outta five is over half, up to three times as many placid lakes as you’d have with just one! Or something…

The D: We’re also here in PRIME to put the tag division on notice. PRIME already knows what Elise can do, and I’ve been a tag team specialist for decades. PCP is nearing its tenth anniversary and we’ve decided to expand. So with that, we’re here to issue an open challenge to any two competitors who want to be humiliated by the greatest tandem the wrestling world has seen. Also Klein is here.

Klein happily waves in the background. Elise Ares lifts the LED glasses off of her face and sets them on top of her forehead.

Elise Ares: BBY, what D meant by “expand” is we were offered a boatload of cash to give credibility to PRIME’s tag team division and we LOVE cash… and fame… and attention. So having an open challenge at UltraViolence scratches all those itches. Don’t you just love when someone scratches you just in the right place?

Ares smirks.

Elise Ares: We’re the scratch. You’re welcome.

The D winks. Klein starts scratching his back and the D shakes him off like “not like that.”

The camera flashes back toward Max who has a bewildered expression on his face. His jaw is slack and his left eyelid has slid lazily downward, half obscuring the eye itself. He half turns, realizes the camera is focused on him and quickly snaps out of his fugue state.

Max Kael: And now a word from our sponsor!

There is no sponsor as we hard cut away.

☠️☠️☠️☠️

We return from the non-commercial break to find Max once again alone behind his ACTION NEWS DESK.

Max Kael: I want to close out tonight with a message for just one man. Jackson Murphy Paul Gary Cooley, I’mma callin’ you out!

The Lord of Kaelsalvania whips out double finger guns, blasting the camera with two rounds.

Max Kael: I was kind enough to allow you onto my THE NEWS and what did you do? You acted the fool, the chum, the loser, the absolute fucking worst. Then later you attacked me while I was providing much needed exposition on commentary, completely blind sided me!

A look of offense shadows Max’s face.

Max Kael: ME! The audacity, Jackson Taylor Chad Thomas Cooley. The unmitigated GALL. You get one win under your belt and now you think you’re tough fuckin’ shit, huh? Do you know who I am? Do you know what you’ve done? Does your little snack Dahlia know how much danger you just put her in? Do you have a basic concept of the suffering you’ve invited into your house?

Spit flies from Max’s lips as he slams his hand down hard across his desk. The pain takes a moment to register, breaking his sullen complaining with a wince, shaking his hand off.

Max Kael: So here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m laying down the challenge right here, right now, for UltraViolence. You. Me. An ARKHAM STREET FIGHT! If I win, I am elected MAYOR OF ARKHAM! Balls in your court, Jackson Chester Philip Marcus James Cooley.

Kirk the Sports Head: Uh…

We quickly pan over to Kirk the Sports Head, settled neatly into his little Sports Nook.

Kirk the Sports Head: That’s not how elections work. You can’t win an election by winning a wrestling match.

Max Kael: What?! That’s news to me. Darkly!? Is that true?

Snark Darkly shrugs, shaking his head.

Snark Darkly: I don’t know, I’m not from around here.

Max Kael: My the Herald?!

Scrambling toward the NEWS DESK comes the Herald, carrying with him a large, dusty leather tome, flipping through the pages before shaking his head.

The Herald: I, Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington the Heral-

Max Kael: Speed it up!

The Herald: …theHeraldofthePatientandPowerfulMaximillianWilhelmKael,LordofKaelsalvania,PrimeMinisterofMaxopotamia,SecondofhisName,LongMayHeMaim!… whew.. Okay.. yeah, no, he’s right. Nowhere in Professional Wrestling Law does it state you can win an election by match.

Max Kael: DAMN IT! Alright. Alright. Okay… I can still salvage this..

Running his hand down his face, Max lets out a frustrated noise half between a growl and a groan. With a sigh he plops back down in his chair.

Max Kael: Fine, Jackson David Marcel George Michael Cooley, scrap the Arkham Street Fight for UltraViolence. This is your chance to shine, your chance to prove to PRIME that you belong here. That you can hang with the… UltraViolent… heh-heh…

Leaning forward, Max lets his lips peep back across his silver teeth once again.

Max Kael: You can pick the situation. Whatever you want, the world’s your oyster… just be careful what you wish for, kiddo. The last time I tangled with someone named Jackson, I stabbed the bitch. And he was a friend. Imagine what I’ll do to someone I don’t like.

…heh-heh…

We move along.

Inside one of the conference rooms of the Centre Bell Arena, it is certainly been transformed into a makeshift positivity classroom. The walls are adorned with motivational posters like “Empathy Is Epic!” and “Feelings Are Rad!” and of course, the classic “Hang In There” kitten dangling from a tree branch.

The room is also decked out in… beach-themed decor: inflatable palm trees, a surfboard leaning against a wall with “Hang Ten, Not Hate” painted on it, and a boombox playing soothing lo-fi ukulele music. We can’t smell the room, but rest assured there’s the faint scent of coconut and sandalwood in the air.

The center of the room has plastic chairs arranged in a circle, one larger than the rest for Ivan Sanislav. (No one wants to focus on sensitivity and empathy while distracted by the fear of breaking a too-small chair, after all).

We see the grumpiest collection of Soviet collectivists PRIME has ever seen.

Stanislav sits with his arms crossed tightly over his barrel chest, glaring at the surfboard as if it has personally assaulted him.

Ruslan slouches backwards, muttering in Russian about what must be ways to murder people.

Rose has her feet on top of the desk, eyes closed, with an eye mask over them that says “I’m not supposed to fucking be here” on it. We obviously know what she thinks of all of this.

Dawkins leans back in his chair, his crimson and yellow sunglasses doing little to hide his disinterest in the entire situation. Bruh is already in his ring gear, anticipating he’ll have little time to prep for his match while he’s tied up with…whatever this is gonna be.

The Masters of the Moscowverse are sat next to each other (naturally), with Randall still trying to understand why he’s been brought into sensitivity training over “standing in a hallway, a succulent PRIME hallway.”

Speedy Riggs actually fits in rather well, wearing his tropical hammer and sickle shirt and shorts. But he nibbles his lower lip and pulls inward, like a child waiting in the principal’s office.

Arina sits on the other side of Stanislav, eyes wide and fearful.

Alexei finally speaks to the group slowly.

Alexei Ruslan: Whatever this is about, Red Army, we stay strong. Be wary of capitalist-Canadian brainwashing. It is real thing.

Arina looks like she might faint. Dawkins rolls his eyes.

The door to the conference room opens and in walks Dametreyus and Lindsay Troy. The Head of Security sticks a sign on the wall next to the door before closing it behind him.

The Queen smirks at the gathered Red Army and walks toward them.

Lindsay Troy: I’m surprised every one of you actually showed up. I half expected a coup.

On that last word, she locks eyes with Ivan and Alexei. Ivan stares directly back at her, but Ruslan looks down at his fingernails.

Lindsay Troy: Before I introduce your instructors, I want to remind you all that you’re required to be in this room for the duration of the evening, with the exception of when you’re up for your matches. I’m also being nice and allowing Rose and Ivan time in the ring, even though if it wasn’t for Ivan you all wouldn’t have to be doing this…

She snatches the eye mask off Rose’s face and pushes her feet to the floor. Ruslan makes to protest this gross simplification of the situation that led to the do-gooders being stuck here, but Ivan simply grips his forearm and squeezes, calming him.

Lindsay Troy: …so I expect you’ll be paying close attention while you’re here. Dam and I will be overseeing things. And let me remind you: failure to fully complete this training will result in your termination, and I’ll be the judge on whether or not you’ve passed to my satisfaction. Am I clear?

The Red Army, for the most part, nods their assent. With Kenny and Randall even saying “Yes Lindsay Troy” in unison. The grumbling from Stanislav and Ruslan reverberates from their direction, but nothing more.

Lindsay Troy: Good. Dam, please show our experts in.

Dametreyus nods, opens the door, and beckons the trainers in.

Bursting through the door are the two coolest California cucumbers that have ever graced the squared circle. Bowie Abrams and Bradlee Nelson, the tandem known as Surf Express Bro, rush toward the front of the room on either side of the Red Army. When they arrive, they leap into the air and connect with the most bodacious high five Canada has ever seen.

The Canadian PRIMEates go wild inside the Centre Bell.

The Red Army has died a little inside.

Bowie Abrams: Welcome dudes and dudettes to the most radical training you’re ever gonna get! And I mean radical as in, like, totally awesome, not radical as in, like, super extreme and scary.

Bradlee Nelson: That’s right dude, we’re not about that life. We’re here to help the Queen Broette show you all a much more mellow, far-out way of being.

Bowie Abrams: Hell yeah! Being angry and rude is totally not cool, man.

Bradlee Nelson: Totally harshes the vibes!

The boys laugh and nod their heads.

Bowie Abrams: Anyway, I’m Bowie.

Bradlee Nelson: And I’m Bradlee.

Bowie and Bradlee: And it’s Surfs Up for Sensitivity!

The Red Army looks at Bowie and Bradlee.

Then they look at each other.

Then they all turn their heads to look at Lindsay Troy, who is enjoying every moment of this.

Lindsay Troy: Let’s get started, shall we?

An empty casino floor.

There’s something spine chilling about places known for their population density being vacant.

There are no blinking lights, cheering patrons, or noisy slot machines. Yet, despite the solemn silence, you can feel the hustle and bustle in the air. Smell the highs and lows.

Off screen we hear the click clack of the heels of cowboy boots approaching.

Panning, the camera finds Jackson Cooley in a crisp looking Electric Pink Western Suit. A joint hangs idly from his lips. Who knew you could smoke pot in a casino? He approaches a craps table. A group of dealers have materialized – seemingly from out of thin air. They all bear an undeniable resemblance to one Max Kael.

Cooley reaches inside the pocket of his sportscoat and pulls out a wad of hundreds that would choke a horse and drops it on the table.

He speaks into the ether, not directly to the dealers.

Jackson Cooley: You know, I’ve always been gripped by the argument of nature versus nurture. Let’s take, for instance, me. Is it in my nature to gamble or is it because I grew up as a snot nosed kid sneaking into casinos in Vegas?

The Stickman slides a pair of dice to Cooley, toying with the stick a bit to push the dice towards Cooley and then pull them back before finally leaving them to rest in front of Cooley. Unbothered, Cooley casually picks them up and examines them.

Jackson Cooley: Or take, for instance, Max Kael. Are you a huge piece of shit because you’re some back alley abortion bred in a lab or because you were made into one? Does it matter? I guess not. You crossed a line, Max. I can stand by while you insult me. Stomach you being some undying otherworldly being or whatever. I cannot, however, accept you disrespecting my love.

Cooley shakes the dice in his hand.

Jackson Cooley: So yes, I will accept your challenge for UltraViolence. Let’s throw the dice and let fate decide where we land.

With a flick of his wrist Cooley sends the dice flying through the air. They ping perfectly off the green, felt nipple on the other side of the table before rolling to a stop.

Snake eyes.

The Kael boxman looks up with that same smug smile.

Boxman: House always wins.

The Base Dealer reaches across and takes Cooley’s wad of cash.

Jackson Cooley: Indeed it does. Plenty more where that came from. Put it all on the Snake Eyes.

The Doppelgangers smirk, knowing the odds for a back to back two roll are astronomically in their favor.

Cooley throws another wad of hundreds down and they begin the process all over.

Jackson Cooley: House Rules, Max. Upon entering the ring we’ll both roll a pair of dice. Whatever we land on—that’s the law. Three through six? Dog collar. Seven to eleven? Barbed wire. Boxcars and it’s First Blood. But Snake Eyes? That’s a Death Match.

Another precise motion launches the dice against the back wall once again.

Stickman: Snake eyes. Winner winner.

Jackson Cooley: Twice in a row. What are the odds?

Stickman: One in one thousand, two hundred and ninety-six. One more?

Jackson Cooley: Why not, I’m feeling lucky.

Cooley shrugs, holding his hands up as if to say “Why not?”. The dice are once again placed in front of him and he takes one more expert shot at launching them across the table. As the dice fly through the air, Cooley turns to the camera.

Jackson Cooley: See you at UltraViolence Max. And Max, pray it isn’t Snake Eyes again.

The camera fades to black before we can see where the dice land.

Nick Stuart: We’re ready for our next contest here at ReVival 69 from the Centre Bell in Montreal! Asher Creed squares off against Tony Gamble in what promises to be a clash of styles and personalities.

Richard Parker: No kidding, Nick! “The Guiding Light” versus “The Grin” – it’s like watching a Sunday school teacher try to lecture a career criminal. My money’s on Gamble exposing Creed as the sanctimonious phony he is.

In the ring, Vince Howard is ready to do his job.

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall! Introducing first, hailing from Eden Texas and weighing in at 240 pounds… ASHER! CREEEEEEEEEEEEEEED!

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.

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.

Richard Parker: Loooooooooooser.

Nick Stuart: Creed looking for his second victory since joining PRIME.

Richard Parker: He’s not going to find it tonight.

Nick Stuart: Well, that’s your opinion.

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.

And just behind him is none other than Hessian.

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, accompanied with Thee Murder Shovel, Hessian, 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

Barlow gives her final set of instructions before signaling for the start of the match.

DING DING

Gamble wastes no time, charging across the ring at Creed looking for a single leg takedown. The Guiding Light anticipates it perfectly, stuffing Gamble’s attempt and connecting with a series of clubbing forearm strikes to The Grin’s back. Tony drops down to one knee, and Creed capitalizes with a stiff knee strike to the side of Gamble’s skull that echoes through the Centre Bell.

Nick Stuart: Creed showing his collegiate background there with that excellent takedown defense, and following up with some brutal strikes!

Richard Parker: Lucky counter, that’s all. Gamble’s just feeling him out, playing possum. The Grin always has a plan, Nick – watch and learn.

Nick Stuart: I mean, we’ve watched and learned from a lot of Gamble’s matches.

Richard Parker: Exactly and Gamble wins every match.

Nick Stuart: Every match?

Richard Parker: Well, most of them. Some of them.

With Gamble sprawled on the mat, Creed bounces off the ropes and drives a punishing elbow directly into Tony’s sternum. The Permascar Superstar rolls out underneath the bottom rope, clutching his midsection. Creed stalks him from inside the ring as Tony waves him off dismissively and starts making his way up the ramp.

BOOOOOOO!

Creed shakes his head and slides out of the ring, pursuing Gamble up the ramp. As he closes in, Gamble suddenly spins around with a devious grin, revealing the ruse as he connects with a lightning-quick drop toe hold. Asher’s face collides violently with the metal ramp with a sickening CLANG.

Richard Parker: HA! I told you! Classic Gamble strategy – lure the do-gooder into a trap! That’s why he’s called The Grin! Always thinking three steps ahead!

Nick Stuart: That was a despicable tactic, Richard! Gamble pretended to be retreating only to ambush Creed when his guard was down!

Richard Parker: It’s called strategy, Nick. Maybe if Creed spent less time trying to inspire people and more time studying his opponent, he wouldn’t be eating metal right now.

Nick Stuart: Well, I guess you have a point there. A small one.

Gamble grabs Creed by the back of the neck and drags him to his feet before slamming his face into the ring apron with a THUD. The Grin rolls his dazed opponent back into the ring, then climbs onto the apron and springs off the top rope, delivering a precise leg drop across Creed’s throat. Gamble immediately hooks the leg for a cover.

ONE

TWO—

Creed powers a shoulder up just before the three count.

Nick Stuart: Gamble nearly stealing one there after that vicious assault outside the ring! But Creed showing tremendous resilience to kick out!

Richard Parker: Barlow’s count was slow, Nick. Should’ve been a three. She is clearly favoring the pretty boy.

Nick Stuart: You’re calling into question Barlow’s integrity?

Richard Parker: I’m calling into question Barlow’s tastes. Creed is ugly as sin. She’d do much better favoring Gamble.

Nick Stuart: Right.

Gamble drags Creed back up to his feet and puts him into a front facelock, setting up for a vertical suplex. Creed, though still dazed, manages to slip behind Gamble and connects with an explosive German Suplex that drops The Grin on the back of his skull. The tide turning, Creed quickly capitalizes and yanks Gamble back up to his feet before whipping him into the ropes and planting him in the middle of the ring with a thunderous spinebuster.

RAAAAAHHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: What power from Asher Creed! That spinebuster might have cracked the foundation of the Centre Bell!

Richard Parker: (wincing) Alright, I’ll admit that was impressive. But Gamble’s taken worse and come back stronger. Don’t count out The Permascar Superstar yet.

Nick Stuart: And what about Asher Creed? You were counting him out just a few moments ago.

Richard Parker: Well, I mean, what’s your point? Gamble is a hall of famer. Creed is not. He hasn’t earned my stamp of approval and will probably never.

Tony begins to stagger back up to his feet and is met with a chop across his chest that echoes throughout the arena like a gunshot. Gamble fires back with a right hand of his own, only for Creed to plant his knee into Gamble’s midsection. With The Grin doubled over, Creed connects with a DDT that spikes him back onto the mat. Building momentum, The Guiding Light makes his way to the nearby corner and climbs to the top turnbuckle.

LET’S GO CREED! LET’S GO CREED!

Creed launches himself off the top with a beautiful moonsault, but Gamble, showing his veteran instincts, manages to get his knees up at the last moment. Creed crashes down hard, clutching his midsection in agony.

Richard Parker: (laughing) Look at the so-called Guiding Light now! Trying to show off with that moonsault and getting exactly what he deserves!

Nick Stuart: That was a calculated risk from Creed that didn’t pay off. Gamble showing why he’s survived so long in this business with that defensive counter.

Richard Parker: You don’t last as long in this industry if you’re not crafty like Gamble. Creed would do well to learn from Gamble.

Nick Stuart: I think Creed is doing just fine on his own.

Richard Parker: I’m sure you think that.

Gamble capitalizes quickly, kicking the back of Creed’s skull as he tries to get back to his feet. The Grin puts Creed into a front facelock before dragging him over to the nearest corner. With a sudden burst of speed, Gamble scales the ropes and connects with a devastating Tornado DDT that drops Creed like a sack of potatoes. Without missing a beat, Gamble follows up with a running knee drop directly to the face of the downed Creed. With Creed grabbing at his face in pain, Gamble goes for another cover.

ONE

TWO—

Creed manages to kick out again!

Nick Stuart: Creed showing the heart of a champion there! Refusing to stay down despite the punishment he’s taking!

Richard Parker: Heart doesn’t win matches, Nick. It just prolongs the inevitable. The Guiding Light is about to be permanently dimmed.

Nick Stuart: Match isn’t over yet.

Richard Parker: Oh ye of little faith.

Creed stumbles back to his feet, clearly dazed from the onslaught, only for Gamble to come up from behind and connect with the Stop Laughing at Me. Creed crashes down hard onto the canvas, and before he can recover, Gamble pounces. The Grin quickly transitions, trapping Creed’s arms and then hooking his fingers into the corners of Creed’s mouth, wrenching back in his devastating submission hold – the Smile for Me.

Richard Parker: THERE IT IS! The Smile for Me! No one escapes this, Nick! NO ONE!

Nick Stuart: From the Front Russian Legsweep, Gamble transitioned smoothly into the modified Rings of Saturn, and look at the torque he’s putting on Creed’s neck and jaw! This is brutal!

Richard Parker: Tap pretty boy!

Nick Stuart: Make up your mind, is he pretty or ugly!

Richard Parker: Both!

Creed struggles desperately, trying to find an escape, but the pain is too much. With his face being contorted and his arms trapped, The Guiding Light has no choice but to frantically tap out.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: Gamble wins! But he’s still not releasing the hold! The match is over!

Richard Parker: He’s just making sure Creed remembers this lesson, Nick. Sometimes you need to drive the point home.

Nick Stuart: He won the match, he should let it go!

Richard Parker: He will. Eventually.

Barlow finally forces Gamble to break the hold after several additional seconds of punishment. The Grin stands over his fallen opponent, raising his arms in victory as a chorus of boos rains down from the Montreal crowd.

Nick Stuart: A disappointing end for Asher Creed tonight, but Tony Gamble showed why he’s one of the most dangerous competitors in PRIME with that vicious submission victory.

Richard Parker: Disappointing? It was beautiful, Nick! Gamble just proved what I’ve been saying all along – nice guys finish last in PRIME. And they tap out screaming.

As Gamble exits the ring, ReVival moves on.

The match is over, ringside is clearing out and the audience is moving for bathrooms and cocessions, when…

Ned Reform: Hello, children!

Ned Reform.

He stands on the entrance ramp, a smug look on his face.

His words are met with the reaction you’d expect. Hearing the jeers, Reform shakes his head like a disappointed parent.

Ned Reform: Yes. “Boo.” Wow. As eloquent as ever, aren’t we? What’s next on this train of total originality? Perhaps “you suck”? Or, perhaps to stoop to your undignified vernacular, “vous sucez”?

The Good Doctor lowers the mic as the air is filled with just that chant.

Ned Reform: A detestable language. Still, you’ll be happy to know that my gripe tonight is not with you poutine-sucking simpletons. Instead, it is with THAT simpleton…

Reform points to the ring, where Tony Gamble has remained since seeing Reform on the entrance ramp.

Ned Reform: Mr. Gamble! May I call you Anthony? As absolutely riveted as I was by your in-ring prowess, I am not here to critique your performance tonight. Instead, I bring glad tidings of your oh-so-immediate future. You see, I recently have spent more time than any human being should conversing with one Lindsay Troy. A terrifying prospect, I know… but despite our mutual discontent with each other, she and I were able to collaborate on one thing: a match that we both know the world wants to see.

Gamble shakes his head as he walks over and opens a gap between the ropes, motioning for the quack to come join him in the ring.

Ned, of course, does not.

Ned Reform: You see, even someone like Troy, in her very advanced age, has moments of lucidity. She looks at someone like you, Mr. Gamble, and knows that you and your so-called Bandits are… hmmm. What’s the proper terminology here?

Reform stops for a moment, rubbing his head and pretending to think.

Ned Reform: (quietly, but loud enough for the mic to pick it up) I should try to be sensitive about this. No need to punch down, after all. But then again, how DO I say this in a non-confrontational way? I’m not sure it’s possible. Ah well – perhaps I should just be blunt. “Rip off the band aid,” as one says. After all, one cannot make an omelet…

Ned stops. Grins. Looks into the camera like he’s a character on The Office and oh-so-proud of this “joke.”

Ned Reform: …without breaking a few eggs. SO! Mr. Gamble, I’ll just say it: your career is on the decline. The SHARP decline. You and your merry band had your moments in the sun, but PRIME brass is wise enough to know that Mr. Green and Mr. Vale are the future of the industry. MY Green Vale Gang will be carrying this company and headlining PRIME shows for the next twenty years, and the time to invest in the future is now. This MUST be BLATANTLY obvious to all, as I was able to convince even someone who struggles with basic understanding like Lindsay Troy! And she is in fact SO eager to clear out the dead weight and make room for the future and she was SO impressed with my proposal that she agreed for yourself and Mr. Hessian to face my boys in tag team action at UltraViolence!

Richard Parker: YES!!!

Nick Stuart: Gamble and Hessian taking on the Green Vale Gang at Ultra Violence!

Ned Reform: So, my friend, I leave you with this: “Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever.” Do you know who said that? A man by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte. That’s right – a FRENCH speaker. Ironic, n’est-ce pas? But the man knew one thing: when your time is up, it’s up. And Mr. Gamble… your clock is ticking.

Ned Reform heads back to Argyle, as Tony climbs out of the ring and heads after him.

ReVival moves on.

Welcome back to Sensitivity Training, bros and brosettes!

The lights have been dimmed for a better “vibe” and a lava lamp is now front and center in the room. A few bean bag chairs have been added as well. A whiteboard now reads “Express Yourself Through Song” with musical notes and hearts doodled around the words.

The Red Army is still there, of course.

Ruslan stands stubbornly, refusing to sit on something as treacherous as a bean bag. Rose paces back and forth on the outside of the circle while Kenny relaxes in the bean bag chair and Randall looks like he’s half asleep. Dawkins is also sitting cross-legged on one of the bean bag chairs, but staring blankly at the floor. Speedy and Arina sit in regular chairs but look more like hostages.

Ivan stands behind Riggs and Arina, but he’s staring absolute DAGGERS at Lindsay Troy from across the room. The Russian Bear’s red uniform is open now, revealing his wrestling shirt underneath. In the corner behind him are about five bean bags, all blown out and leaking their stuffing. Poor bean bag chairs, they didn’t expect to have to hold the weight of a near quarter ton individual.

Bowie Abrams and Bradlee Nelson don’t seem to pick up on the incredible tension in the room. Bowie has a ukulele while Bradlee is seated behind some bongo drums as they face the group.

Bowie Abrams: Alright, my sensitive soldiers of self-expression, it’s time to let your hearts sing. We’re gonna turn our feelings into frequencies, comrades-bros, with the Sensitivity Song Circle.

Bradlee Nelson: You totally don’t need to sing well, dudes, you just have to be real. So me and my Broseidon of the Brocean are gonna go around and share a verse about kindness, compassion, and like, inner peace and stuff.

The Red Army stares blankly. Ivan looks like he’s about to go Chernobyl on Surf Express Bro. He cuts his eyes over to Lindsay Troy and boils. Ruslan resists the urge to pull something from his pocket, to either off the Bros or himself.

Bowie begins to gently strum the instrument.

Bowie Abrams: “When I feel mad, I take a breath. I hug my bro, and I chill to death.” Who wants to go next?

Crickets.

Bowie Abrams: How about you, Speedy dude?

Speedy blinks and stammers. He looks at everyone, anyone, for help but there’s none to be had.

Speedy Riggs: I’m… just a referee not a singer.

There’s a subtle throat-clearing from the corner of the room. Everyone looks over at the Boss.

Lindsay Troy: Maybe you should try, Speedy. You know that participation is important.

Speedy blanches as he looks over at Lindsay Troy. He gulps.

Speedy Riggs: I… ahem… when I think about feelings, I sh… should have a clue… otherwise I might be… DQ’d…?

Ivan grits his teeth and rubs the bridge of his nose, but Arina offers Speedy a small round of applause. He smiles.

Bradlee Nelson: Whoa that is powerful bro-dude Speedy. Really showing how you can, like, try to get control of your life and, like, really look at what’s working and what isn’t. You know, really stop from getting those shoulders down on the mat for the three count. Inspiring, dude! Alexei, can you build on that?

Alexei snarls sarcastically.

Alexei Ruslan: I offer you a smile so fake, I dream of escape with every life… I take.

Ruslan clears his throat.

Alexei Ruslan: Ahem, I mean every breath I take…

Bowie Abrams: Damn dude, that’s like Lana Del Rey meets The Police meets Siberian Winter. I love it!

Again, the Boss clears her throat to interrupt.

Lindsay Troy: I don’t know….I didn’t really get a whole lot of sensitivity from that. Did you, Dam?

Dametreyus: (crossing his arms) Pretty sure that was a subtle reference to homicide, Boss.

Lindsay Troy: I thought so too. Try again, Alexei. And I mean, really try.

The Russians explode. In Russian. Well, not Arina. She puts her hands over her ears and looks down at the floor.

Alexei Ruslan: Chto za khren’, Ivan? Tebe ser’yezno prikhoditsya zanimat’sya etoy yerundoy, poka my na restling-shou!?! Eta tupaya devchonka vybila tebe zub, a potom…

Ivan Stanislav: Eto vozmutitel’no dazhe dlya tebya, Lindsi Troy! Kak ty SMEYESH’ stavit’ nas v takuyu ​​situatsiyu, kogda my tol’ko i delali, chto zashchishchalis’ ot bezbashennoy devchonki! Aleksey podaril yey korzinu s fruktami!

The Bros look at each other, wide-eyed.

Bowie Abrams: Dude, I was not prepared for world music, were you?

Bradlee Nelson: Totally not, dude. Can you, like, come up with a melody on the fly for that?

Bowie Abrams: Like, I can try, but that sounded pretty metal and I dunno if the ol’ uke is up for it…

Dawkins, thankfully, raises his hand.

Bryan Dawkins: Look, this is a great kumbaya moment and all…

Lindsay Troy stares daggers at her old friend. They both know that’s not what this is.

Bryan Dawkins: …but some of us still have other stuff to do tonight. You know, like matches?

Lindsay Troy: And when it’s time for you and Kenny to wrestle, you may be excused. For now, Rose can leave, and if I were you I’d start thinking of some lyrics, Bryan.

Rose: Well, you know, on that note, I’ll take my leave. On account that I have no problem with Ivan getting his ass kicked for attacking another woman.

She glares. Ivan rolls his eyes.

Rose: Don’t forget about your meeting with Jonathan-Christopher. It should be smashing.

Rose is out of the room in a flash. The rest of the Red Army look beyond dejected while Bradlee Nelson approaches Ivan with a tambourine.

Bradlee Nelson: All right big guy, let’s provide a beat for Alexei and shake out those feelings.

Ivan takes the tambourine as if it’s a live grenade and grips it tight enough his knuckles turn white. He stares down at Nelson and we fade elsewhere.

We fade to backstage, where Simon Tillier, the man keeping punk rock in the press, stands looking as haggard and worn as a wartime reporter in the field. He’s deep within the Vae Victis VVIP Room, standing a safe distance away from the Wingmen tandem of Scott Hunter and Kerry Kuroyama.

Hunter, rocking his traditional blue and yellow gear, spends these remaining few minutes before his upcoming bout with Rose with an intense shadowboxing exercise. Loosening the joints. Shaking off the nerves. Sharpening the MIND. He jukes and jabs at the air with lightning-fast reflexes, eyes transfixed on an invisible target ahead of him.

Tonight, he is ready to GET SERIOUS.

Kerry Kuroyama: Remember, Scott… show no remorse when you’re in there.

Kuroyama, sporting plain jeans and a sleeveless Wingman tee, coaches Hunter from just over his shoulder.

Kerry Kuroyama: Everyone’s taken notice that you’ve been stepping it up lately. And tonight, you’re gonna show ‘em that it’s only a sign of things to come. But believe me, the higher the climb, the more dangerous they get. So don’t let your guard down in there, for even a second.

Scott Hunter: Don’t worry, Ker! It’s like I said after the last show, while a flower’s beauty may be deceptive, the great prophet Vince Neil once said, “Every ROSE has its THORN.”

Kerry Kuroyama: Very true. Although I think that was Bret Michaels.

Scott Hunter: And every night has its dawn.

Kerry Kuroyama: Sure. That too.

Scott Hunter: And every cowboy sings a sad, sad song… right?

Kerry Kuroyama: Um… you know, now that you mention it, I’m not sure.

Scott Hunter: Maybe we should ask?

Kuroyama glances over, and the camera pans to an egregiously massive plush arm chair, filled with the titanic form of a reclining and gently snoozing CLAY BYRD.

Kerry Kuroyama: Hey, Clay?

The sleeping giant awakens, and grumbles.

Clay Byrd: (groggy) Th’ hell you two on ’bout now?

Scott Hunter: Is it TRUE that every cowboy sings a sad, sad song?

Clay throws his head back and yawns.

Clay Byrd: Sure is. Mine’s called… “The Ballad of Next One of Ya Who Wakes Me Up is Gettin’ a Boot in their Ass”. With “Bret Michaels Can Go Fuck Himself” as a B-side.

Pulling his trademark black cowboy hat down over his face, Byrd picks up where he left off on his nap, snoring loudly. The camera pans back over to Kerry and Scott.

Scott Hunter: Wow… those sound like real tearjerkers!

Tillier, who has been standing by this whole time growing impatient, now clears his throat to get their attention.

Kerry Kuroyama: Oh… hey, Simon.

Simon Tillier: Good evening, Kerry. And…

The junior interviewer glowers when looking over to the shadowboxing Maven of Miami.

Simon Tillier: (resentfully) …and Scott.

Hearing his name, Scott pivots and SWINGS a big right hook aimed at Tillier’s head…

Simon Tillier: GEEZ!

Simon narrowly DUCKS the punch and scampers out of swinging distance.

Kerry Kuroyama: Careful, Simon. Scott’s in that place we in the sports industry refer to as “the zone”. He’s liable to take your head off if you so much as look at him funny.

Simon Tillier: (rolling his eyes) Or not looking at him at all, in some cases… anyway, guys, big match coming up against another member of the Red Army. As we know, Hunter fought the Russian Bear to a draw, which some might say is no easy feat. But is he going with the same gameplan tonight against the cunning Second Coming?

Kerry Kuroyama: Because when the competition gets stiff, Simon, then Vae Victis GETS SERIOUS.

KER-PLUFF!

Unexpectedly, Kerry’s face disappears beneath an upended bucket of popcorn that someone standing behind him brings down over his head, sending a cascade of fluffy white kernels spilling down his shoulders.

After a moment, Kerry slowly pulls the bucket off his now butter-glazed head and turns around to confront his merry prankster.

Kerry Kuroyama: Way to undercut my point, Ami…

Ami Troy stands there goading him with her characteristic wry smile. Despite the rib, Kuroyama warmly smiles back at the baddie he pulled by being ripped AF despite being a perpetual dumbass.

Ami Troy: Why, Ker-Bear! First of all, I am SHOCKED that you would suspect me of stooping so low! Especially when the actual culprit is standing right there…

She points, and the camera pans down. At the feet of the Emerald Apex, Kerry Koalayama is eagerly guzzling up the popcorn spilled across the floor.

Kerry Kuroyama: Ah yes, I can see the guilt as clear as day…

Ami Troy: (flicking kernels into his face) Secondly, I thought you liked popcorn! Now you can eat your fill, and sit back and enjoy all the drama that you created…

Kerry Kuroyama: I don’t know what you mean.

Her eyes narrow into slits.

The look of DOOM that no right-minded boyfriend ever wants to see.

Am Troy: Yeah, you do…

When it clicks, Kuroyama immediately goes into damage control.

Kerry Kuroyama: Okay, look… when I mentioned to that exec at Classic Wrestling that I thought it would be cool if VV could be represented, obviously I was referring to US! The LAST thing I was expecting was them bringing in the cheese guy!

He can tell by the look on her face that he’s only digging this hole deeper. With a defeated sigh, he cuts his losses and moves on.

Kerry Kuroyama: (stammering) U-uhm, anyway… s-sup, babe?

Ami Troy: (thumbing to the door) Mom needs to see you.

Kerry Kuroyama: LT needs to see me? Hmm… any idea what about?

Ami Troy: Yes.

He stands there, waiting for her to elaborate. Instead, he once more gets that wry smile of hers.

Ami Troy: (sing-songy) But IIII’m noooot teeelll-iiiiinnng…

She leaves, with Kerry standing scratching his buttery head in confusion. Until…

KER-PLUFF!

…a second, EXTRA LARGE bucket of popcorn gets dumped over his head. Hapless, Kerry’s defeated sigh echoes through his make-shift paper helmet.

Kerry Kuroyama: Well, sounds like I got a date with the cat o’ nine tails tonight…

Scott Hunter: No dude, cats have nine lives. Also, why would you cheat on Ami with a cat? That’s freaking weird, bro.

We can almost imagine Kuroyama’s face turning inside on itself from beneath the bucket. A moment later, he takes it off and tosses it aside.

Kerry Kuroyama: Look, nevermind that. I’m going to go figure out what this is about. Now you get out there and kick some ass! I believe in you, dude!

Scott Hunter: Thanks, bro!

They dap hands, and Kerry pats Simon on the shoulder on his way out. A moment later, a grimace forms on the junior reporter’s face. He now finds himself ALONE with his nemesis, Scott Hunter. Staring him down, Scott balls up his hands as though he’s about to resume his pre-match shadowboxing…

…or something else, involving his fists.

They simply stare at each other for a few moments, no words, no sounds.

Suddenly we are outside the dressing room in the hall. There is silence for a few seconds when suddenly….

Simon Tillier comes flying out of the door sideways with a scream.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

And the door shuts behind him.

ReVival moves on.

We return to ringside to find that Vince Howard is standing in the ring.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall and has a thirty minute time limit…

“Burning Hearts” by Survivor hits, and Scott Hunter slowly makes his way to ringside while adjusting his wrist tape. For a man who is famously… let’s be generous and say “spacey”… he is surprisingly focused for tonight.

Vince Howard: Introducing first… from Miami, Florida… he weighs in tonight at two hundred and forty-five pounds…representating Vae Victus… SCOTTTTTT HUNNNNNTERRRRRRRRR!!!!

Hunter reaches the ring and takes the stairs to the ring apron before entering the ring. There, he raises his hands in the air for the fans to cheer him.

The lights then dim inside of the arena as a siren echoes throughout it, like a trumpet heralding the end times.

What’s up, danger? (Danger)

What’s up, danger? (Danger)

Then, “What’s Up Danger” by Black Caviar and Blackway plays throughout the arena.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, representing The Red Army. She stands at five feet and ten inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and thirty-five pounds. Hailing from San Diego, California… she is THE SECOND COMING! ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSE!

Two thousand on thermometers

Two thousand surroundin’ us

Travel two thousand kilometers to hang out with us

What’s up, danger? (Danger)

What’s up, danger? (Danger)

Rose emerges from the backstage area and the spotlight lands on her. She stands there, focused and determined, wearing a pair of black pants with ROSE painted on the sides in purple and a black sports bra.

Ayy, didn’t know they doubted us

Makes it that more marvelous

Sign ’em up, ’cause ominous vibes and I get synonymous

What’s up, danger?

Ayy, don’t be a stranger

She struts down the ramp, confident in herself, even as the fans yell at her. She blocks them out as she reaches the halfway mark of the entrance ramp before she explodes into a run and slides under the bottom rope. As she reaches the middle of the ring, she hops up to her feet and sprints to the opposite set of ropes before placing her right foot on the middle rope and her left foot on the bottom. She extends her right arm high as she screams into the void.

‘Cause I like high chances that I might lose (lose)

I like it all on the edge just like you, ayy

I like tall buildings so I can leap off of ’em

I go hard wit’ it no matter how dark it is

She moves around the ring, shaking her head, stoic.

I’m insane but on my toes

I could keep the world balanced on my nose

I had a slumber party wit’ all my foes

Now I wear them like a badge of honor on my clothes

Rose reaches one of the corners and climbs up to the second turnbuckle, slamming her fist into her chest and raising both arms.

If I’m crazy, I’m on my own

If I’m waitin’, it’s on my throne

If I sound lazy, just ignore my tone

‘Cause I’m always gonna answer when you call my phone

She hops off the middle turnbuckle, moves to the opposite set of ropes, and glares out at the fans.

Like, what’s up, danger?

Like, what’s up, danger?

Don’t-don’t be a stranger

What’s up, danger?

The music then fades.

DING DING

The size discrepancy is apparent from the jump. Then again, in nearly every match she takes part in, The Second Coming is in such a position. And like all those other times, does she quake or cower? No. She stands toe to toe with the VVingman.

What does Hunter do?

He stares over the top of her head, outward to the crowd. Not through her, no, or even to make a height related joke; wonderful Scotty here is taking the center of the ring and looking at her as though she IS all of six foot three inches. It’s odd in its manner.

It also pisses Rose off.

THWAAAAAAAACK!

ooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH

Red as rose petals, the print of her hand across his cheek. An absolute starching. It causes Hunter to get ramrod straight. No…not in the…look, there’s going to be enough Sex Time jokes and ha has and tee hees and NICE as a result of the number of this show, so let’s just get the quota filled right now and be done with it, because other people will probably do better with the bit, and this isn’t a bit match, despite the fact that Scott Hunter spent much of the previous year as, essentially a meme. Or background fodder. Or a towel boy for Kerry Kuroyama. Recent weeks have dispelled such a notion. New year, new, much more scary, much better abled Hunter.

THWAAAAAAAACK!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Richard Parker: He’s just standing there and taking that? Turn the other cheek? Look, as a foremost scholar and a member of the Archdiocese of Hoyt’s Best Ball-nomics, turning the other cheek is for suckers and the morally poor.

Nick Stuart: Rose isn’t backing down from Hunter here. And we can’t hear what she’s saying to him, but Hunter isn’t exactly–

THWAAAAAAAACK!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nick Stuart: –OH! That one has him stumbling back on his heels!

Richard Parker: Look, Scotty, there’s better ways to get the fillings knocked out of your teeth. But I guess if you want to let this happen in public, well, at least the FCC can’t take us off broadcast television.

Nick Stuart: Rose stalking, Hunter’s staggered…she RIPS his arms away and EUROPEAN UPPERCUT and each one of Rose’s strikes has an urgency here, Richard, a OOOOOF! ANOTHER UPPERCUT! And the blood vessels of Scott Hunter’s cheeks and chest are showing that very urgency.

Richard Parker: Well when you look over top of your opponent and make a mockery of them in such a way, you better be ready to have your head on a swivel. But Scott Hunter didn’t seem to get that memo. The opposite, actually. A neck of rebar. A brain filled with cement.

Nick Stuart: And ANOTHER european uppercut and Hunter…as impressive as he’s been…Manhunt, Ben Lynch–

Richard Parker: The Miracle in Edmonton–

Nick Stuart: Drawing with Ivan Stanislav, a GAME Ivan Stanislav looking to send a message after losing the Universal Championship–

Richard Parker: –WHAT IS HE–

THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNGH!

Nick Stuart: Rose…Rose…ROSE–

Richard Parker: He JUST ATE that discus elbow smash! Sweet Baby Hoyt is this boy just dim? YOU’RE IN THE RING WITH A SECOND GENERATION PRIME WRESTLER!

Nick Stuart: Off the ropes and UUUGH! Leg lariat FINALLY takes Hunter off his feet and he’s scrambling to get up–

Richard Parker: He ceded the ground. And he’s paying the price.

To be truthful, the first slap from Rose was a wallop. Surprisingly so. The ringing in his ears. The disorientation. But seeing his boy Kerry, knowing that fighting spirit, what better way to deal with the pain but to shut it out and eat another blow?

Maybe Kerry’s spine is made of stronger stuff. Not Miami stuff. Because fighting spirit? THAT SHIT SUCKS AND IT HURTS! GOD DAMN IT HURTS! And as Rose throws her knee, driving it after caroming off the rope, at the side of his head, as his eyes are blinded in the coronas of the arena lights, that little display comes full circle as it costs him the match.

ONE

TWO

THR–NO!

Hunter shoves Rose off him, sitting up, grabbing his noggin. Trying to shake the cobwebs. Rose, however, sticks to him, embeds herself like the thorn she is, grabbing onto him, leveraging him to the canvas, isolating his arm and wrist for a keylock. The twist yank causes a yelp to rise from the maw of the VVingman, his limbs wildly splaying and reaching out for refuge.

Yes, Scott Hunter has grabbed hold of career momentum in the last few weeks, a fleeting thing in a jungle as rough and unforgiving as PRIME. Rose, by metrics, was the very opposite. Yet underneath the hood, a different story emerges. Yes, Manhunt was a great showing for Hunter. Yes, he’d taken Ivan to a limit rarely seen. But at Colossus, so did Rose. Yes, The Second Coming hadn’t won in what felt, to her, was an age. Look at the opponents faced. Hall of Famers. Kerry Kuroyama, who had lost only one singles contest since Tropical Turmoil.

The competition level brings intensity. It brings learning. Phyric victories can turn to real ones if the lessons from them can be properly learned and implemented. And as Rose torqued on Hunter’s arm, as the VVingman neared the ropes, using his strength and the immense panic and desperation filling his body, The Second Coming released, smashing him with a 12 to 6 elbow right at the bridge of the nose. Another. AND ANOTHER. And Hunter is just laying there and eating the shots–

That is until he turtles.

Scott Hunter likes turtles.

He’s got the aura about him. That blank stare as he stands there on a local news broadcast, all dead eyes and corpse paint across his visage. I like turtles. Yes you do Scott. Yes you do.

Except that isn’t a turtle.

That is Hunter, using his legs, grapevining them around Rose’s neck.

Turn and twist!

The sudden movement should have isolated her away and, maybe, drove her head into the canvas. However, Rose plants her palm into the canvas, going with the movement, a headstand and a tumble, like a gymnast, all before exploding to her feet and them pumping her heels, hunting for Hunter’s head with a devastating dropkick.

Hunter, however, rolls out of the way. He shoots to his feet, his chest and face firmly in the ruddy category. Out of sorts. Rose gives him no quarter. The viciousness must make Stanislav beam with pride. He coaxed this out of her, surely. There’s definitely no animus there. Nope. Not at all.

And it isn’t like Rose would love to stick it right up the Russian Bear’s ass that she did what he failed to do mere weeks before.

But that animus only gets her so far.

The high level hiptoss Scott Hunter hits her with gets her even further.

Nick Stuart: FROM THE MEZZANINE Rose crashes to the canvas! But Rose is back up after skidding across the ring and–

Richard Parker: FLYING DUMBASS–

Nick Stuart: LEAPING LARIAT from Scott Hunter! Not on the Clay Byrd scale, but the Cowboy Colossus must be rubbing off on The VVingman.

Richard Parker: Rose undaunted though–

Nick Stuart: There’s an edge to her tonight–

Richard Parker: Um…partner…when ISN’T there an edge to her? Like, seriously? I think she came out of the womb with an axe to grind and the gumption to let the world know it. Like everyday is a bad day, and she’s going to make sure you have one as well, whatever the cost.

Nick Stuart: Sneering at Hunter. Trying to make it seem that that last blow didn’t do anywhere near the damage it did but she’s staggering–

Richard Parker: Stubborn and caustic, a wonderful mix–

Nick Stuart: Rose DRIVING herself into Hunter with another discus–

Richard Parker: OH NOPE!

Nick Stuart: Hunter blocks it off! Elbow! Winding back and PUNCH! AND ANOTHER!

Richard Parker: Nixon there to make sure he keeps those hands open–

Nick Stuart: Another windback–

Richard Parker: Rose THROWING HER BODY–

Nick Stuart: OH! OH! RIGHT ON THE BUTTON! ELBOW FROM HUNTER! She COLLAPSED! THE LIGHTS ARE OUT!

Richard Parker: Yeeeeeeeeeesh!

Nick Stuart: Hunter RIPPING her off the canvas…front chancery…and he LIFTS HER UP for the vertical suplex–

Richard Parker: Heavy grip on the waistband–

Nick Stuart: Hunter holding there…holding her…STILL HOLDING…all the blood…all that blood…rushing to her head…

Richard Parker: OH! OH!

Nick Stuart: Rose KNEED HIM RIGHT IN THE TOP OF THE HEAD! AWKWARD SPILL! OH! Oh did she just twist her knee? Oh she grabbed that knee and she’s OH! She’s having trouble standing back up but she’s still moving, still trying–

Richard Parker: There was an awkward bend there–

Nick Stuart: She goes for a diving headbutt but HUNTER see’s it coming and dodges! And I think that little delay is what caused that there and Rose is IRATE! Punching at her own leg, trying to get it to work, frustrated–

Richard Parker: Uh oh! I wouldn’t be punching that leg Rose–

Nick Stuart: HUNTER! HUNTER GRABS THAT LEG AND JERKS IT HEAVY! Snapping it into the canvas heavy! Again and again! He grabs the leg, grapevine and OH! DROP TO THE CANVAS! If that knee wasn’t sprained or strained before, it sure is now!

Richard Parker: Rose is reaching for him. Claws out! Claws out!

Nick Stuart: OH! OH! RAKING THE EYES! NIXON IS DEMANDING SHE STOP THIS INSTANT but this might be survival mode as Hunter cries out in pain, but he still has hold of her leg…DRIVING HIS KNEE JUST ABOVE the kneecap, and OH! OH! FIGURE! FOUR! LEGLOCK!

Richard Parker: SHE’S CAUGHT IN A TRAP! CENTER OF THE RING!

Rose tries to fight as best as she can. Hunter is frowning. Shaking his head. His eyes are puffy. Rose’s thorns have left their mark all across his body. This isn’t a disappointment Figure Four Leglock. This is a PISSED THE FUCK OFF Figure Four Leglock. A “if you don’t tap out soon, I am taking your fucking leg and I’m mounting it over my goddamn fireplace, not as a trophy, but as a warning message for anyone who wants to get on my bad side. Like you. You are on my bad side.”

She’s beyond pissed. Beyond angry. This should help her salve some of the pain enveloping her. It does not. The sheer pressure placed on her knee joints is agony. Like a serrated blade being dug into her guts, only to be yanked and ripped out caustically. Maximum damage. Her shoulders collapse to the canvas as she feels all the major ligaments in her knee about to go pop, go shred, go bye bye and cost her a year of her professional career.

Pride is a bitch to let go over.

Surgery and the road to recovery is probably worse.

TAP

TAP

TAP

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: THE WINNER OF THIS CONTEST…BYYYY SUBMISSION! SCOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT! HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNTER!

“Burning Heart” by Survivor reigns over the Bell Centre as Hunter releases the hold, rolling away. The moment he releases, Rose, drawing her wounded leg to her chest, writhes and hammerfists the canvas in outright frustration, seething with rage. She knows she was close. That if not for that awkward fall, perhaps this match progresses in a much different fashion.

But the opportunity presented itself, and like a shark drawn to the blood filling the water, the VVingman took it. Smiling to himself, sweaty, and a bit worse for wear, the Momentum Train From Scott Town appears to continue forward at its breakneck pace.

ReVival goes elsewhere.

But first, a shot of the Voss Family Reunion.

…yes…we just saw a wide pan shot of the entire arena.

Man’s been very busy.

ReVival moves on.

We cut to Nobody’s Locker Room, which is actually somebody’s locker room, specifically three colorful Heroes getting geared up.

Sebastian Gold:  All these villainous fucks trying to make right is messing with my head, brahs. First, Rob, now maybe Dawkins? He seemed sincere about wanting out of the Army…I think I believe him.  Does that make me an idiot?

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Sebastian Gold: Guess we’ll find out.

“I come in peace, bruhs.”

Dawkins holds his hands up innocently as he stands in the doorway.

Bryan Dawkins: Got a sec, Bash?

Crash holds out his arm to stop the Alias Champion from blindly following the man who has been a thorn in the Heroes’ side for months.

Gold pushes his teammate’s arm away, giving him a nod that says ‘it’s cool, I’ll be alright’ to his boys before following Dawkins out into the hallway.

Sebastian Gold: So, you gonna let me in on what’s going on? Or is Kenny ‘bout to crossbody me out of nowhere?

Bryan Dawkins: Look, I appreciate you not jumping me last week even though you had every reason to do it.

Sebastian Gold: That’s not something I do. And besides…I saw the despair on your face. The regret. Made your face a lot less punchable. I meant what I said, bruh. It’s not too late for you.

Bryan Dawkins: Hear me out. I’m gonna return the Belmont trophy back to you later. I’d have brought it with me now, but I’ve been in sensitivity training thanks to Ivan’s actions. I guess ‘all for one, one for all’ goes for punishment, too.

Sebastian Gold: For real, bruh? Is that Cup even hanging together?

Bryan Dawkins: I had it repaired and I’ve got Speedy giving it one last sprucing up…I’ll catch you after the match to return her to ya…

Dawkins extends a hand to his rival. Bash shakes it with a genuine smile on his face.

Sebastian Gold: It’s a start. See you in the ring, bruh.

Bryan Dawkins: See ya out there, bruh…

ReVival moves on.

We cut backstage to find Joe Fontaine standing in the ring.

Yes, you read that correctly. That’s not a typo. Joe Fontaine is standing in a ring. Backstage. We’ll get to that.

Joe is there in an immaculately bedazzled green poncho cape thing worn over his wrestling gear, the kind that probably should get left in the superhero’s closet. A microphone is equally bedazzled in his hands, and at this point, we’re wondering if PRIME’s prop department is even aware that Joe is going ham with his glitter gun. Joe is clearly dressed for some sort of action tonight on the main event of ReVival 69, though, so points to him for that.

So, it’s time to talk about the gluephant in the room. This is not the Gluite, nor is it the Glofference Room. We’re definitely out in the parking lot, and there is a ring there. We’re not sure when or how it was built, but we definitely know the “why.” I mean, the “why” is standing inside this ring.

Let’s talk about the ring a bit, actually. It’s not exactly the standard dimensions. It’s a couple of square feet short of being PRIME standard. Or even Bang! standard. And those ring posts holding up the ropes, um…

Okay, so Joe Fontaine could only go so far with building his renegade parking lot ring so he could have his backstage in-ring segment. So instead of standard ring posts, what we have is four fabbies straight out of Temu. Each of them face away from Joe, holding up the ring ropes, which is why they all seem very loosey goosey. Definitely not safe if you wanted to do Joe Fontaine’s world famous Aerial Maneuver Dedicated To The Memory Of “Mr. Extinction Level Event” Arnold Killmore Who Isn’t Dead But I’m Just Thinking About Him Right Now While I’m Naming This Move Okay Thanks Here Comes The Move Now.

Joe turns sharply to look at the camera, striking a pose as he does, and he smiles.

Joe Fontaine: Welcome, everyone, to the start of ReVival 69!

That was several segments ago, by the way.

Joe Fontaine: This is the first real segment of the show, and I am in-ring.

I just said…

Joe Fontaine: While all of the other children might think that they’re very cool trying to get the “cold open” for ReVival the Nice Number, I stand here to truly open the show with the Glueminati’s first ever Gold Jopen!

We did the Glold Gopen like four ReVivals ago.

Joe Fontaine: Tonight, me and my bestie will bring the JoeBERGE half of the Glueminati to the heights you’ve all come to expect from the best tag team in the world!

He pauses, considering his words for a moment.

Joe Fontaine: Jestie? Is that a thing? We’ll workshop it.

He says this with the confidence of someone who definitely isn’t about to workshop a goddamn thing.

Joe Fontaine: And okay, sure. The Glueminati don’t hold all of the shiny belts any more, and a part of me wants to find the nearest bathroom to throw down with the guy that made that happen. But Glue Futures remain as bright and as beautiful as ever, and nobody likes a silver belt anyway.

As if on queue, Hayes Hanlon steps into frame, seemingly from his rental car, as a duffel bag is slung over his shoulder. He takes a double, NO, triple, NO, GlueGLOUPLE take at the parking lot ring and Joe’s bedazzled fabulousness. Joe tilts the bedazzled mic over the cheap, flimsy ropes, and Hayes leans in to speak.

Hayes Hanlon: Yeah. Silver belts are friggin’ bullshit.

The Event Horizon gives Joe a quick fist bump before traveling on toward the arena, and it’s at this moment where Cecilworth Farthington, the Universal Champion, stumbles into the scene, and upon beholding everything in front of him for a few seconds, he declares the whole situation perfectly cromulent, thank you very much.

Cecilworth Farthington: I heard there was some kind of Gold Jopen and as someone who is dedicating to appearing in Gold Jopens across the PRIME tour of Canada, I felt it important to show my face and support my darling friend Joe in his endeavors during his in-ring situation he finds himself in.

Cecilworth looks towards Joe in the ring and gives him a toothy grin and a massive thumbs up.

Cecilworth Farthington: This is a guy who knows how to shake things up during the sixth ninth edition of ReVival on the ACE Network, heh, sixiteth ninety, very pleasant!

Joe Fontaine: Some would say… Actually, I’m not sure what they say about the sixty-ninth episode of PRIME’s hit television show, ReVival. “Cool?” Is “cool” enough of a word?

Cecilworth Farthington: Wait, I think I’ve cracked it, I think I know what they were saying. They were saying “knives”.

Off-screen, we hear a deep voice call out:

Mystery Voice: Nice!

FLAMBERGE steps into frame from what we presume to have been out-of-frame, not quite in his ring gear but not not in his ring gear. Schrodinger’s Ring Gear, if you will. It’s all a bit teal and copper and vaguely threatening, in form if not in function.

FLAMBERGE: Nice, France is a place where I am not from.

It is at this point that viewers at home, with the screen on mute and closed captions enabled, are probably feeling really silly right now for thinking they knew how “Nice” was being pronounced. Too silly, in fact, to question why someone would start a conversation with you by listing a location they weren’t born in.

FLAMBERGE: But I am French, and you are close enough.

He points vaguely out in a direction, first towards Joe and Cecilworth and then outwards towards the greater parking lot, but not necessarily at anyone in particular. We’re sure that if one were to follow the invisible straight line from his pointed finger to the first human he hits, he’d probably be pointing to a local. Odds are fair.

FLAMBERGE: So let me share something for the locals here in Montreal. Alors, le Strasbourgeois et les Montrealers, nous sommes très semblables. Nous avons tous les deux une réputation dans notre pays. Nos nerfs sont plus courts, notre patience est plus fine, et nous n’hésitons pas quand il est temps de couper la putain. Alors maintenant que le spectacle a enfin commencé avec cette partie sur le ring, j’espère que vous resterez connectés pour le spectacle principal. Le vert et moi avons deux putains à couper.

Joe Fontaine nods along with everything FLAMBERGE says, occasionally mouthing important words and phrases like “yeah!” and “fuck yeah!” and “tell ‘em whatfor, FLAMBO!” and whatnot. He has no idea what FLAMBERGE is saying, by the way, he just finds the tone very agreeable and French.

FLAMBERGE begins inspecting these Temu fabbies for defects. One suspects there are many. (You would suspect correctly.)

Joe Fontaine: Careful, FLAMBO, I think one of those has asbestos.

FLAMBERGE tilts his head at the asbestos Temu fabby. Asbebby. He is unsure if Joe is actually serious, and at this point, he’s afraid to ask. The Universal Champion, mildly distracted and in his own world, very used to human constructed rings, very much a ho-hum situation for him, notices a carton of milk with a vaguely familiar picture.

Cecilworth Farthington: Wait, Fabby is missing?

Joe Fontaine: No, Cece. fabby is missing. It’s different.

Cecilworth Farthington: Okay.

Farthington tosses the carton over his shoulder and shrugs.

ReVival 69 mercifully goes elsewhere.

We open in the most dangerous backstage area in PRIME.

The bathroom.

On one of the sinks sits a Sketti Bucket. Standing beside it?

Fred Dick, the Intense Champion. And in his arms? His main squeeze, Bumper.

Fred Dick: (singing) We don’t got no jingle yet, but this is my fuggin’ shoooow! Suggon my dyick if yew don’t like it, cuz this is my fuggin’ shoooow! It’s Baffroom Fights and you better be ready, it’s motherfuggin’ Freddy and a bucket of Skettiiiiii… which you win if you kick my ace! Bawhawhaw!

Fred smiles a toothy smile, pats his Intense Championship.

Fred Dick: Welcome to Baffroom Fights with Freddy and Sketti! This here the first episode neow, but Laaawwwd do I gots a guest for y’all! If ya don’t know the rules by neow, you better get learned, son. The rules? Sure, I tell you the rules. Here’s the gotdamn rules! They ain’t no gotdamn rules! Me and a feller fight in this bathroom until someone quits like a lil’ pussy foo foo. The winner gets a Sketti Bucket, brought to you by our friends and partners at Sketti Bucket. Now, let’s introduce our first competitor.

The bathroom door swings open and in walks a man who has seen better days. He’s 6’4, 240 lbs of man, but he’s also, clearly, not a wrestler. In fact, he’s so out of shape he’s wet just from the walk to the bathroom. He wears Cancer Jiles merch and has a half-full arena beer in his hand. Behind him stands a 12 year old boy.

Fred Dick: This sumbench right here ain’t never been in no sanctioned match. What’s yo’ name again, sumbitch?

Mark Paul Gosselaar: Mark Paul Gosselaar, and before you say something fucking smart, no, I’m not that Mark Paul Gosselaar.

Fred Dick: Seems to me like you could just go by Mark or Paul and eliminate havin’ to say all that.

Mark Paul Gosselaar: Seems to me like you could just go shut the FUCK UP, get your ass beat up and down this bathroom in front of my son so he sees how a real man acts, and give me that Sketti Bucket prize.

Mark Paul Gosselaar Jr: You don’t wanna fuck with my dad when he’s drunk and hangry!

Mark Paul Gosselaar: No, you do not. And I am both of those things. And buddy, you best believe, when I get a little drunk? I get real fucking handsy. And guess what?

Fred Dick rolls his eyes.

Fred Dick: What, bench?

Mark Paul Gosselaar: I’m eighteen arena beers deep. I’m just thankful that God invented video cameras so that I can watch this epic beat down I’m gonna give you later, on account of me being too damn DRUNK to remember it in the morning! Because that’s how I fucking live my life.

Fred Dick: Good for you acehoe. Don’t nobody give a damn what the fug you live yo fuggin life like. We hear to fight, not play Beowulf. Boastin’ ace bench. Now you signed the waivers what say you ain’t getting paid by PRIME, you ain’t no employee of PRIME, and you can’t sue PRIME if I break your neck or whatever, right?

Mark Paul Gosselaar: Yeah, I signed your little pussy papers.

Fred Dick: Hold on, neow. Thems ain’t pussy papers. Thems legal donkuments.

Mark Paul Gosselaar: Whatever dickhead, let’s fight.

Fred Dick squares up. MPG squares up too. They encircle one another in front of the urinals, before–

Fred Dick: AWWW YOU LIDDLE BASTERD!!!!!

Mark Paul Gosselaar Junior stabs Fred Dick in the back of his thigh with a pocket knife!

Fred falls to his knees.

Mark Paul Gosselaar high fives his son.

Fred Dick: You ain’t supposed to… you ain’t supposed to have no knives in the arena.

Mark Paul Gosselaar: We don’t. It’s your knife.

Fred Dick: What???

Fred reaches down, winces, and pulls the knife from his leg. Blood spurts from the back of his leg like someone turned the governor off it.

Fred Dick: That ain’t good.

He looks at the bloodsoaked knife. There, engraved on its handle are the words, “big mommy milkers :)”

Fred Dick: Damn, that is my knife.

Mark Paul Gosselaar Jr: I pick pocketed ya. Because I’m a real man. And that’s why I stabbed ya.

Fred Dick: You’re raising a psychopath, Mark Paul!

Mark Paul Gosselaar walks into one of the stalls. He rips the toilet lid off of its hinges and walks back to lord over Fred.

Mark Paul Gosselaar: You know what happens now, right?

Fred looks at all the blood pouring from his leg, at Bumper, who lies on the ground, and then back at Mark Paul Gosselaar.

He nods, solemnly.

Mark Paul Gosselaar: Any last words?

Fred Dick: Yeah.

Mark Paul Gosselaar: Okay.

…

Mark Paul Gosselaar: Say your last words them.

Fred Dick: I would but I feel like as soon as I start, you’re gonna knock my ass out with that toilet lid.

Mark Paul Gosselaar: Wrong. I would never do that. I may be drunk, but I’ve got class.

Fred Dick: Promise?

Mark Paul Gosselaar looks Fred right in the eye.

Mark Paul Gosselaar: I swear on my son’s life.

Fred Dick: Alright. You want my last words? Here’s my last words. I–

WHACK!!

Fred goes down.

Mark Paul Gosselaar: Ehehehehehehe!!! Eheheheheheeee!!! Come on son, free dinner!!!

Mark Paul Gosselaar Jr: I love Sketti Bucket! You’re the best dad ever.

Mark Paul Gosselaar: I love you so much, son.

Mark Paul Gosselaar Jr: I love you too, dad!

MPG and MPGJ leave the bathroom, Sketti Bucket prize in hand.

Fred Dick lies on the bathroom floor with open wounds on his thigh and cranium.

We cut elsewhere.

Nick Stuart: We’ve got tag team action coming up next ladies and gentlemen!

Richard Parker: Tag team action?! Is it the main event already?! Did I black out and miss half the show!

Nick Stuart: Settle down, Rich! Did you remember to take your pills this morning? I’m talking about the upcoming match between Crash ‘n’ Bash of Nobody’s Heroes against the team of Bryan Dawkins and Kenny Freeman of the Red Army!

Richard Parker: The Golden Bros are set to get whipped by the Free BRUHs? I’m there!

Nick Stuart: Take it away, Vince!

The trap remix of the Soviet National Anthem overtakes the PA. Through an array of smoke and red lights KENNY FREEMAN of the Masters of the Moscowverse appears on the stage, soon joined by Randall Schwartz. The two pose majestically before BRYAN DAWKINS emerges from the fog and walks right through them, face showing no emotion and eyes set on the ring ahead of them.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a tag team bout for one fall! Introducing first, at a combined weight of three-hundred and ninety-two pounds… the team of BRYAN DAWKINS and KENNY FREEMAN! Together, they represent… the RED ARMY!!

The fans JEER the mention of Ivan Stanislav’s infamous fifth column within PRIME. Neither Bryan nor Kenny look terribly put off by the reaction. They look all-business as they head down the aisle to the squared circle.

Richard Parker: Look at these two! Men on a mission! Absolute teflon in the face of all this hate!

Nick Stuart: I don’t know how any of these men sleep at night, knowing who they have to answer to. But whatever their reasons, Bryan Dawkins and Kenny Freeman remain devoted to the red cause.

Richard Parker: Gotta make Papa Ivan proud with a big win over Nobody’s Po’ boys!

Nick Stuart: More importantly, a win over the hot team of Crash ‘n’ Bash would be a huge triumph for both the former Flyin’ Hawaiian and K-Free!

Dawkins gets to the ring first, climbing up a corner and posing defiantly to the jeering Montreal crowd. Freeman and Schwartz flank him on either end of the ring apron and pose in formation to him. Red fountain pyros fire off behind them.

The lights drop to darkness but a lone spotlight on Vince Howard. Silence falls over the Tokyo Dome as they prepare for chaos to unfold and find out which of PRIME’s faces have the balls to fight the Good Fight.

Those melodic, fast and heavy riffs draw a pop of pyrotechnics as Little V’s heavy metal rendition of “Holding Out For A Hero” starts to shred the airwaves for the thousands in attendance here in Montreal.

Vince Howard: Coming to the ring, NOOOOBOOOODY’S HEEEEEROOOOOOES!

Richard Parker: Lies! I can’t believe Vince would spread such bullshit to these people. They are not Heroes.

Where have all the good men gone?

And where are all the Gods?

Vince Howard: The team of Bash and Crash…

The new collection of hardheaded heroes walk out from the back to a chorus of hopeful cheers. The Grandmaster Stuntstar and the Northern Light both answer the call and are accompanied by their brother in arms, the Anglo Luchador, with Gold proudly displaying his Alias Title around his waist. The three give each a look of confidence before they share handslaps and fist bumps. Tom Battaglia departs for the Argyle, should he be needed, as the other two Heroes make their way down the ramp with handling business on their minds.

Nick Stuart: This is the moment these two have been waiting for! Bash and Crash!

Vince Howard: Noooobody’s Heeeeeroooooes!

The crowd’s reaction is electric as the pair of unlikely partners make their way down the ramp and to ringside. Crash is slapping hands with the fans the whole way while wearing a stone-cold, locked and loaded look on his face. Under the Luchador’s mask is a stoic expression of his own as he eyes the ring.

I NEED A HERO

BOOMBOOMBOOM

Fireballs pop off down the entrance ramp to another roar from the crowd. The dust settles however and ushers the lights to come up. The Heroes take their place and make their way to their corner. The crowd settles a bit as Crash and Bash get ready to find who’s gonna walk out of alive.

DING DING

The match opens with Dawkins and Jackson staring each other down from across the ring. But before they engage, Crash hears the crowd calling for the highly anticipated Gold/Dawkins showdown, and obligingly tags in the Alias champ. The fans pop as Sebastian steps through the ropes, with Bryan sneering back at him from across the ring.

Nick Stuart: Looks like Crash n Bash are choosing last minute to start this off with Gold! Could we be seeing a preview to an Alias Title showdown between these two?

Richard Parker: I don’t know, but these guys look ready to rip each apart limb from limb!

Bryan and Sebastian intensely stare each other down for a few moments while the crowd roars around them. Dawkins shakes his head… then goes from zero to a hundred, streaking across the ring and colliding with Gold into a fierce collar-and-elbow.

Nick Stuart: There’s the lock-up… and look at them go!

The intertwined bodies of Gold and Dawkins rock and rumble across the ring with white-hot fury as they battle for leverage. Bryan bull-rushes bash into the turnbuckles. The Alias champ pivots, and runs the former Flyin’ Hawaiian against the ropes. Dawkins pushes off, whirls, and rolls Gold to the mat with a Judo-influenced side hiptoss. He tries to follow up with an armbar, only for Bash to counter by curling up his legs and flipping him over onto his back by way of a headscissor. They both scramble to their feet together and go right into another lock-up.

Nick Stuart: We’ve got a real hot contest happening in the ring right now!

Richard Parker: Given their history, I can’t say I’m surprised!

Nick Stuart: No love lost between these rivals who have had plenty of battles over the past half year!

Dawkins forces Gold up against the ropes and holds him there, prompting Turnbull to intervene and call for the break. Bryan backs up, but Bash springs off the ropes and slips around him into a waistlock. Dawkins counters by firing back an elbow, and seizes the arm while breaking free from the hold to put the Alias Champion into a classic wristlock.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins might be getting something going with the arm wrench here… but there’s a quick somersault by Gold, reversing into an arm wrench of his!

With Dawkins in his grasp, reaches his free hand back and tags to Crash Jackson.

Nick Stuart: Tag made to Jackson!

Richard Parker: Huh! Better tag while he can! Because come Toronto, he won’t have the saving grace to just take a quick break when he feels like it!

Crash hops the ropes and helps Bash to push Dawkins into the ropes and launch him across the ring. Bryan goes one way while the Alias Champ runs in the other. When the meet in the middle, Jackson catches Dawkins and lifts him up with a bearhug as Gold’s springboard back elbow catches him right in the face.

Nick Stuart: Springboard elbow CONNECTS! Great double-team maneuver by Crash ‘n’ Bash! Now Crash makes the cover…

One!

Two!

Kickout!

Richard Parker: Bold of them to assume a former Alias champ could be beaten that easily! Still plenty of match to go here!

Dawkins rolls over to his hands and knees, gifting his back to Crash who tries to grab him from behind. Instead, the master of grapples and pineapples lures him into a surprise snapmare to roll him into a seated position, followed by a sharp kick to the spine. Quickly, he goes to his corner…

Nick Stuart: Quick reversal made by Bryan Dawkins, who finds the opportunity to tag out to Kenny Freeman!

Dawkins tells him to wait while he grabs the dazed Crash from behind and pulls him back up into a crossface chickenwing. Before Jackson can react, Dawkins SUPLEXES HIM over onto his head and shoulders, leaving him laid out near the ropes. On cue, Freeman springboards over the top with a senton!

Nick Stuart: And here comes Freeman, into the ring with a SENTON SPLASH across the ribs of the Northern Light!

Richard Parker: Look at that synergy! You can really tell that these guys put the time into working together to prepare for this match! Say what you will about the Red Army… they sure do know how to develop teamwork!

Kenny pops to his feet and hits the ropes as Crash slowly rises up, clutching his ribs but fighting through the pain. His efforts are rewarded with a stiff flipping dropkick from Freeman that puts him right back where he started. Before he can get up again, K-Free ensnares him into a dragon sleeper.

Nick Stuart: Submission set in place by Kenny Freeman!

Richard Parker: Now to just wear him down, little by little.

Nick Stuart: Not so fast, Rich! Crash is fighting his way to his feet!

Led on by Gold on the apron, the crowd begins stomping and clapping to urge Jackson to fight on. Crash’s body convulses with the unhinged energy of a HOTDOG WARRIOR as he forces his way up to his feet with Freeman continuing to clamp down on his head, looking both shocked and in denial about what is happening. Yet eventually, his feet leave the ring…

Nick Stuart: Crash is UP… and he’s got FREEMAN SET on his SHOULDER… and a POWERSLAM breaks the hold!

Richard Parker: Where did he get the strength to do that? Can’t think of what kind of GMOs are swilling around that body from all the hotdogs he’s eaten…

Jackson waits for Freeman to get back to his feet. Before making his move, he salutes Bash in his corner, and jumps upon K-Free’s shoulders…

Nick Stuart: Crash Jackson paying respects to his tag partner with the GOLDENSTEINER! Now he makes the cover and hooks the legs!

One!

Two!

Freeman kicks out!

Richard Parker: Stealing his own partner’s moves now?! The shame of it!

Nick Stuart: Cleary, Rich, he’s playing off the Stunt Double rules of Sebastian Gold’s Alias Championship! Given how much Crash ‘n’ Bash have worked together lately, it’s not outside the realm of reason to see their maneuvers rubbing off on one another!

Crash pops to his feet and tags the Alias Champion back into the action. Crash ‘n’ Bash are both on Freeman in a heartbeat, pulling him back to his feet and pushing him off the ropes to send him in motion. They lock hands and wait for his return…

Nick Stuart: Double lariat attempt… DUCKED by Freeman!

Richard Parker: Nice! Quick, reactive thinking!

Nick Stuart: Crash ‘n’ Bash turning around… but here comes K-Free, springboard back off the ropes with DOUBLE STUNNERS to put them down!

Freeman hustles to his corner and tags Dawkins back into the fight. The former Flyin’ Hawaiian hits the ring, quickly taking Jackson by the hair and throwing him over the ropes to the outside to leave him alone in the ring with Gold. Bash is getting back to his feet, shaking out cobwebs, when Bryan takes him by the arm and whips him to the corner.

Nick Stuart: Bryan Dawkins retaking control of the ring now, and Sebastian Gold’s shoulder hits the corner HARD following the Irish whip!

Gold stumbles out of the corner, his face a mosaic of pain while he grabs at his shoulder. He unknowingly walks right into the waiting arms of Dawkins, who drops him on the same shoulder by way of a bridged side suplex!

Nick Stuart: Dawkins with the SUPLEX, and Gold’s shoulders are down!

One!

Two!

Thr–ALMOST! But the Alias champ kicked out!

Richard Parker: Only by the skin of his teeth!

Seeing Bash favoring the shoulder, Bryan doesn’t look the gift horse in the eye, immediately seizing the arm, trapping it between his legs, and torquing the joint with an aggressively applied omoplata. The Alias Champion groans out loudly in agony.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins going for the submission now, working on the shoulder of Sebastian Gold!

Richard Parker: That’s the sign of a brilliant mind! He sees a weak point, and jumps on it without hesitation!

Nick Stuart: Dawkins injured that shoulder with an armbar back at Manhunt, and Bash’s first two title defenses against Sage Pontiff and Ben Lynch certainly didn’t make the situation any better. This could seriously affect Gold’s condition for the remainder of the match… not to mention, his third and final defense as Alias Champion!

Richard Parker: And why should Dawkins give a BRUH-ck? Goldilocks STOLE that title from him!

Dawkins pulls back on the arm, but Gold stubbornly shakes his head to Turnbull rather than give in. Thinkingly, quickly, he rolls his body to the side, pulling Dawkins with him and rolling him back onto his shoulders!

Nick Stuart: Wait a sec, Sebastian Gold with a pinning attempt!

One!

Two!

Dawkins breaks the hold to kick out!

Gold scrambles to his feet, but Dawkins cuts him off from his corner by way of a LOW knee strike to the abdomen that flips him over onto his back. He makes the tag to Freeman and scoops the Alias champ back to his feet. K-Free goes upstairs while Bryan scoops Gold over his shoulder.

Nick Stuart: Tag made to Freeman, who climbs to the top rope… here comes DIVING OFF, and SPIKES SEBASTIAN GOLD right as DAWKINS DROPS HIM INTO A SHOULDERBREAKER!!

Richard Parker: OOH, that hadda hurt!

Gold flops and writhes across the canvas in extreme pain, once more holding the shoulder. Freeman promptly puts the boots to the same arm until Bash rolls to the ropes and forces Turnbull to call for the break.

Richard Parker: Those Reds are turning Gold black and blue!

Nick Stuart: Too many colors, pal!

Richard Parker: Well you’ll just have to GREEN and bear it, partner!

Kenny Freeman doesn’t wait for Sebastian Gold to regain his bearings, pulling him right out of the ropes and bring him to his feet by the head. He leads him to the corner, running up the turnbuckles…

Nick Stuart: WOW, what a SHIRANUI DDT by Kenny Freeman! Hooking BOTH legs for the cover now!

ONE!

TWO!

THR–NO!! Gold popped the shoulder!

Richard Parker: So now Dawk is gonna have to pop it out!

Freeman tags Dawkins, and as soon as he comes into the ring, Comrade BRUH goes right back to Gold’s shoulder.

Nick Stuart: Bryan Dawkins going for the FUJIWARA! The same move that wounded that shoulder back at Culture Shock!

Richard Parker: That’s karma for ya!

Dawkins pulls back harder on the arm, bringing a scream out of the Alias Champion as his free arm claws for the ropes. The camera gets a shot of him biting down hard on his lip as he fights through the pain. Crash watches from the Heroes’ corner in concern, fighting the urge to run in and break it up.

Nick Stuart: Dawkins is wrenching the arm! Gold is screaming in pain!

Richard Parker: And Hotdog Boy can’t save him this time, unless he for some reason WANTS his team to be disqualified!

Nick Stuart: At this point, Rich, I don’t think he cares! Crash Jackson can’t stand seeing his friend in such agony! It might be better to suffer a loss by DQ rather than allow his tag partner to be forced to tap out in humiliation!

Richard Parker: And yet, every second he stands there thinking it over, that shoulder is just taking more wear and tear!

Eventually, Bash consciously breaks through the mental wall of agony and sees the ropes, only a few short feet away. With his every remaining ounce of strength, he slowly begins to drag himself closer. Every gained inch only puts further straight on his shoulder while Dawkins continues to mercilessly twist the arm.

Nick Stuart: Sebastian Gold is making a go for the ropes!

Richard Parker: At this point, why even bother? That arm is hanging on by a thread at this point! He’ll be useless for the remainder of the match!

Nick Stuart: Bash isn’t giving up! He’s only a foot away now… INCHES… he JUST MIGHT–

Gold’s fingertips barely graze the rope when Dawkins inexplicably BREAKS the hold and soccer kicks the Alias champ’s head! Sebastian flops over onto his back, out like a light.

Nick Stuart: GOOD GAWD, that kick was SICKENING!!

Richard Parker: Now he has a noodle for an arm and jelly for brains! Shoulda stuck to the stuntwork, “champ”!

Nick Stuart: I think Gold may be OUT! Dawkins, making the cover…

ONE…

TWO…

THR–NO!! NO!! GOLD KICKS OUT!!

Montreal ROARS approvingly as Bash continues showing signs of life. Out on the apron, Crash Jackson jumps for joy! Dawkins sneers in anger, and beckons Gold back to his feet.

Nick Stuart: Frustration beginning to show on Bryan Dawkins right now! He’s wanted nothing more than to put Sebastian Gold away for a LONG time now!

Richard Parker: Tonight’s going to be the night, Nick! I can feel it!

Nick Stuart: Dawkins smells the blood in the pineapple juice… Sebastian Gold is slowly getting back to his feet, and the Flyin’ Hawaiian has him in his sights!

Gold uses his good arm to pull himself up with help from the ropes. The other hangs limp at his side. Slowly, he turns around, just in time for Dawkins to pounce forward with another boot aimed at his head…

Nick Stuart: KATYUSHA–

DUCKED!

Dawkins sails forward off the missed Brogue kick and lodges his leg over the top rope in the corner. He quickly frees himself, turns around, and–

Nick Stuart: WIIIIDE LEFT!! GOLD JUST PASTED HIM with CRASH JACKSON’S OWN SUPERKICK! NO ARM? NO PROBLEM!

Dawkins falls one way and Gold falls in the other. The crowd cheers LOUD as the two of them begin the slow, crawling race to either corner to tag out.

Nick Stuart: With a SINGLE MOVE, Sebastian Gold has switched the momentum of this match! Now he’s fighting like hell trying to drag himself to his corner!

Richard Parker: He’s not gonna make it! Dawkins is closer!

Indeed, though he’s still shaken up by the superkick, Bryan has enough of his wits to make it to the Red Army’s corner first, tagging out to Kenny Freeman!

Nick Stuart: TAG to Freeman! K-Free hops the ropes and moves fast to cut off–

Without warning, Bash puts EVERYTHING he has left into his afflicted arm to push himself forward the last few feet and SLAP the outstretched hand of Crash Jackson!

Nick Stuart: TAG MADE TO CRASH!!

Richard Parker: What? NO! I think he missed by a few inches!

Nick Stuart: Jackson now the legal man… and a SPRINGBOARD CROSS-BODY BLOCK into the ring takes out Kenny Freeman!

Crash pops back to his feet, a house on fire with the crowd cheering him on. Freeman scrambles to his feet only to eat a lariat. And a second. And a third. Finally, Jackson hits the ropes and connects with a knee to the temple!

Nick Stuart: THE FADE OUT!! Crash reaches into the Sebastian Gold playbook again, and that may do it! He makes the cover!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE–

BROKEN UP BY DAWKINS!!

Richard Parker: HA! You NEVER turn your back on the master of graps and pineapps!

Dawkins wails away on Jackson while Turnbull tries to get him out of the ring. Instead, Bryan pulls Jackson up, takes him by the arm, and moves to whip him to the ropes. Instead, Crash plants his foot and reverses, sending Comrade BRUH running…

Nick Stuart: Wait, GOLD, ON THE APRON, PULLS DOWN ON THE ROPES AND DAWKINS SPILLS TO THE OUTSIDE!!

Richard Parker: Wait, he can’t do that! Throw this match out, Jimmy!

Nodding enthusiastically, Crash hurries to his corner and makes the tag to Gold. Bash begins to climb the near turnbuckle while Crash runs to the other and climbs it as well. In the center of the ring, a groggy Kenny Freeman slowly gets to his feet, rubbing at his head…

Richard Parker: I have a bad feeling about this! Someone get K-Free outta there! Do something, Randall!

Nick Stuart: CRASH ‘n’ BASH BOTH PERCHED ON THE TOP…

Freeman eventually turns around, just in time to see Gold and Jackson diving off the top with beautifully synchronized double moonsaults. K-Free stands staring in awe at the hangtime before their bodies smother and flatten him to the canvas.

Nick Stuart: HEROFALL!! What an AMAZING pair of moonsaults! Now Gold hooks the legs for the win!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!

DING DING DING

Crash ‘n’ Bash pop to their feet and high five as “Holding Out for a Hero” hits the PA once more. Turnbull raises their arms in victory while they face the loudly cheer crowd in triumph.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of the match, by pinfall… CRASH and BASH… NOOOBOOODYYYYYY’S HEEEEROOOOOESS!!!

Nick Stuart: Crash and Bash brought it together here tonight for a hard-fought victory over the Red Army, proving that they are a force to be reckoned with in the PRIME tag team–OH MY!!

Without warning, Dawkins hits the ring again and Pearl Harbors both the Northern Light and the Stuntman from behind with stiff forearms that drop them back to the mat. He’s soon joined by Randall Schwartz, and after the two get in their shots, they swiftly collect Freeman off the mat and quit the ring before either one of their assaultees can recover.

Richard Parker: YES! They may have barely squeaked by with a win tonight, but the Red Army got the last laugh!

Nick Stuart: Or more appropriately, the last cheap shot! In any case, something tells me this is only going to fuel the burning animosity between Bryan Dawkins and the reigning Stuntman Alias Champion, Sebastian Gold!

Richard Parker: I hope Dawkins finishes the job and rips that arm right out of the socket, someday!

Nick Stuart: He may one day get his chance, but it won’t be tonight! With everything said and done, Nobody’s Heroes scored the victory over the Red Army here tonight, and the Praporshchik is going to have to deal with it!

In the ring, Gold and Jackson make it back to their feet, no worse for wear but glaring daggers out at the retreating Red Army. Dawkins and Schwartz back up the rampway with Freeman Weekend at Bernie’s-ing between them. When they’re finally a distance aways, Crash ‘n’ Bash rally their spirits, and celebrate along with the Montreal wrestling faithful.

And ReVival moves elsewhere…

DOES ANYBODY MISS THIS?

DIDN’T THINK SO…

Jonathan-Christopher Hall appears, walking down the rampway.

Nick Stuart: What do we have here?

Richard Parker: He’s so depressed he’s not coming out to music now? What a loser!

JCH has a mic in hand as he moves down the rampway.

Nick Stuart: If you remember two weeks ago, Rose promised Hall a meeting with the Red Army. I assume that’s what this is about.

Richard Parker: Remember two weeks ago? Nick, there’s so much that goes on here I can barely remember the last match!

Nick Stuart: Get out.

Richard Parker: No, really. What was it?

Although Richard is likely being honest, Jonathan-Christopher is already in the middle of the ring. The former Almasy Tournament Winner and PRIME Universal Champion receives a slight cheer.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: Hello.

The rather robotic yet unsure nature of his voice brings a cringe to Parker’s ears.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: I don’t want to use too much of your time. I have no home, but I used to. She was taken away from me. I had another home, a wrestling home. But a different woman is trying to take that away from me.

JCH looks rattled.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: And I don’t even love this one!

Richard Parker: Ha. Pathetic.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: I deserve to be in the Red Army but Rose has kept me away. However, I’ve been told I can have a meeting with my old tag team partner now…

As always, Hall seems really uneasy but carries on anyway.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: Well, here I am.

An explosion rocks the entryway and there’s just one flash of crimson lighting. Ivan Stanislav himself stomps out from backstage. The Russian Bear looks, let’s say, less than pleased about the night’s events so far. He’s wearing his crimson uniform still while he marches along the flat portion of the entryway.

But, oddly enough, Stanislav doesn’t descend down the ramp. If anything, his combat boots stop right where the ramp begins, and not an inch further.

Richard Parker: Maybe he’s scared that Hall has cooties? You know, from all that time he spent with Vickie?

Nick Stuart: No, I don’t think that’s what it i– ROSE! ROSE FROM BEHIND!

With Hall facing at Ivan, confusion comes across his face as to why Ivan is simply standing there. Suddenly, the thunderous sound of metal against flesh echoes through the Montrael crowd as the Second Coming slithers under the bottom rope, a glint of steel flashing in her hands. With ruthless precision, she CRACKS the chair against Hall’s back, the sound reverberating throughout the arena!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The impact drops Jonathan-Christopher to his knees, his face contorted in sheer agony, a guttural howl escaping his lips. But before he can gather himself, the tempest appears before him, her eyes ablaze with fury. She lunges forward and SMASHES the chair across his face, the sickening thud sending him spiraling onto the canvas, clutching at his face.

Nick Stuart: Rose is unleashing unholy hell on Hall!

Richard Parker: She clearly didn’t appreciate being called a bitch by Hall.

Nick Stuart: Multiple weeks of run-ins, of Hall trying to get to Ivan, to get into the Red Army, and it’s all built to this moment.

The chair, now crumpled but still deadly in her hands, is raised high above her head. The crowd watches in a mix of horror and exhilaration as Rose’s expression twists into one of fierce determination. She slams the chair down onto Hall repeatedly, each strike more forceful than the last, the steel bending and twisting under the brutal assault.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The sound of metal smashing against flesh fills the arena, drowning out the collective gasps of the audience. Rose’s relentless fury knows no bounds as she rips the chair back and smashes it down with a primal scream, the once straight structure starting to contort, reminiscent of a pretzel being twisted in half.

Richard Parker: Oh, Rose is going to kill Hall. I bet the Montreal crowd didn’t expect to see that. She needs to work out her aggression after losing against Hunter earlier and her sensitivity training.

Nick Stuart: Well, that’s all on her.

Richard Parker: Meh.

Rose holds the steel chair in her right hand and drops it at the feet of Hall before pulling a microphone out of her back pocket.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Rose: Oh, shut the fuck up. Boo me all you want, but don’t act like for one moment you’ve given two fucks about this piece of shit.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: This crowd here in Montreal showing no love for Rose.

Richard Parker: Well, that’s not new.

Rose stands over Hall while Ivan, with a smile on his face, disappears backstage.

Rose: Oh, Jonathan-Christopher, you pitiful excuse for a man. Did you genuinely believe Ivan wanted you in the Red Army? Did you fool yourself into thinking you were anything more than a disposable pawn in his twisted game? A meeting? Please. Who do you think loaded the gun and put it in my hands? Who do you think handed down the order to eliminate you a whole ten weeks ago? Surprise! It was your beloved Ivan, the so-called friend you worshipped like a deluded fool.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Rose looks out at the crowd with a smile on her face.

Rose: Oh, please, Comrade. Let’s not pretend you were ever a friend to Ivan. You were merely a tool, a disposable plaything he grew tired of. The moment you became nothing more than an albatross around his neck, dragging him down, it was only a matter of time before he fantasized about booting you out of the Red Palace for good. And the sad part? You were too blind to see it. Every single person around—myself included, and even these fans—saw the truth clear as day. Your pathetic attempts to cling to relevance were not just laughable; they were tragic. It’s a miracle he didn’t toss you out sooner.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: I mean, she’s not wrong there.

Richard Parker: Of course she’s not! How Hall ever thought Ivan was his friend and wanted him in The Red Army is beyond any of us.

Rose sits down next to Hall, who is a bloodied mess.

Rose: You know what your real talent is, Hall? It’s your astonishing ability to blind yourself to the obvious. Just look at you—clueless while your precious wife was busy making you a borderline cuck with the entire roster. Adam Ellis? Check. Cancer Jiles? Double check. Enemigo II, III, and IV? Oh, you’d better believe it. And let’s not even pretend “Sketti Bucket” isn’t a euphemism for the filth between her legs. She berated you, guilt-tripped you, and betrayed you at every turn, yet here you are, still groveling like a lost puppy. If Vickie could parade her infidelities right in front of your face, is it any wonder that Ivan was able to play you like a fiddle? Wake up, Hall—what’s it going to take for you to see how utterly pathetic you’ve become? Even more so than usual.

Rose nudges Hall with her foot.

Rose: Oh, spare me the melodrama. Seriously, it’s just a chair. I only swung it at you, what, six or seven times? That’s barely worth three minutes of your pathetic existence sprawled on this mat. (pauses, smirking) Honestly, when Ivan ordered me to do this, I thought, “Why bother?” I mean, what do I gain from beating you in a match? But then, you became less of a pest and more of a…well, a useful little punching bag. Who knew your incessant whining could actually contribute to my training? Guess you’re good for something after all—just not in the way you’d hoped.

Rose rises to her feet and begins to walk around Hall.

Rose: Because, let’s face it, you are a former Universal Champion. As much as it pains me to say it, it is unfortunately true. In addition, you’ve beaten Cecilworth Farthington. And, news alert, I loathe that man with every fiber of my being.

She drops back to her knees.

Rose: And, if you can beat Farthington, then I need to beat you. So that when the day comes that I look him in the eyes, I will know that I can beat him in this ring and free us from him once and for all. So, thanks Hall. For being pitiful. For being… whatever this is. For not being able to see that you were one step away from being a cuck. (pauses) UltraViolence. Toronto. Red Army Rules match. Anything goes. (pauses) See you there.

With that, she drops the microphone and slips out of the ring.

Richard Parker: Well, that’s one way to make a statement!

Nick Stuart: I mean, Rose has definitely battled some of the best in PRIME — Ivan, Cancer, Youngblood — but hasn’t been able to pick up that signature victory yet. Can she do that against Hall?

Richard Parker: Honestly, I don’t have a clue, but I wouldn’t bet against her. She’s got a certain fire in her eyes right now and in a Red Army Rules match, she might just have placed the playing field firmly in her favor.

Nick Stuart: Yeah… alright.

ReVival moves on.

Voice: Gotta go! Gotta go! Gotta go!

We hear him before we can see him: Blaze Claymore bolting down the lower concourse of the Centre Bell, careening into the shoulders of several crew members and nearly tripping over an oddly-positioned and ominous-looking tricycle.

As he runs, Blaze clutches his cheeks in the universal ‘Oh God I gotta shit’ pose as if that was going to stop Willy Wonka’s chocolate river from exploding all over his newly-pressed white pants.

Loudly cursing whoever decided to set their Exlax tablets next to his meticulously disassembled Hershey’s candy bar, the Main Event finally reaches providence:

MEN | HOMMES

And while Blaze may not be down with the homies, he’s definitely about to drop it like it’s hot.

This is until Blaze finds himself suddenly looking up at the ceiling and lying on the bathroom floor, but while he was definitely not butt naked or bangin’, he did find himself engaged with something thick and warm.

Blaze Claymore (embarrassed): Ow. Shit…

Blaze tries to get up to inspect the stain he knows has soiled his trousers, but soon realizes it’s not brown; well, not all brown. There’s some red in there too. A lot of red, actually…

Blaze Claymore (looking down): Aw, shit!

Looking back up at Blaze through glazed eyes, prone and beaten, is the one and only Fred Dick. But the Main Event doesn’t care so much about Fred’s plight as he does the dry cleaning bill he’s racking up the longer these blood and shit stains have to set.

Blaze grips a nearby sink forcefully, looking horrified into the mirror as he feels the remnants of his explosive bowel movement trickling down his leg and tries to regain his composure.

Blaze Claymore (to himself): It’s fine, it’s fine… you’ve just got to… strip naked, wash yourself with… something, and streak- I mean sneak out sight unseen. You can do that right? Pull a little Mission: Impossible bait and switch? Or maybe you could wrap yourself entirely in paper towels and-

Blaze’s ears perk up as he hears approaching footsteps. In a panic, he vaults over Fred’s body and into the nearest bathroom stall, hopping up onto the toilet to perch like some sort of Bacchian gargoyle as he listens and waits.

Voice: Jesus Christ, I need to piss… oh man, Fred? PRIME bathroom strikes again, huh?

It’s the Anglo Luchador (though Blaze doesn’t realize that) who shakes his head as he heads over to the urinals only to find mini speakers on top of two of them playing Enya “Orinoco Flow.” Between the two of them is none other than Felix Mullen, arms akimbo, elbows bent inward, wrists in “chi” pose towards the podcaster’s face.

TAL: Ahem.

Mullen is startled as he turns around.

Felix Mullen: Ahem yourself, you masked wrecker. This is my meditation time.

The Luchador shakes his head, backing away from the urinals.

TAL: Gotta use a stall then…

He rattles the door on one, locked. The second, locked. Three, four, locked. Finally, he gets to the fifth one. It’s unlocked, only because the occupant, brown of pants, forgot to latch it in his haste. The Luchador opens the door slightly, and…

Blaze Claymore: OCUPADO!

In his attempt to leap off the toilet and close the stall, instead Blaze falls forward, pushing the door open, and whacking the Luchador right in the face.

TAL: Son of a…

He gets a look of who it is, defiled fecally and all.

TAL: YOU!

If this were a movie this is the part where the scene would freeze fame, slowly pushing into the horrified reaction of Blaze Claymore while an older, wiser version of the Main Event would offer his best rendition of Richard Dreyfuss in Stand By Me, reminiscing about how such a disastrous and traumatizing experience actually brought the two wrestlers closer together…but this isn’t a movie and the only thing Blaze is getting closer to is a swift ass kicking, or possible murder charges based on the amount of Fred Dick’s blood on his outfit.

Blaze Claymore: I swear it’s not what it looks like.

TAL (holding his face):  I don’t care what it looks like! The last two weeks you’ve been up my ass, and now, UGH.

Blaze Claymore: If I was up your ass you would know it! And, frankly, it’s my ass I’m focused on the moment, so if you would excuse-

The Luchador leans forward to say something just as Blaze tries to close the bathroom door again, and hits TAL in the head once more. This time TAL stumbles back, arms waving about until he trips over the STILL supine Fred Dick, crashing onto a bathroom floor and relaxing the monk-like control on his bladder just enough to….

Well.

The Anglo Luchador was wearing clean khakis when he chanced upon the bathroom.

And now, those khakis are two-tone.

Wetly two-tone.

Felix Mullen: HEY! QUIET DOWN YOU, I’M TRYING TO ENGAGE IN URINATION MEDITA…

Mullen notices a masked person he in no small part blames for his ex-girlfriend now being his ex-girlfriend and breaks into maniacal laughter.

Felix Mullen: THE LUCHADOR PEED HIS PANTS!! AHAHAH THE STUPID BUTTHEAD PEED HIS PANTS!!! I’M GONNA ENJOY THIS!!!

Mullen charges out with his cell phone ready to take a picture, not realizing that this is PRIME, and that this company violates many, many different workplace privacy laws with how often it films in the water closet. However, almost instinctively, Fred Dick, as if he’s guided by a force not of his own volition, spastically waves his hand and catches Felix right in the babymaker.

Ew. Felix Mullen? Making babies? Now there’s a scary thought.

The podcaster is writhing on the floor. The Luchador is still embarrassed from pissing his pants. Blaze is still “stalling” for time. And the Whoresman? Yeah, that was probably more divine intervention than him breaking out of whatever stupor he was left in when the scene was set.

Blaze decides to crack the door open and notices the almost wholly accidental carnage.

Blaze Claymore: Shit. Check.

He looks to TAL.

Blaze Claymore: Piss. Check.

Blaze looks at Fred Dick.

Blaze Claymore: Fuck. Check.

Blaze looks over to Felix Mullen right next to Fred.

Blaze Claymore: Cunt. Check.

He looks up toward the bathroom door and closes his eyes.

Blaze Claymore (to himself): Time to scat-daddle before we get to the cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits stages.

He looks around one last time for anyone else who might be in here, and sheepishly steps out of the stall.

Blaze Claymore (to himself): Maybe there’s another bathroom in here that’s a little less… chaotic. More… private. Family friendly. G-Rated.

He takes a few careful steps over Fred Dick’s body before bolting out of the bathroom, leaving three prone bodies on the floor. The Luchador rises to a seated position and looks down at his pants in disgust.

TAL: Goddammit, of all the shows where I don’t pack emergency pants. Ah well. One thing’s for certain though (straining) … that Claymore prick just got to strike three.

The Luchador gets up to his feet finally.

Felix Mullen (still holding his nuts on the floor): Whooooo the hell are you talking toooooo

TAL: It’s called a monologue, dickhead. Maybe if you weren’t so afraid of being cringe, you’d be confident enough to try it.

The Luchador exits the bathroom. Felix finally rolls over onto his stomach and pushes up gingerly before beginning to crawl back to his, ugh, Meditation Urinal.

We go elsewhere.

Another show, another battle between Nobody’s Heroes and The Red Army. No matter who was declared the winners and losers, I think we all know there aren’t really any winners after what they’ve put themselves through.

Our valiant Alias Champion makes his way down the hallway in search of an ice pack and some extra-strength Tylenol. He’s on the phone with his brother, distracted.

Sebastian Gold: I’m fine, Dio. Hey swing by the locker room. Crash’s post-match dawg delivery just got here.

Everything seems to be going so well, when he’s interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Bruh – head’s up!”

Ah, finally, time for the Belmont trophy to be returned to its rightful owner.

Just…not exactly how Bash would’ve drawn it up.

WHAM

In a scene scarily close to the one that started this whole endeavor, Bryan Dawkins absolutely lays waste to the former stuntman. As it turns out, Dawkins wasn’t lying about repairing the Belmont trophy, although after using it to cave in Sebastian Gold’s skull, someone may need to get that thing back in for repairs.

Bash is busted wide open from the shot, blood pooling where the champion lies across the cold concrete. Dawkins doesn’t help matters, raining haymakers down onto Gold’s dome. After a flurry of strikes, he pulls out a roll of electrical tape and uses it to secure Bash’s hands and feet.

Bryan Dawkins: You’re just never gonna learn, are you?

He lays a solid kick into the unprotected ribcage of his fallen foe. He picks up the dented Belmont trophy, hoists the Hero’s limp body onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry position and heads down the hallway.

Bryan Dawkins: Honestly, bruh…at this point, I’m pretty sure you’d donate to a GoFundMe for me because I was sad two weeks ago. The fuck is wrong with you?

Bash lets out a gurgle as the camera cuts away.

We cut to Crash fulfilling his allegiance to hotdogs and his friends. He receives the end of his 50 hotdogs ordered before climaxing with dressing all the doggies like the Lord of Hot Dog World. Ketchup. Onions. No fuckin’ beans because that’s for Boston boys. Then he sprinkles on diced onions like Salt Bae. Crash snaps his fingers, knowing this is how hotdogs should be served.

Cut to Dawkins, kicking the door to the garage open. He slings the barely conscious Bash across the hood of a nearby vehicle.

SMASH

The sound of windshield glass shattering into thousands of pieces fills the garage, sending shards flying across the pavement. Dawkins unlocks the door through the broken window and sets the Belmont on the floor under the steering wheel.

Bryan Dawkins: It’s kinda funny how you continue to find yourself in these situations, bruh. Ya wanna help but when it comes down to it, ya can’t even help yourself.

One more stiff right for good measure.

Bryan Dawkins: Alright kid, time to get this show on the road.

He yanks Bash from the hood of the car and drags him toward the passenger side door. He swings it open haphazardly, catching Gold flush across the ribcage and causing a guttural groan to escape Sebastian’s lips.

Bryan Dawkins: Oops, my bad bruh. I’m gonna need ya to keep quiet during this part.

The former stuntman’s limp body is shoved into the passenger seat and his mouth sealed shut with the same electrical tape used to bind his hands and feet. Dawkins pauses for a moment, assessing the situation unfolding before him. Bash is barely there, a steady stream of blood has soaked his headband red; Dawkins takes the opportunity to buckle him in before slamming the door.

Bryan Dawkins: Safety first, yeah?

He slides across the hood of the car before slipping into the driver’s seat. After brushing the seat free of broken glass, he reaches below the wheel and yanks some wires loose. He notices Bash’s gaze.

Bryan Dawkins: What? Didn’t think I knew how to hotwire a car? Heh, guess you know better now.

After a few moments of fiddling, the car’s engine turns over and the garage is filled with the purr of the engine.

Bryan Dawkins: There we go.

Sebastian’s eyes grow wide and panicked as Bryan wedges the Belmont trophy between the gas pedal and the floor – the engine redlines. Dawkins can barely hear Bash’s frantic muzzled pleas above the roar of the engine.

Bryan Dawkins: What are you freaking out for? You’re a stuntman, remember? This is right up your alley.

Dawkins steps out of the car and places his hand cautiously on the shifter.

Bryan Dawkins: I warned you, Bash. You caused all of this. Now it’s time to pay.

In the next instant, he slams the car into drive and dives out of the way, sending the car screaming through the garage. The smell of burnt rubber and smoke fills the air as Dawkins watches the vehicle pick up speed and head directly for…

…Crash Jackson, who is busy admiring his recently delivered hot dogs.

Crash: What presentation, bro! Ketchups and the mustards and the onions in such symmetry!

He turns his head just in time to be blinded by the headlights. In that moment, Buffalo’s Finest freezes, hotdogs in hand, not able to process what he sees heading his way.

SKKKRRREEEEECH

The car slams into Crash with a sickening thud. The feed cuts out.

STATIC

When the feed is up again, it’s chaos. Enemigoes, medical and a few horrified fans swarm around the crash site, blocking the view of Crash’s body. But from what we can see, he’s not moving. The car is on its side. No sign of Bash.

“Are they alive??” A fan screams as the stretchers come in. They are told to clear the area.

As he watches the building security and PRIME staffers congregate around the crash site, Dawkins wipes his hands clean on his shirt before heading back inside the building. After all, he’s got more sensitivity training to attend.

ReVival moves on.

Nick Stuart: It’s just about time for our next match, but before we get started, PRIME would once again like to send our well-wishes to the Voss family, who are here tonight celebrating their annual family reunion.

Richard Parker: (clearly annoyed) Yes, welcome back to all 334 members of the Voss family. We’re thrilled to see you.

Nick Stuart: Correction, Richard. That’s 335.

Richard Parker: That’s not what it says in my notes.

Nick Stuart: I’ve just been informed that the Voss family welcomed another member within the last few minutes.

Richard Parker: Do they seriously not have condoms in Australia?

Oh hey, it’s Vince Howard here to save us from this conversation.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, hailing from [REDACTED]land and representing the Monster Menagerie…

Carl Orff’s “O Fortuna” from Carmina Burana begins to play through the arena as a man who looks like a young Larry Bird steps through the curtains. He’s dressed in a red military style uniform, a man doing his best M. Bison impersonation. Ahead of him is a military procession made up of a collection of the Monster Menagerie. Lord Kurosame-sama, “Don of the Deathmatch” Rory Hayes, and “Rhino Horn” Shinji Komiya to name but a few.

There is also a large contingent of mysterious birdmen led by their alpha, The Mysterious Birdman 0¿0.

Vince Howard: The Generalissimo… Garry… Ray-Ray… ReeeeeeeeeeeeeeeDACCCCteeeddddddd!!

The group makes its way to the ring before The Generalissimo steps inside and takes his place in the corner.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

Richard Parker: Everyone pay attention, your true leader is coming!

Vince Howard: Hailing from Arkhangelsk, Russia and weighing in tonight at over four hundred pounds…

“The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir erupts as Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Rulsan emerge from the backstage area. Stanislav and Ruslan raise their arms, side by side, roar at the crowd, and pointedly make their way towards the ring. Stanislav points and jaws at several fans along the way, while Ruslan points and hawks at the greatness of the Russian Bear.

Vince Howard: Accompanied to the ring by Alexei Ruslan… Representing the Red Army…

Stanislav steps over the top rope and thunders into the ring. He raises his arms over his head and bellows at the camera.

Vince Howard: The Russian Bear… IVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN STAAAAAANislaaaaaaaaav!!!

DING DING

Ivan, perhaps perturbed by the fact that the rest of the Red Army is trapped in sensitivity training, moves in on Garry as soon as the bell sounds. Unleashing a torrent of heavy-handed punches. A short-arm clothesline follows, and The Generalissimo staggers back towards the ropes.

Outside the ring, the Monster Menagerie begins to make their presence felt, moving around both sides of the ring to trap Alexei like a pincer.

Inside the ring, Ray-Ray, being the more nimble of the two men, throws a head fake on Ivan – feinting left while dodging to the right. The sharp crack of a slap echoes through the arena as the leader of [REDACTED]land lands a frying pan of a left hand across Ivan’s cheek. Needless to say, this does not sit well with the Russian Bear.

Richard Parker: Nick, I just want to go on record right now and say that this entire match is an outrage.

Nick Stuart: We are literally one minute into it, Richard. What could you possibly have against it?

Richard Parker: Well, for one thing, there’s like forty bird people out here. It’s like if the Voss family branched out into experimental genetics.

The fans at home can’t see it because the camera is focused on the ring, but this is where Richard turns around to the group of people behind him – all members of the Voss family, once again choosing a PRIME event to celebrate their reunion – and offers a conciliatory wave.

Meanwhile, Lord Kurosame-Sama is up on the ring apron doing his level best to get the attention of referee Ashley Barlow.

Lord Kurosame-Sama: 🦈

Just like that.

Nick Stuart: I will say that the numbers out here are heavily skewed in favor of Garry “Ray-Ray” [REDACTED]…

Did he pronounce the brackets? C’mon, you know you’re curious.

Nick Stuart: …But this is no different from what the Red Army does to their opponents, Richard.

Richard Parker: At least Russia is a real country! Not like Bolambatown, or Coltopia, or [REDACTED]land, or whatever we’re calling it now.

A heavy delayed scoop slam sends The Generalissimo crashing down to the mat. Ivan places a single boot on Garry’s chest, and points down at him while taunting the rest of the Monster Menagerie.

Ray-Ray shoves Ivan’s foot off of him before the referee can even think about making a pin count.

Oh, and Lord Kurosame-Sama is still on the ring apron.

Lord Kurosame-Sama: 🦈‼️ 🤬🦈‼️

Referee Barlow at least moves to shoo him away. Ivan walks backwards towards the ropes to get a little momentum, but finds both of his feet in the hands (talons?) of The Mysterious Birdman 0¿0 causing him to trip.

Richard Parker: See! Now the bird person is getting involved! Well, one of the bird people. The lead bird person. The birdman.

Nick Stuart: Would you say he’s… mysterious?

Richard Parker: Shut up I hate you.

A snap DDT from The Generalissimo onto the distracted Ivan takes the bigman down to the canvas.

Nick Stuart: The numbers of the Monster Menagerie definitely coming into play early.

Richard Parker: Maybe we can get some Vosses to back up Ivan? Eh? Anyone?

The Voss Family: …

The Whole-Ass Voss Family: …

Richard Parker: Alright FINE. Be that way.

Ivan is back up on his feet, looking a little stunned as a result of a combination between the offense and interference. He tries to shrug it off, powering through it so as to not convey any weakness to his opponent.

Nick Stuart: The Generalissimo with a clubbing forearm to the back. He’s got Stanislav by the wrist… Russian legsweep by Ray-Ray!

Richard Parker: That’s cultural appropriation! You can’t use a Russian move against a Russian man, that’s just not how this works!

Nick Stuart: Would you prefer I call it a [REDACTED]landian legsweep?

Richard Parker: That’s not even a real place! We literally just discussed this! Now you’re just making stuff up.

Nick Stuart: That’s an awful lot of complaining for someone who hasn’t even offered up an alternative.

Richard Parker: Okay, how about… ummm… The monsterian leg-loop trippy thing?

Nick Stuart: (deadpan) Astounding.

Richard Parker: Shut up. You put me on the spot!

Nick Stuart: Our whole job is being on the spot!

Instead of going for a pin, The Generalissimo pulls Ivan back up to his feet but the Russian Bear immediately leans in with a headbutt that staggers Garry. Ivan follows with an Irish whip and then he crouches down as if preparing for a big leap.

Richard Parker: Brace yourself, Nick. I think we’re about to witness true peak athleticism!

Ray-Ray runs. Ivan leaps. His massive legs catch the Generalissimo somewhere just above the hips. The two men awkwardly twist to the ground with the momentum of the move causing the Generalissimo’s face to drag on the ring mat for a good two feet.

To the casual observer, it’s an absolute goddamn train wreck of a move.

Richard Parker: The HurricanRussian! In all its glory!

Ivan goes for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

The Generalissimo gets his shoulder up, and the referee is forced to argue with Ivan that, yes, actually, that was only two. And yes, also actually, she does know how to properly count. Yes, of course there are some problems with the American education system, but that has nothing to do with basic counting.

Outside the ring, the birdmen are trying to keep Alexei away from the action, but that man has an entire weapons locker hidden in his coat. Out comes the baton, and the birdmen scatter in a very birdly way.

And then there’s Tanuki Phil, up on the ring apron with a chair. Very openly, very brazenly. Just a tanuki dude and a folding chair.

Richard Parker: Alright, that’s it. We need UN intervention here. We can’t be having all these monster people doing all this monster interference!

Nick Stuart: You literally just told me that [REDACTED]land isn’t a real place. What’s the UN going to do?

Richard Parker: Don’t you bring logic into this now!

It’s true. This is a silly place, and logic has no home here.

Tanuki Phil is unceremoniously yanked off of the ring apron by an irate Alexei Ruslan.

CRACK!!!!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH!!!

And is immediately whacked in the side of the head by the butt end of the baton.

Richard Parker: Welp, he’s dead now. Score one for the Russians! The heroes of the common man!

Lord Kurosame-sama takes a moment to check on his fallen monster compatriot, and then grabs the chair and makes a move for Alexei.

Ashley Barlow: You! You!

She’s pointing at both Lord Kurosame-same and the semi-conscious Tanuki Phil, for reference.

Ashley Barlow: Out of here! Now!

Nick Stuart: Looks like the Monster Menagerie is out two members!

Richard Parker: Justice!

Okay, let’s take a minute to talk about what all went down inside the ring during the last minute.

After the – ahem – “resounding success” of the HurricanRussia, Ivan went to work trying to wear The Generalissimo down. He did this through repeated clubbing forearm blows to Ray-Ray’s back, and then scooped him up high into the air before dropping him down into a gutbuster that not only busted his guts, but also drove all the air out his lungs. He was forced to tap into [REDACTED]land’s reserve air supply (not to be confused with Air Supply, who does a killer cover of the [REDACTED]land national anthem).

Seriously, it’s gonna be like Spaceballs up in that bitch for a minute.

Ivan then decided it would be a good time to leave his footprint on [REDACTED]land proper. He did this by stepping on Garry.

Because the referee was very busy trying to get a bunch of weirdos under control – and yes, that includes Mr. Ruslan – there was no point in trying to go for a cover. Instead, Ivan headed to the ropes for some momentum because dammit a leg drop just sounded like the best idea.

But Ray-Ray was not to be denied. With a quick prayer – “Raise hell. Praise Dale. Amen,” The Generalissimo sprung to his feet and snapped off a quick, lanky dropkick that stunned Ivan, causing him to stumble back into the ropes where his arms immediately became tangled. Big Andre the Giant energy on that one.

With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that the referee was still distracted, The Generalissimo enacted a sound military strategy by going right for his enemy’s weak point.

He kicked Ivan right in the onion domes. Just square in the Kremlins.

And that brings us to where we are now, with the Russian Bear currently trapped in the ropes and his opponent using the opportunity to land a series of free shots – mostly in the form of thunderous slaps.

Richard Parker: Someone get Ivan out of there! It’s bad enough that the rest of the Red Army are stuck in feelings jail for the rest of the night.

Nick Stuart: Feelings jail?

Richard Parker: Yeah. That’s where you get sent to the special jail that looks like a conference room to talk about why you’re mad all the time and how everyone else has rights as a person.

Nick Stuart: You mean sensitivity training?

Richard Parker: No, I mean feelings jail. Let’s call it what it is, Nick.

Poor Ashley Barlow. She’s already had to eject people from ringside, will likely have to deal with more shenanigans, and now has to deal with the task of helping get Ivan Stanislav out from the ropes while he’s under assault from an M. Bison cosplayer.

She gets close, but has to jump back in alarm when Ivan kicks out hard at Garry, sending him back a few steps. Eventually she’s able to get The Generalissimo to stand back while helping free Ivan from his trap.

Nick Stuart: Fans, while our referee attends to a situation in the ring, PRIME would like to once again offer a warm welcome to all 337 members of the Voss family, here tonight to celebrate their annual family reunion.

Richard Parker: Hold up. A minute ago it was 334, and then 335.

Nick Stuart: Looks like two more babies were born in the last couple of minutes.

Richard Parker: I fucking can’t with these people.

With Ivan now free from the ropes, the two men begin trading wild punches in the center of the ring. An elbow strike from Ray-Ray causes Ivan to stumble, and Garry launches himself onto the Russian Bear to try and bring him down with a second DDT. This time he’s caught, hoisted up higher, and thrown over the top rope onto a flock of birdmen outside the ring.

This is the queue for the rest of the Monster Menagerie to spring into action. Rory Hayes and Shinji Komiya hit the ring, sliding in behind the referee while she’s distracted to begin their assault on Ivan.

Nick Stuart: Rory Hayes reaching in…

Richard Parker: Is that a chain? That’s a chain!

Good call, Richard. It is a chain. One that he’s wrapping around his hand as he waits for Stanislav to turn around.

CRACK!!!

Richard Parker: Alexei to save the day!

But once again, here comes Alexei with baton in hand to clobber the Don Of The Deathmatch before he can strike. The chain falls from his hand, and “Rhino Horn” picks it up, but is seen by referee Barlow before he can put it to use.

And just like that, both Rory Hayes and Shinji Komiya find themselves ejected from ringside.

That sneaky Alexei. He managed to scuttle out of the ring before the referee could notice his presence in the ring as well.

On the outside, the Beasts of Tokyo are helping their leader to his feet to get him back into the ring, but Ashley Barlow’s “Shit to Tolerate” meter has redlined. The mechanism is fuming, and there’s an angry whistling noise coming from somewhere inside the device.

Ashley Barlow: You, gone! You, gone! All of you get the hell out of here!

For reference, that would be the Seiko Serizawa, HAMAYUMI, the entire cadre of birdmen, and their mysterious leader. Also the Big Blue Bug, who’s been pretty innocent in this entire affair thus far.

Richard Parker: Finally things are coming under control and we can have a fair match.

Nick Stuart: Hard to call it fair when Alexei is still out there with all of his tricks of the trade.

But it’s not just Alexei that’s outside the ring. There is still one more monster that has not been accounted for, and that’s a mistake that may well prove fatal to all involved, because this beast is the most dangerous, the most diabolical, the most insidious of all monsters in the menagerie.

It operates with no remorse.

It has no conscience.

It is festooned with a decorative Cinnamoroll basket.

And it’s about to blindside a motherfucker.

Nick Stuart: What the hell?!

Richard Parker: LOOK OUT ALEXEI!!!

CRASH!!!

THUD!!!

In order, those are the sounds of a rabid bicycle trucking an aged Russian soldier, and then that man getting sent into the unforgiving steel of the ring steps. For the Crimson Miracle Bloody-Blood Death Homicycle knows only violence.

Richard Parker: That was vehicular manslaughter!

Nick Stuart: Alexei isn’t dead, Richard.

Richard Parker: Garry “Ray-Ray” Whateverthehell should be disqualified for that!

Nick Stuart: Alexei isn’t in the match, Richard.

Richard Parker: That bike should be put on trial for war crimes!

Okay, that last one’s a legitimate point. But still.

Nick Stuart: We’ve already made it clear that you don’t recognize [REDACTED]land’s sovereignty.

Richard Parker: Dammit, Nick, can you please stop fact-checking me?! I’m trying to rage here!

Referee Barlow leans over the ropes and looks down at where Alexei currently sits on the arena floor. Pinned between the ring steps and a bright red bicycle, there’s nowhere for him to run to. Not when the bike has murder on its mind.

Also, for the sake of posterity, Alexei totally isn’t cowering, you guys. Nope, not at all. Not one tiny bit. That would be unbecoming of a man of his stature, and anyone who would even dare accuse him of such an indignity would no doubt be harshly rebuked by state-sponsored media or some shit.

Ashley Barlow: You…

She aims a stern finger at the Homicycle in preparation to add it to the lengthy list of ejections already experienced in this match.

The Crimson Miracle Bloody-Blood Death Homicycle: (aggressive ching-ching bell noises)

Ashley Barlow: A-are out of… h…

She starts the big wind up.

The Crimson Miracle Bloody-Blood Death Homicycle: (menacing tassel waving)

Then she puts her hand down.

Ashley Barlow: Umm… Nevermind.

Outside the ring, Alexei is apoplectic. Well, as apoplectic as a man currently being harrowed by bicycle can be. Look, if you’re new here then try not to think too hard about that last sentence, and just go with it. But if you know, you know.

Ivan is in full rage mode now. His oldest friend and closest ally has just been besieged by a bicycle, so now it’s time to exact his vengeance on the man responsible for it being here. He storms to the side of the ring nearest where The Generalissimo was ejected from the ring only to be blindsided by the man himself.

Ray-Ray grabs Ivan by the neck and jumps back down from the ring apron, dropping the Russian Bear throat-first across the top rope. Ivan staggers, and Ray-Ray uses the opportunity to grab him by the ankles, trip him up, and then with a hearty tug pull the massive man out onto the arena floor.

Referee Barlow just throws her hands up in exasperation. Someone give that woman a raise.

Nick Stuart: Both men on the outside… OH! Ivan just sent right into the ring post.

Richard Parker: Someone get the bike away from Alexei so he can help!

The Generalissimo steps back and then charges forward with a roaring elbow that Ivan isn’t able to avoid. It sends the big man reeling back into the ring apron.

Nick Stuart: Blood on the Plow by The Generalissimo!! But he’ll have to get Ivan back in the ring if he wants to finish this.

Ray-Ray struggles, but eventually is able to roll the self-proclaimed “locker room leader of PRIME” back into the ring. Ivan pushes himself to his feet, but the leader of the Monster Menagerie is already measuring him for another strike.

Garry charges in.

Nick Stuart: Another Blood on the P-OHHHH!!

Richard Parker: YES!!

But he’s caught by the throat, quickly lifted into the air, and then dropped by a short arm clothesline.

Richard Parker: Iron Curtain baybeeeeeee!

Only Garry doesn’t stay down for long. He’s right back up on his feet, roaring in defiance. The fighting spirit of The Generalissimo on full display. A right-hand slap connects like a goddamn lightning strike across the face of the Russian Bear. A second one follows.

Alexei, having successfully scurried away from the harrowing bicycle, is shouting encouragement at his man from outside the ring.

The Generalissimo rears back to deliver a third. Stanislav responds with a scowl and a muttered curse before blocking the strike and quickly grabbing his opponent around the head.

The Red Scare sends The Generalissimo down to the canvas.

Richard Parker: Tell me that’s the end, Nick. Please.

Ashley Barlow gets into position for the cover and begins the count.

ONE!!

Alexei shouts to count faster.

TWO!!

He pounds the canvas to emphasize his point.

THREE!!!

DING DING DING

The boos come in fast and loud, but the Bear and his handler don’t seem to mind. Another victory has been achieved. Victory for the Red Army, and victory for Mother Russia.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav victorious here tonight.

Richard Parker: And thank Hoyt for that.

Nick Stuart: We’ll be back shortly with more in-ring action, but before we go I would just like to offer my condolences to all 336 members of the Voss family…

Richard Parker: Three-hundred and thirty-what? Wait, the math isn’t mathing. Did they lose one?

Nick Stuart: …on the passing of great-grandmother Bertude Voss.

Richard Parker: Oh damn. This got dark in a hurry.

Solemn fade to black.

Hell yeah dudes, we’re back for more Sensitivity Training!!!!

The conference room has been fully transformed into a chaotic trust-building zone. A large gym mat is spread out in the center of the room. The whiteboard reads: “Trust Fall = Team Rise” in glittery marker. Surf Express Bro are standing off to the side with LT and Dam, and even they look nervous.

The 7’1” tall, 400 pound Ivan Stanislav is already standing atop a dangerously wobbly platform that looks like it was borrowed from a high school drama club. His arms are outstretched, his broad back heaving.

He, and the rest of The Red Army, are bearing the various bruises from their matches this evening. But they clearly haven’t put in enough work. Still, everyone else, Alexei, Arina, Speedy, Rose, Kenny, and Randall, all stand in the shadow of their massive leader. Well, almost everyone else.

Ruslan looks down at his watch on his wrist and mutters.

Alexei Ruslan: Where the hell is Bryan Dawkins?!

Rose looks around and shrugs her shoulders.

Rose: Maybe he’s decided to share his feelings with Sebs? I know I shared my feelings with Jonathan-Christopher Hall and I feel so much better for it. Maybe this training is doing what it’s supposed to. Hall might disagree, but eh, fuck him.

Ruslan mutters.

Alexei Ruslan: I am fairly certain no one is fucking Jonthan-Christopher Hall…

Rose: Look at Alexei with the zinger. Man, maybe this training was for the best. Really bringing us all together as a group.

Rose then looks over at Bowie and Bradlee who take it in and are far too baked to read between the lines as they turn back to their next activity.

Bowie Abrams: Remember, dudes and dudettes: Trust is about letting go…

Bradlee Nelson: …and maybe bracing your knees…

The conference door bursts open, almost if on cue, revealing the final member of The Red Army. Bruh is out of breath and scrambling over to the group. He tosses a crimson soaked towel into a nearby trash can and turns to the group.

Bryan Dawkins: My bad, my bad! I had…things…to take care of real quick. What’re we…

He finally notices Ivan towering over the group more than usual.

Bryan Dawkins: Oh…

Ivan mutters to his troops as Dawkins falls into formation with his fellow comrades.

Ivan Stanislav: Remember, comrades, the collective is always stronger than individual. I have faith in all of you!

Ivan takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and falls backwards like a Siberian larch felled by a blizzard. Slow, inevitable, and terrifyingly massive.

Everyone in The Red Army moves out of the way, save for one poor soul.

Randall Schwartz spreads his arms wide, poised to catch the entire dead weight of Ivan Stanislav. The seismic thud sends shockwaves through the room. The HIGH Priests of the Pacific cover their eyes as several ceiling tiles fall.

Bryan Dawkins: Oops… my bad, bruh. Probably should have done a countdown or something.

Dawkins shrugs and walks off. Ivan lays there and grumps, while from beneath him, Randall snakes out a crooked arm and gives a shaky thumbs up despite groans suggesting the contrary.

We move elsewhere.

We cut elsewhere in Centre Bell to find Tony Gamble, victorious in his earlier bout against Asher Creed, pacing briskly through the corridors to keep up with the large steps of Hessian. The giant wears a frown, having heard the news of the tag match set for UltraViolence, as he scans every door and junction for something or someone in particular.

Hessian: Where the hell is she?

Two Books moves ahead of his fellow Bandit and turns to face him while jogging backwards.

Tony Gamble: Look, I’m not a fan of all the bullshit that’s been going on either, but I’ve got an idea that will work out in our favor.

Hessian: (shouting out loud) TROY!

The Murder Show slows his pace and listens out for the expected sigh. Hearing nothing, he looks down at his partner.

Hessian: No, Tony, we’re not being dictated to like that. Not by a couple of punk kids.

Tony Gamble: So we’re just going to back out of the match? You can’t be serious.

As they approach another junction, a gaggle of Enemigos waddle into view. The giant calls out to them.

Hessian: Hey! You there!

The security detail carry on regardless, seemingly on active duty. The runt at the back of the pack, however, makes the mistake of turning and acknowledging Hessian.

Hessian: Where’s Lindsay Troy at?

Tony Gamble: Hess…

The little Enemigo panics, torn between following his group and engaging with the giant. He looks in the direction the group are walking before glancing back at the big Bandit and cocking his head. As Hessian furrows his brow, the Enemigo’s anxiety gets the better of him and he starts emphatically pointing in multiple different directions before shaking his head and shooting off after his troop, disappearing within their ranks.

Tony Gamble: What if we-

Hessian: Hey! Get back here!

But the Enemigos ignore him, and quickly veer around another corner and out of sight.

Tony Gamble: Hess we can’t back out, not if we want a shot at the tag titles. We have to take on all comers.

The Murder Show scowls and storms off after the Enemigos, replying as The Grin follows.

Hessian: That’s not the issue, Tony, the problem is that uppity Ned prick calling shots that aren’t his to call! Those brats of his have been nipping at our heels ever since they showed up – playing stupid mind games and trying to screw us in every one of our matches.

They turn the same corner as the Enemigos and see them further down the hall.

Hessian: They should be fighting it out with the other rookies for a spot across from us, but they’re treating us like a shortcut to stardom and they won’t. leave. us. alone. I shut them out when I faced Lemieux to make a point, and this is how they react? Finagling Troy into facing us at the pay-per-view?? I’m not putting up with it any more.

Tony Gamble: So you’re going to take us off UltraViolence altogether? Wave the white flag? Great idea man, prove to them we’re pushovers. See how that affects our standing in the tag division.

The Murder Show opens his mouth to respond when he notices the troop of Enemigos stop outside the door to a conference room. He stops dead, watching as the lead Enemigo knocks on the door. Moments later, Dam pokes his head out, says something to the group, and after they nod in response he closes the door again and they take off.

Hessian: Found you…

Tony Gamble: Damn it, Hess, I’ve got an idea!

As the Enemigos take off after having received their orders, Hessian stalks up to the door with Gamble in tow. A laminated notice plastered on the wall beside it reads “Sensitivity Training In Progress – DO NOT DISTURB”. The giant rattles off a few heavy knocks.

Tony Gamble: Stop!

But it’s too late. The door opens again.

“You forget something?”

Dam’s gleaming dome appears before them, a look of surprise on his face. He must have been expecting confused Enemigos. Beyond him, Gamble catches sight of the Red Army sitting in a row while Bowie Abrams and Bradlee Nelson make their way through a multicolored PowerPoint entitled “NO MEANS NO, BROS.” Lindsay Troy leans against the wall off to the side.

Dam: (pointing to the sign) Don’t make me tap the sign.

The Murder Show peers over Dam’s head, raising a hand and signalling to LT. She looks up and, regrettably, makes eye contact.

Hessian: Lindsay! I just need a sec-

Tap tap tap

Dam: I’m tapping the sign.

Tony Gamble: Hess, listen to me…

Dam: Start walking, fellas.

Hessian: (ignoring them both) Lindsay! It’s about UltraViolence!

SLAM

Dam retreats and the door is shut on them. Tony backhands Hessian in the ribs frustratedly.

Tony Gamble: Would you just-

And then he hears it. The unmistakable click of heels. A chill comes over them as the door is pulled open and they’re met with the ice cold glare of the Queen of the Ring. Behind her, the Red Army are shirking in their seats.

Lindsay Troy: Don’t. make me. tap. the sign.

Hessian: I’m really sorry about this LT, but Tony and I want o-

Gamble suddenly shunts Hessian to the side and positions himself in front of the boss.

Tony Gamble: -want the Green Vale Gang in a Brass Knuckles on a Pole match at the pay-per-view!

A million nuclear bombs go off in her head. Troy blinks.

Hessian: What he means is-oof!

Gamble nudges the giant in the ribs with his elbow and continues unabated.

Tony Gamble: You heard me! Brass Knuckles on a Pole. If we get Daniel and Hugo in the ring it’s just going to descend into anarchy, so put a set of knucks on a pole; first team to grab them gets to use them legally. They fight dirty. I fight dirty. This way you can bring some order to the chaos.

The cogs are turning as Hessian stares at Gamble, but the Grin doesn’t break eye contact with Troy.

Lindsay Troy: That doesn’t sound convoluted at all.

A beat.

Lindsay Troy: Fine. Green Vale Gang versus The eGG Bandits: Brass Knuckles on a Pole match. Knock yourselves out.

The giant rubs the spot where he was elbowed, coming to terms with the new stipulation but still insistent on making his point.

Hessian: It would have been nice to have been included when you and Ned spoke about making this match, y’know.

A look that would terrify Medusa freezes the Murder Show’s blood as Troy turns her attention to him.

Lindsay Troy: We haven’t spoken. And if he said we did, he lied. Like usual. Because he’s a shitgoblin.

She turns back to Two Books as Hessian cocks an eyebrow in confusion.

Lindsay Troy: You got your match.

She reaches for the sign beside the door.

Tap tap tap

Lindsay Troy: Bye bye.

With that, the door closes and the temperature returns to normal. Gamble runs a hand over his face, sighing, while Hessian cups a hand over his mouth and shuts his eyes.

Hessian: (muffled) Did she just say she never spoke with Ned?

“Indeed she did, you half-witted oaf!”

The Bandits both shudder at the sudden jarring tone, looking behind them to find three figures waltzing up on them.

The Green Vale Gang.

Hugo Vale: I must say, for a couple of wiley, old vets, you fell for the trap rather easily. Old age, perhaps, hmm?

Daniel Green: There is help out there, you know. Neuroscience has taken a leap in the past decade.

Hugo Vale: Erectile Dysfunction medicine, as well. Anyway, we’ll see you two geriatric fuckers at UltraViolence, won’t we?

And they waltz right by, shit-eating grins plastered on all three of their gloating faces.

With a wink to Gamble from Ned, to boot.

Their hackles raised, the Bandits watch as the trio saunters out of sight, leaving them bewildered.

Hessian: …There never was a match.

Gamble pinches the bridge of his nose and slowly shakes his head.

Hessian: And we just got them a match. At the pay-per-view.

Tony Gamble: Is what it is, hope they realize what they just got themselves into.

The giant seethes, cracking his knuckles as he moves to take his leave. Before he does, however, he hovers a hand over Tony’s shoulder and holds it there for a moment before finally patting it.

Hessian: Good call. On the stipulation, I mean.

Gamble shrugs the giant’s hand from his shoulder and starts to walk away, eyes locked on the ground.

Tony Gamble: I told you I had a plan.

The giant sighs, glances over his shoulder to make sure their foes are gone and follows after his partner, muttering under his breath.

Hessian: …Looks like you weren’t the only one.

ReVival moves on.

Somewhere away from all the hustle and bustle, in a dark and tranquil corner of Centre Bell, Rob Williams sits in solitude. He is sitting criss-cross applesauce, each breath deep and measured. Across from him sits Fabby, mimicking all of Rob’s actions. Every now and then Fabby opens one eye to see if Rob is still there.

If one didn’t know better, one might assume he was meditating. Surely that’s not what “The Legend” is doing, though. Right?

Rob’s Phone: And we will surely have thoughts come in as we find our center. This is totally ok. Let those thoughts be like a leaf floating down a river. Do not try to usher them out nor hold them.

A notification goes off on Rob’s phone.

Rob Williams: God DAMNIT!

The phone is heaved across the room with the force of an F22 pilot being ejected from the cockpit. Fabby winces slightly – a response not lost on Rob.

Rob Williams: Aw shit, I’m sorry Fabby. It’s ok, buddy.

Rob reaches across the coffee table between the two men and strokes’ Fabby’s head through the gold mask. After a loving pat, Rob pushes up to sit on his feet, leaning into the coffee table. The camera pans to show a large line of some unspecified substance.

Rob Williams: Are you sure I can’t convince you to boof me?

Fabby shakes his head no and goes back to consuming dry cereal with a spoon he stole from some hotel.

With a shrug, Rob’s nose consumes the entire line.

Rob Williams: So look, Fabby, as you know I’m on a journey here – self discovery. Rob Williams, the Next Frontier and shit. (sniffle) Anyways I was laying there exhausted in the hotel room the other night, half drunk and suffering from a mean case of coke dick, and while I was trying to find the nudie channel the remote died. Fucking Shrek was on. (sniffle) You ever seen Shrek, Fabby?

No response, but Rob is used to this. He continues on.

Rob Williams: So there I was, you know, half in between flogging myself and watching Shrek and I couldn’t help but think about you.

From behind the mask you can feel one of the eyebrows perking up.

Rob Williams: No, not like that you fu- you know what? That’s fair. But no, not like that. I was thinking about all of the stuff from the other day and (sniffle) how I said you deserve to be free because of how Glue has treated you. Well, I was wrong.

You can feel Fabby’s butthole tighten. Does this mean he’s going back to being fabby? Back to the dismal existence of being some prop for a bunch of spoiled brats?

Rob Williams: Shrek was an ogre. A big, dumb monster. At least that’s how all of the people saw him, right? And YOU, Fabby, (sniffle) you are seen as some white noise to amplify the characters of a bunch of careless cunts around you. Your lack of depth makes them seem more than two-dimensional. Anyways – ogres have layers, right? Fabby, you have layers. Sure, they’re probably moldy, but they’re there.

Is Fabby listening intently because he’s interested or because he’s still a hostage? Maybe both. It’s hard to know the inner monologue of a mute prisoner of war.

Rob Williams: You deserve to be free – not just of being fabby, but free to be whatever you choose. I hope you still choose to come down to the ring with us, buddy. To be in our corner – not because we fucking netted you, but because you’re free. I hope you’ll be our Donkey.

Will he? Only time will tell.

Anna Daniels: You’re not going soft on us, are you?

Unbeknownst to Rob and Fabby, The Muse has been standing in the doorway listening.

Rob Williams: If I am it is only from the cocaine.

Anna Daniels: That is absolutely not what we meant. Not initially, anyway.

Rob chuckles knowingly, then looks over at Fabby, who is now attempting to balance a cereal box on his head like a crown.

Rob Williams: Look at him. That’s not a hostage. That’s royalty.

Anna Daniels: A cereal sovereign.

Rob Williams: A breakfast baron.

They both stare in silence as Fabby strikes a regal pose, oblivious to the weight of the moment—or maybe owning it entirely.

Rob Williams: (softly, almost to himself) We ride at dawn, your majesty.

ReVival moves on.

Richard Parker: Rookies don’t get pyro, Nick!

That’s right. And you might be asking yourself, hey, is he referring to the hall of famer standing in the ring who didn’t get an entrance? Cancer Jiles, former Universal and Five Star Champion, number 1 contender, number 1 ranked Cancer Jiles?

Look. Man. Sometimes, a work becomes a shoot, and the shoot turns back into a work. Just enjoy the ride.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, already in the ring, “The Rookie” Cancer Jiles!

Cancer fumes, and paces around the ring.

Nick Stuart: As much as I hate to say it, Jiles has put together quite the impressive rookie campaign thus far. I guess the question that needs answering is if he can continue that impressive rookie campaign here tonight against a seasoned veteran in Sage Pontiff?

Cancer Jiles: (in the ring with no mic) Who’s responsible for my entrance getting snubbed? Was it you Dirty Dick? Seems like something you’d do!

Richard Parker: Why is that rookie shouting at me from the ring like I care what a rookie thinks?

Cancer’s jaw drops to the floor.

Nick Stuart: The rampant entitlement from this generation of up and coming wrestlers should be discussed more. It’s getting out of hand.

His jaw somehow drops even further.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

The fans pop. “Satori Part II” by Flower Travellin’ Band begins to play over the PA as Sage Pontiff steps through the curtain. PRIME’s resident bodhisattva of brutality pauses on the stage to bow and “namaste” the crowd before coming down the rampway.

Vince Howard: …from Joshua Tree, California! Standing at 6’4, 201 pounds! He is the Bodhisattvaaaaa of Brutalityyyyyy… SAAAAAAGE!!! PONTIFF!!!!

Sage slithers into the ring from under the bottom rope.

Cancer Jiles: Sage! Yo, Sage! Are you behind my entrance getting snubbed? Did you do this to me?

Sage shrugs. He has no idea what this rookie is talking about. Cancer shakes his head, so visibly miffed a blind person couldn’t mistake it.

DING!! DING!!

Cancer Jiles darts across the ring and begins sending chops straight into the Boddhisatva’s chest. One chop, two chop, three chop, four, five chop, six chop, seven chop, mo– a quick headbutt from Sage sends Cancer reeling back from that chop fest, and Cancer is dropped by the wheel kick from Pontiff that follows.

Nick Stuart: Sage trying to put the Rookie down early here!

Richard Parker: This new guy just doesn’t have the veteran awareness required to manage the unorthodox and admittedly sexy stylings of Sage Pontiff, and we all know it!

Sage meanwhile has mounted Cancer Jiles in order to hit some more headbutts, but a quick thumb to the eye from the Rookie alters the course of Sage’s plan entirely. And the SECOND thumb to the eye is just flat out rude.

Sage falls to the side and writhes on the mat, clutching his eye. Cancer mounts Sage and starts reigning down fists!

Cancer Jiles: One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine!

He winds up his own fist.

Cancer Jiles: WooooooOoOooOoOOOAH!!!

He punches Sage one last time.

Cancer Jiles: Ten!

Cancer grins at the crowd. He knows they know who the fuck he is. He knows they know he’s not some fucking rookie like Fred Donks. He’s a hall of fucking famer.

The whole thing pisses him off so bad he stands to his feet and pulls Sage up to his!!!

TERMINAL CANC–

NO!! THE BODHISATTVA SIDE STEPS!

Sage retaliates by charging towards the ropes! He bounces off and launches towards Cancer Jiles!

BUT CANCER JILES PULLED ELVIS NIXON INTO THE WAY!!! SAGE NAILS ELVIS NIXON WITH A LEAPING FOREARM, TAKING HIS ASS OUT!!!

Richard Parker: Way too early to pull the ref move, kid. Rookie mistake.

Nick Stuart: I don’t appreciate his tactics, but you gotta give it up to the young rookie, that showed some savvy! He might have what it takes to make a name for himself in this business.

Richard Parker: (fart noise) Doubt it.

Cancer sees the opportunity for what it is and immediately exits the ring, throws the timekeeper out of his chair, folds that bitch up, and gets ready to take it to the ring.

BUT SAGE PONTIFF INTERRUPTS THOSE PLANS WITH A SPRINGBOARD WHEEL KICK THAT SENDS THAT CHAIR STRAIGHT BACK INTO CANCER’S FACE!!!

Nick Stuart: Damn!!!

Richard Parker: Now THAT was savvy!

Indeed it was. But Sage isn’t done! This time, he mounts Cancer, and this time, he does start nailing the headbutts from that mounted position.

Cancer is in quite a pickle. There’s no one to stop this barrage of headbutts because of his savvy, not-at-all rookie move of pulling Elvis into the way (and anyone who isn’t a moron can see that), and Sage is showing no signs of stopping.

Based on the mounted position Sage is in, Cancer realizes the only way out is through. He does a pelvic press, lifting his pelvis and Sage off the ground just enough, to quickly pull his knee forward, RAKING Sage in the testicles!!

The Innovator of Lowblows, the Man of 1,000 Lowblows some have called him, stands up to his feet as Sage Pontiff writhes on the ground.

But Cancer isn’t paying any attention to Sage.

He’s looking directly at Richard Parker.

And now? He’s walking towards him.

Richard Parker: What does this rookie want?

Nick Stuart: Watch yourself, Richard.

Richard Parker: Get the fuck away from me rook–

BANG!!! TERMINAL CANCER TO RICHARD PARKER!!!

Nick Stuart: What the–

Cancer Jiles grabs Richard’s headset off his head and puts it on himself. He looks at Nick, most unpleased.

Cancer Jiles: Rookie, huh?

Nick Stuart: Well, I mean…

TERMINAL CANCER TO THE NEARBY CAMERA MAN!!!

Cancer picks up the camera, he looks right into it.

Cancer Jiles: ME??? ME??? You give ME the Rookie treatment? ME, a hall of famer? ME, a former and the next Universal Champion? And you have the audacity to snub MY entrance? Whoever is behind this, take a look. Take a look at Dirty Dick. Take a look at whatever this camera guy is named. Take a look at Sage Pontiff over there.

Cancer swivels the camera around–

AND SAGE PONTIFF IS RIGHT THERE!!!

HE WAVES AT THE CAMERA!!!

NAMASTE!!! THE MULE KICK!!! The camera hits the ground!!! So does the headset!!! And we see just enough of the action from that angle to see Cancer dropped with the gut wrench suplex!!!

Nick Stuart: Richard! Richard, are you OK buddy?

Sage Pontiff drags Cancer up to his feet and rolls him into the ring. Sage grabs the chair and leaps onto the apron, climbs to the top rope, and perches, lying in wait.

Cancer slowly, groggily, lumbers up to his feet.

Sage tosses him the steel chair!

Cancer catches it instinctively!

Sage leaps! MISSILE DROPKICK!!!

But Cancer sidesteps It!

Sage hits the mat!!!

CRACK!!!

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD!!! THE ROOKIE JUST CRACKED SAGE’S EGG WITH THAT STEEL CHAIR!!!

Cancer laughs. It was just kinda funny. He tosses the chair out of the ring! He makes the cover!!

Richard Parker: HA! No ref, rookie! And it’s your fault!

Nick Stuart: Richard! You’re alive!

Richard Parker: You can’t keep a good man down, Nick! A bit of veteran knowledge for you.

Richard Parker is right though. There is no ref. Cancer gets off Sage and goes and (gently) slaps Elvis Nixon awake.

Elvis groggily begins crawling over to Sage, and Cancer makes the cover, hooking both legs!

ONE!!!

…

…

…

TWO!!!

…

…

…

THREEEEEEEEEEEE– NOOOOOO!!!!

Nick Stuart: Sage kicks out! Sage kicks out, with not a millisecond of time left for him to do so!

Richard Parker: See, he pulled the ref move at the wrong time. This is the right time in the match to pull the ref move. Dumb rookie.

Cancer is livid with Elvis, but he knows there’s still a match to win. He just slaps his hands quickly in front of his face to indicate that’s how fast a ref should do a three count. Then he mounts Sage and–

Nick Stuart: GETS ROLLED UP INTO A SMALL PACKAGE!!!

Richard Parker: HAHAHA!! LOOK AT HIS LITTLE ROOKIE LEGS FLAILING!!!

Cancer reaches his feet and charges towards Sage!

Arm drag!!!

Back up to his feet, another arm drag!!!

One more time, and another arm drag!!!

Sage is gaining some momentum, and he’s especially in tune with those kinds of mystical forces, so he feels it even more than the crowd that is collectively humming with energy, and growing louder.

A running knee lift right into Cancer sends him staggering backwards into the turnbuckle. The Bodhisattva charges, and sends Cancer flying back across the ring with a monkey flip!

Cancer hits the mat and, like he doesn’t know he should stop getting up, staggers up to his feet.

Kick to the gut from Sage!!

SHAMANIC DREAMWEAVER!!!!

NOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: Cancer reverses and delivers a back body drop to Pontiff!!!

Sage scrambles to his feet, and runs RIGHT INTO THE COOLYMPIAN YOLJK!!!

Richard Parker: NO!!!

TERMINAL CANCER!!!!

JILES MAKES THE COVER!!!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREEEEEEE!!!

Nick Stuart: Unbelievable! The Rookie, who savagely attacked my cohort in this match tonight, picks up a massive win on his impressive rookie campaign!!

Richard Parker: (trying to sound unbothered) cool cool coolcoolcoolcool

Cancer Jiles winks at Richard Parker.

Yeah, he is fucking cool.

Vince Howard: The winner of this contest… The Rookie!!! Cancer Jiles!!!

Rookies also don’t get the camera lingering on them afterwards.

We cut elsewhere.

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

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

Steve’s eyes open at the last mention of Monsters and “Set Your Soul Free,” by Trey Anastasio w/ Derek Trucks begins to rapidly play. He lifts the Five Star Championship above his head and winks towards the crowd as they begin to boo and cheer him as some fans remember that Steve Harrison was once billed from Montreal.

He moves his arms back down and he stares at the title. He rubs it a few times with an annoyed look on his handsome face, only one upped by his beautiful baldhead. Finally, ok with what the title looks like he begins to walk down the ramp towards the ring.

Nick Stuart: It seems like some fans didn’t forget Steve spent some time living in Montreal recently.

Richard Parker: These fans are so unfaithful. Every single one of them should be standing on their feet and cheering on someone who made something of themselves after living in this French colony.

Nick Stuart: I apologize to Montreal for my college here. But, what about Steve coming out without anyone from the Octopus?

Richard Parker: Pfft…he doesn’t need any back up.

Steve gets to the ring and grabs a mic. He slides the title carefully and then follows behind it into the ring. He picks the belt back up and lays it across his large right shoulder and gives the fans a smirk.

Steve Harrison: Let me try something here.

He puts the mic to his lips and leans his head back.

Steve Harrison: From Montreal, Quebec, Canada…

The crowd starts to pop in a frenzy, but Harrison pauses and does a circle around the ring, shrugging and smiling at each side in the arena.

Steve Harrison: …A bunch of poutine eating, Hab’s loving, lame ass, loser wrestling fans who don’t deserve MY presence.

Oh yea.

That did it.

BOOOOOOOOOO

BAISE DE TOI!

The screams echo through the arena and Harrison places the title across his head so both straps are covering his ears.

Steve Harrison: WHOA, WHOA, THIS IS A FAMILY SHOW!

TU SUCES!

Welp, they continued anyway.

Steve Harrison: Nobody understands what you jealous beaver smashers are saying anyway. Everyone watching at home, do not, I REPEAT DO NOT google what these disloyal fans are yelling at me.

More boos and heckles follow from the fans but we will not let the impressionable youth hear them as Harrison just waves them off and points at the nice clean belt on his shoulder.

Steve Harrison: Ok, ok, are you all done? I know you all wish you could touch this pristine Five Star Title. This is the cleanest it has been in over a year. There isn’t even a  Smudge on it.

Harrison winks at the camera.

Steve Harrison: Nobody has done drugs off of it, nobody has dripped blood on it, and nobody has had their carnal desires explode all over it. It is the opposite of all your futures: bright.

Ugh, yes, you guessed it the crowd goes in again on our heroic Miracle Man. The Man that Magic wished it could seep into begins to pace inside the ring, his smirk never ceasing.

Steve Harrison: This isn’t about you traitorous fans though, this is about ME and the fact I went from disrespected to ignored. Nobody has taken the step up to issue me a challenge or try to dissuade me of my momentum.

He laughs.

Steve Harrison: JCH survived me, he didn’t win anything AND HE NEVER WILL!

YOU LOST!

DO YOU KNOW HOW TO COUNT?!?!

Harrison’s smirk fades and he grits his teeth at the mean insults he is hearing. He shakes his head and pats the title defensively as it lays back on his right shoulder.

Steve Harrison: SHUT UP! Where is your cuck hero now? Nowhere to be seen because he is afraid of me just like everyone else back there…

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

Richard Parker: Oh no… not those dreaded BOOM BLAPS!

The crowd reaction turns on a dime as “Blouses Blue” by Konrad OldMoney and Sleep Steady pumps in over the PA. Two bold, ominous words cross the PRIMEview…

V A E   V I C T I S

Eschewing the usual lights and pyros, KERRY KUROYAMA strides out of the entry-way, wearing basic jeans and a sleeveless black t-shirt bearing the winged “W” logo of the Vae Victis Wingmen. Without delay, he advances down the rampway, looking ready to GET SURRIOUS on somebody.

The Five Stat Champion turns his head and stares with a look of concern at the sight of Kerry Kuroyama stomping down towards the ring. It is not secret that Harrison is not a fan of Vae Victus and had some choice words for Clay Byrd recently.

Nick Stuart: Looks like Kerry did not enjoy what he was hearing and by the looks of things Harrison isn’t happy about seeing Kerry.

Richard Parker: How many shots does he think he deserves at the title?

The Emerald Apex slaps hands with a few fans reaching across the barricade, but otherwise keeps his focus on the Immortal Jellyfish standing in the ring. He snags a microphone from Vince before reaching the steps, and briefly pauses to lower his head and clutch the bridge of his nose.

Richard Parker: What’s he doing? Throwing up a prayer that Harrison doesn’t beat his ass over this interruption?

Nick Stuart: Don’t you know, Rich? If there’s one thing Kerry Kuroyama hates, it’s an in-ring promo!

Richard Parker: …what?

Nick Stuart: Which is why he has to mentally prepare himself for what he’s about to do right now! He has to swallow his pride and confront Steve Harrison face to face!

Richard Parker: Um… okay?

When the moment is right, Kerry lifts his head, climbs the steps to the apron, and steps through the ropes. As the music dies down, he impatiently paces back and forth on one side of the ring while the Five Star Champion stands in place on the other side, staring daggers back at him.

Kerry Kuroyama: Jesus, Steve… what the hell are we doing here? I mean, really? Look around you. Do you see what you’re standing in right now?

Kuroyama stomps the mat and flicks the near set of ropes.

Kerry Kuroyama: You’re not standing on a stage. You’re in a wrestling ring. Made for wrestling matches. Which is exactly what these people have paid to see. If they wanted to listen to some jackass crash and burn on his stand-up routine, they would’ve gone a couple blocks up the road to Comedy Montreal. Am I right?

He directs this last question to the fans, who respond with confused silence.

Kerry Kuroyama: …err, um… êtes-vous d’accord?

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

Harrison shakes his head violently from side to side trying to force the crowd to stop. Of course it doesn’t work but this intrusion has seemed to get under The Miracle Mans skin very quickly.

Steve Harrison: FICKLE ****FANS, THE LOT OF THEM!

Kerry Kuroyama: Cool, cool… anyway, Steve, if there’s anything I know about this industry, it’s that every asshole with a set of lips and vocal cords likes to hear themselves talk. But for all that talking, so very, very few of them actually have anything important to say. But unlike you, I actually have something to say, and it might be of particular interest to you. I know it will interest these fans. How about it, êtes-vous d’accord?

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

Kerry flashes the camera a smirk, mentally patting himself on the back for these lay-ups in winning over the crowd. The Immortal Jellyfish sees where this is going and continues shaking his head as he begins to rub the title again.

Kerry Kuroyama: See just a little while ago, I happened to speak with our dear CEO, Lindsay Troy–

Steve can’t control himself anymore, his face getting red in anger.

Steve Harrison: –YOU MEAN YOUR STABLEMATE?!?!

Kerry Kuroyama: (shrugging) Potato, prosciutto. The point is, Steve, while you’re out here under the belief that nobody back there has the guts to challenge you, I happen to know who your next challenger will be in two weeks at UltraViolence.

Kuroyama’s smile grows wide.

Kerry Kuroyama: And you’re looking right at him…

“QUOI?!”

Kerry Kuroyama: Shit, sorry, um… TU LE REGARDES!

“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!”

Harrison takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling of the arena as he tries to calm himself down from hearing this news. He leans against the turnbuckle and covers his ears trying to drown the crowd out as he silently talks to himself.

Kerry Kuroyama: Take your time, Steve. Let it sink in. You don’t have to like it, but if it’s any consolation, the both of us have something to gain. For you, a chance to even the score from ReVival 56. And for me… a chance to take what should’ve been mine at Colossus. Either way, you’ll no longer stain that title with your–

Steve Harrison: Oh no, oh no! I will not stand for this type of bullshit and hear about this beautiful title being stained. IT IS SPOTLESS DAMMIT! But…you are right about one thing, Kerry: I will even the score.

Out of no where our beloved manager Jack Marley all recovered from getting destroyed at Manhunt and of course the addiction he also fought through? Survived? Yea that works. He comes jogging towards the ring with Doc walking slowly behind him because he is old. He gets outside the ring the begins yelling at Kerry. Kerry just waves him off…

Kerry Kuroyama: Oh, now what the hell is this? Look, if you guys are interested in doing an in-ring promo also, you’re going to have to wait your–

…but that one little turn of the head was all Harrison needed.

SMACK!

Steve runs at Kerry and levels him with the title belt. Kerry takes the brunt and falls backwards on to the mat. Steve does not follow up though as he freezes in place and looks down at the title and starts hyperventilating.

Nick Stuart: What is wrong with Steve?

Richard Parker: The title got dirty, Nick!

Doc slowly gets into the ring and starts whispering to Harrison but it doesn’t seem to be working. The Man of Miracle Island just stares at the title and begins rubbing whatever just got on it with his palm and talking to himself. Doc has had enough and slaps the ever loving shit out of Harrisons face. He blinks and looks at Doc and then sees Kerry begin to stir on the mat. He rolls out of the ring hugging his now dirty title belt.

Steve Harrison: I hate you Montreal!

Steve groans as they continue swearing in french towards him.

Steve Harrison: Kerry, I will take joy in being the reason you fail again at winning this title. Vae Victus is a bunch of elitist clowns and I will rub that make up off your face with my knee!

The Octopus clan finally make it to the entrance and disappear behind the curtain.

Slow and groggy, Kuroyama eventually pushes himself back up, clutching the back of his head and looking absolutely incensed.

Kerry Kuroyama: Goddamnit… THIS is why I hate in-rings!

The scene cuts backstage.

We’re back in the most sensitive conference room in the Centre Bell Arena, and it looks like it’s decorated for graduation. Streamers hang from the ceiling (some barely, thanks to the earlier ceiling tile collapse). A banner reads: “Congrats, Sensitive Soviet Soldiers!” in glittery letters. A folding table is set up with paper certificates, juice boxes, and a tray of vaguely patriotic cupcakes.

The Wonderful Wizards of Waves, Bowie Abrams and Bradlee Nelson, stand proudly at the front of the room. They have with them each a graduation pool noodle for each member of The Red Army. A tropical version of “Pomp and Circumstance” plays.

The Red Army stands in a crooked line. Bruised, battered, and beyond unamused. Well, Randall Schwartz is less standing and more propped up with Speedy on one side of him and Kenny on the other. Schwartz’ entire body is wrapped in ice and cling wrap. But one of his arms is free, and still giving a thumbs up. Dawkins is stationed off to the side, still showing complete indifference toward the situation.

Dam and LT are still at their posts against the wall. Bowie and Bradlee look at the Queen and she gives a slight nod.

Bowie Abrams: Dudes and Dudettes… what a journey it’s been. You came in here as totally cold, unfeeling machines of war…

Bradlee Nelson: …and now you leave as slightly less cold, marginally more feeling war machines with heart!

Bowie Abrams: And now, with the approval of the most awesome excellency of excellenceness and execution, we are proud to say that you have passed and will be awarded official Certificates of Sensitivity and congratulatory pool noodles.

As Bowie and Bradlee speak, LT slips out of the room, phone to her ear.

Bradlee Nelson: A pool noodle, you see, is soft but also strong. It floats through rough waters without sinking, just like your feelings.

Bowie Abrams: It bends, but doesn’t break. Flexible, like your emotional growth.

Bradlee Nelson: And if someone is being real heinous with you, you can bop ‘em with it, but you gotta do it gently.

Bowie Abrams: So we’ll call your names and then—

Ivan roars.

Ivan Stanislav: I have had enough of this!

Rose: Oh, now he has enough of it. La-dee-fucking-da.

The Russian Bear barrels towards the door, grabs it, and flings it open. He storms out of the room, knocking the door itself clean off the hinges in the process while leaving the rest to just watch him.

Dam immediately takes off after Ivan. Surf Express Bro looks a bit crestfallen, but Bowie places a big red noodle to the side for later and addresses the group.

Bradlee Nelson: Alexei Ruslan, please come and accept your certificate and noodle…

We cut to Ivan, who marches angrily backstage down the hallway. He’s a freight train of fury, his frame bearing the bruises of the night and the emotional insults that have piled up throughout the evening.

It’s been boiling for weeks, no, months. Since Culture Shock. Some might not think Stanislav’s demeanor has changed much, but it has. He’s lost his faith and patience with Troy, with PRIME, with everything. Ruslan had met with her post-Culture Shock and let her know where they stood, but Stanislav had not once interacted with Lindsay Troy directly.

Not until now.

He rounds another corner and nearly barrels directly towards Lindsay Troy herself, who has her back turned to him, her phone dangling in her hand by her side. He stalks after her, seeing her from afar, and roars down the hallway as he thuds in her direction. His opening salvo is loud enough anyone in earshot would be able to hear it.

Ivan Stanislav: You think you are SO cute, do you not, Lindsay?! Fining myself and Russian people not enough for you?! That girl knocked my tooth out, and for what? She is wrestler, she asked for it, she wanted it. I taught her important lesson. And Chandler Tsonda, that no good son of bitch brought it upon himself, insulting my friend, harassing my staff!

He froths.

Ivan Stanislav: You have no idea what I have been going through and you want to poke and prod me and get a laugh at MY expense?!

Ivan listens as Lindsay takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. When she turns to him, her lips are pursed together tightly, and her expression is stony.

Lindsay Troy: Ivan, come to my office.

He growls and waves a finger at her.

Ivan Stanislav: I have seen this trick thousand times, Lady Troy. Walk me to office and what, have another joke? Sit on your throne, kick feet up and belittle me? Hide behind your station? If you have something to say to me, you say it to me here!

The Queen says nothing, only shakes her head.

Lindsay Troy: You really should come to my office.

Ivan leans forward so his huge head is nearly nose to nose with her.

Ivan Stanislav: And what? Have two more misfit idiots dump balloons on my head? Maybe you get tar and feathers, eh? You want to fine me again where all your pens and paperweights sit?! I stand where I stand and there is nothing you can do to move me!

Lindsay takes another breath, but her exhale is shaky. As she looks at Ivan, her strong facade begins to crack, and her hazel eyes glisten.

Lindsay Troy: It’s Fanya.

He stares at her, taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanor throwing him off balance, and the words echo in the hallway, silently between them. He tightens his jaw and blinks rapidly, his breathing suddenly puffing loudly through his nostrils as he growls.

Ivan Stanislav: She is not fodder for jokes…

Lindsay Troy: I would never joke about this.

Her lower lip quivers and she tries to blink back the tears.

Lindsay Troy: Ivan, I’m so sorry.

His eyes dance about her face, erratically moving this way and that. He shakes his head and blinks quickly again and clears his throat. Without saying another word, he rushes around Troy, and runs down the hallway.

Lindsay Troy: Ivan!

The Queen’s attempt to call back the Bear falls on deaf ears and she’s left there in the hallway, alone.

Backstage, not far from the curtain, we find Rexton William Bader rolling along with no business whatsoever being this close to the main auditorium, except he’s ranting what sounds like, “Who’m I supposed to blow to get some handi-accessibility out here? Does nobody realize how steep that ramp is? What if we’d had a match tonight? That’s like a fucking bobsled track out there.” And on and on.

Until, out from the shadows, steps one Hayes Hanlon.

Correction: One very pissed-off-looking Hayes Hanlon.

Richard Parker: Oh no! Run away, Rexton! Run! Er, I mean, ROLL Rexton! Roll! …Nobody tell him I said that. Hey, back there in the truck, I need a quick edit before Rexton gets a copy of–

Nick Stuart: By the look of Hayes Hanlon, Richard, you might not have to worry. There might not be much left of Rexton William Bader to see any copy of this.

Upon further inspection, Hanlon looks less “pissed off” than “maniacal.” Like he might start twitching. He steps forward, forcing Bader to wheel backward.

Hayes Hanlon: (pointing to a bandage on his forehead) I’ve managed to get through the last few years without any scars, Bader. But you’ve given two in the last month and a half. And man, that just doesn’t sit right with me.

Rexton William Bader: Hayes, Hayes, now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I cracked you with my tank, and maybe kind-of sort-of had a smidge to do with you losing the Intense title. But that ain’t what happened. That ain’t what really happened. Hear me out. See, I was–

Hayes puts his foot on Bader’s chair, between Bader’s knees–de ja vu–and pushes him backward.

Hayes Hanlon: Buddy, you know this shit gets streamed online, right? Fred can rub his lasagna all over that cartoon title all he wants. But you and me? We’re way beyond titles.

Rexton William Bader: Hayes, Hayes, I’m telling you! This was all a big misunderstanding. You’re gonna laugh, I swear. You’re gonna–

It’s at this moment that Hayes Hanlon pushes Bader’s chair back again… and the chair is caught/stopped, by none other than Jason Snow.

Hayes Hanlon: (sneering) Just when I thought I hadn’t got enough silent treatment.

Bader looks over his shoulder to see the Original Villain, hands on the wheelchair handles, saving they day. Bader’s tone shifts, turning back to the Event Horizon.

Rexton William Bader: Did I not crack you hard enough last show, Hanlon!? Are you actually as stupid as you look? Or did I knock you down so many IQ points you’re looking to get even more knocked out of you? Do you have any idea who I am, Hayes? I’m The Master! Even now that I’m half the man I used to be, I’d beat your ass just like I did last week. Don’t hold me back, Snow! Let me square up with this Bert Reynolds-looking asshole, one on one. Me and you, Hanlon! Snow, you’d better hold me back. Or I’m gonna–

It looks like Hayes Hanlon is about to kick a hole in Bader’s face when Jason Snow steps around and in front of Bader, face to face with Hayes Hanlon. All is silent now, save for the quiet squeak of Rexton Bader’s chair as he slowly backs away.

Snow and Hanlon are nose to nose.

Hayes Hanlon: Never in a million years, Snow. Never in a million – did I think I’d see you like–

Hayes looks Snow up and down with disgust.

Hayes Hanlon: –this.

Jason Snow: …

Hayes Hanlon: Listen. Your buddy here is going to get what’s coming to him. Wheelchair or not. And you? You already did. But if you’re looking for round, what, 3? 4?

Hayes inches forward a touch, but something catches his attention, drawing it briefly away from Snow and toward Rexton William Bader.

But not exactly at Rexton William Bader. More…right behind him. A little to the left.

Where a figure steps out of the shadows. Blonde hair. Blue jacket. A look in his eyes that we haven’t seen in a while. Not since he talked with Matt Mills in Spokane.

Oh, no.

When you’ve lived a life like the Original Villain, you gain a kind of sixth sense. Something that warns you about incoming trouble, whether you can see it or not.

Jason feels it go off, like the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Unfortunately for him, it’s a little slow today.

So when he turns to stare the new danger in the face, he ends up staring it in the elbow.

CRACK!

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton! Nate Colton has arrived on the scene! And he almost decapitated Jason Snow with that elbow!

The blow is enough to turn Snow back around, putting him in perfect position for the follow up. A pair of arms moved with precision; one slipping underneath Jason’s shoulder and around his neck; the other pulling Snow’s own arm across his neck.

Rexton William Bader: Okay, look, I can see all you guys have problems with each other, but it has nothing to do with me. So I’m just gonna be on my way.

But there’s a problem. Wheelchair’s are not the most maneuverable devices, and he can’t quite maneuver around the fallen Jason Snow, especially while Nate Colton is deftly slipping a Colton Clutch on him. Snow’s fighting it, but his eyes are still crossed.

Nick Stuart: If these three keep going, someone is going to get seriously hurt!

Richard Parker: I’ve got a feeling that someone is going to be Jason Snow.

Bader tries to work himself out of harm’s way on the other side, but that’s where Hayes Hanlon is, watching all of this unfold and wildly amused, laughing through his teeth and nose, and stopping Bader with a foot once more.

Colton, meanwhile, is either talking to one of them, both of them, or no one in particular. Despite the exertion required to maintain the hold, especially on a seasoned veteran, his voice is eerily calm.

Nate Colton: There’s a reason we put our name on this hold. I’ve spent half my life learning it, inside and out. How to grip the opponent’s wrist. How hard to pull the arm. Where to put pressure on the carotid artery. We know this hold better than anyone else in the world.

Richard Parker: Is he explaining to Snow how he’s putting him to sleep, WHILE he’s putting him to sleep? Or is he telling Bader? Or Hanlon?

Nate Colton: The old man made sure of that. If we wanted to carry his name, and use his move, he’d make sure we did it right. Drilled me on it for months before I was allowed to use it, even in practice. Over and over again, ‘til I could put it on perfectly every time.

He’s looking at Hayes now, while explaining all this. Snow throws a clumsy hand at Colton’s face, harmessly.

Nate Colton: And one of the first things he taught us about the Clutch, was to never, ever…do this.

A slight twist of the arm. To the average viewer, and some of the greener wrestlers, it might be imperceptible. But Hayes sees it…and Jason definitely feels it. His face quickly turns red, and his flailing becomes more desperate.

Suddenly finding yourself in a chokehold will do that to you.

Nate Colton: I have been so goddamn patient with all of you. I have restrained myself, I have held back, for three years…out of respect. For the sport, the business, and my opponents. And you sniveling fucks have taken advantage of that at every turn. You have proven, time and again, that the exact amount of respect you deserve is none. And now, that’s exactly what you’re going to get.

What Nate Colton doesn’t notice, because he’s strangling Jason Snow with his eyes on an ever-dangerous Hayes Hanlon, is the one guy he’s not watching, the guy in a wheelchair, is currently unstrapping the oxygen tank from said chair.

Nick Stuart: Nate! Nate look out! He’s about to–

But apparently Colton was keeping an eye on Bader the whole time, because:

Nate Colton: Try it, shitbird. I’ll cancel your meal ticket before you even get close.

Bader has the tank in hand, but he’s a couple of revolutions away from Nate (and the ever-slouching Jason Snow), so he freezes.

Hayes Hanlon: Don’t mind if I do…

Hanlon reaches in and plucks the tank out of Bader’s hands.

Rexton William Bader: Hey! Hey, I need that! I need that to BREATHE!

Hayes toggles the tank around, like it’s heavier than he expected it to be.

Hayes Hanlon: The hell are you breathing, Bader? Lead? 

Hanlon continues to toss the tank between his hands, and eyeballs Colton.

Hayes Hanlon: Y’know, I bet this thing would feel a lot freakin’ worse cracking into your nose than that belt did, Nate.

Nate Colton: You better make it count, then. Because you’re next.

Hammerin’ Hanlon laughs from deep in his chest at the notion, bouncing the tank on his shoulder like a baseball bat with which he’s trying to get familiar.

Hayes Hanlon: Don’t flatter yourself, DiAmOnd. You shoved your brown nose in our business. That was your choice. I’ll flatten your ass again if you’re patient, but in the meantime, this sonnuvabitch–

Hanlon points at Rexton William Bader.

Hayes Hanlon: –needs it first.

And then advances.

Rexton William Bader: Hey! Hey, come on now. What’s this got to do with me?

He’s backing up. There’s nowhere to go… except through the curtain, out into the arena, the top of the entrance ramp, dangerous pitch and all. Upon seeing Bader in person, the audience begins to boo wildly.

Hayes follows him out.

Split screen. On one, we see Hanlon advancing on a defenseless Rexton William Bader. On the other, we see Nate Colton still in the process of putting Jason Snow to sleep on the backstage side of the curtain. But he’s been momentarily distracted by Hayes, with a weapon, stalking a paraplegic out onto a dangerously-sloped ramp.

Nate Colton: I’m not done with you, Hayes! GET BACK HERE, YOU CHICKENSHIT MOTH–

And the thing about Jason Snow is he doesn’t need much of an opening. The slight distraction is enough. Snow manages to spin an elbow into Nate Colton’s face.

Nick Stuart: Jason Snow returns the favor! This is getting out of hand!

Colton grabs Snow and looks for a short-arm clothesline, but Snow manages to push him off and then…

Richard Parker: Snake Eyes!

It doesn’t land perfectly, but it lands enough. Colton goes down. But Snow seems to have put everything he had into that one desperate kick, and he goes down on all fours.

One screen now, and it’s on the top of the ramp, where Hayes Hanlon is slowly backing Bader up toward the ramp’s edge. Bader has his hands up defensively, but it’s only a matter of time. We can all feel it. He’s getting tanked.

Neither man is mic’d up, so the voices are hollow and not easy to understand.

Rexton William Bader: Hayes, Hayes, I’m not a young man. I’m in a wheelchair, Hayes. And and and I got breathing problems. I need my tank. Can you give me my tank?

Hayes Hanlon: Every freakin’ ounce of it.

Hayes takes the tank in both hands and tries a couple of slow, deliberate practice swings. Bader has no more room to backtrack. He is half a revolution from toppling fifteen feet to the concrete floor.

The audience seems very conflicted by all of this. They all hate Bader’s guts, of course, but… come on… he’s in a wheelchair.

Rexton William Bader: Please! Please, Hayes! Please! Please! Ple–GO FUCK YOURSELF!

What?

Hayes Hanlon knows something must have changed. And he has a pretty good idea what it is. He turns around to find that, indeed, Jason Snow has burst through the curtain–the crowd has no idea how to react to any of this and it’s all just an insane amount of static noise now–and he’s stumbling quickly Hayes’s way.

Hayes swings the tank.

Snow ducks.

Snake Eyes!

No!

Hayes ducks!

Snow turns back toward Hayes and ducks again… but this time Hayes swings the tank low. And snaps Jason Snow’s head so hard it damn near breaks his neck. So hard that the impact jars the tank free from Hayes’s hands and it goes bouncing and rolling down the ramp toward the ring.

Nick Stuart: Oh my God! I think he just killed Jason Snow!

Richard Parker: If there’s one thing we should all know by now, Nick, it’s Jason Snow doesn’t die. No matter what the rumors say.

It wouldn’t be hard to believe though. Snow is chest down on the side of the ramp, eyes closed, drooling into his beard. Already there’s blood pooling around his head.

Hayes stares down at his work for a few moments. And then he turns his attention back to Bader.

Nick Stuart: What’s Hayes Hanlon going to do here? What’s–Oh no!

Nick gets his answer when Hayes grabs Bader by his collar and pulls him up out of the chair. Bader’s feet are dangling.

Nick Stuart: No! No, Hanlon, this is too far!

Bader’s aviator sunglasses are sitting diagonally across his face. Hanlon is saying something we can’t hear and Rexton William Bader is begging for his life.

But here comes Nate Colton to save the day!

Except sometimes the hero is a second too late. Colton only has time to make the briefest of eye contact with Hayes before Hanlon, with a smirk, almost nonchalantly tosses Rexton William Bader–known paraplegic–over the edge of the ramp, fifteen feet to the floor.

Nick Stuart: No! No!

CRASH!

Richard Parker: …oh my God.

It’s pandemonium out there. Some fans are screaming, some are cheering. The staff are calling for medics. The Comeback Kid watches it all from his perch at the top of the ramp, smirking at his handiwork before turning away.

Moments later, he’s replaced on the screen by Nate Colton. The New Diamond looks down on the carnage with a look of horror…that turns into one of disgust…that turns into…

We’ve seen this look before too. Again, in Spokane. Right before the bell rang, signaling the start of his war with Ivan Stanislav.

Oh, no.

Hanlon’s just a few steps from the curtain, still looking utterly pleased with himself.

He’ll never make it.

Because sometimes the hero is a second too late…but the guy who just wants to make some asshole suffer? Well, he’s a little faster.

CLANG!

That’s the sound that Hayes Hanlon makes, when Colton grabs him by the back of the collar and pulls him straight down onto the platform.

“RRAAAAAAAAHHHH!!”

That’s the sound the crowd makes, when the New Diamond mounts the Event Horizon and lays into him with all the hate in his heart.

Nick Stuart: Good Lord! Colton is slamming the back of Hanlon’s head right into that steel platform!

Teeth grit and eyes wide, Hayes takes the beatings from the New Diamond, utnil he presses his hands into the steel. In an impressive display of strength, the Event Horizon performs a crazed push-up before turning his hips hard, reversing the mount, and smacks the ever-loving-shit out of Nate’s jaw.

Richard Parker: You can hear that slap in British Columbia!!!

Wild and enraged, Hayes rips Nate from the floor, hurling him into a nearby wall. Snoring and teeth greet, Hayes stalks forward–

–until he finds himself wrapped up in a pair of big, strong, black arms.

Dametreyus: Alright, that’s enough, Boss.

PRIME’s Head of Security does his best to hold back Hanlon. Lucky for him, PRIME also has a Bad Dog on the loose, and Wade Elliott steps into frame, face to face with the wrapped-up Comeback Kid.

Wade Elliott: Take a breather, kid. Dam ain’t lost enough steps t’handle yer big ass.

As if anticipating it, Wade turns left, and holds out a hand to catch the charging chest of Nate Colton.

Wade Elliott: An’ you too, son. Shove yer nose in too many places an’ it’ll end up covered in dogshit.

Hayes Hanlon: (while struggling in Dam’s arms) You hear that, Nate!?

Colton, eyes full of fury, can’t help but turn his attention to Hanlon, laughing behind his ‘stache.

Hayes Hanlon: Your nose is covered in SHIT!!

Dam pulls Hanlon back, and Wade continues to hold Colton at bay with a stiff arm and calm words. Meanwhile, the camera pans, and peers over the edge of the ramp, focusing in on Bader’s stirring body, seemingly broken on top of a cracked table and electrical boxes.

Nick Stuart: We need–We should go somewhere else. Find something else to show us. We can’t show this.

Ivan Stanislav’s  heavy footfalls thud down the hallway while making his way through the Centre Bell Arena, with his huge phone pressed against his ear. He nearly barrels through a few backstage technicians as he makes his way to the garage.

And then it happens.

It happens almost too fast for the camera to make sense of it—or at least for the audience to do so. What is it?

In one moment, Stanislav is crossing the threshold into the garage where this whole evening started, his face a twisted mix of concern and frustration and… something else. He’s making his way towards his truck without his entourage, without his comrades, without his gear.

But in a moment, a split second, the towering Russian Bear, a walking redwood of a man, is reduced to literally half his size as one of his knees simply crumples, down to a knee. It all happens as fast as a lightning strike.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Or, say, as fast as a Viper’s strike.

In every other measure of comeuppance, in every other milestone moment of Chandler Tsonda’s proud wrestling career, this would be when a pithy comment accompanies the violence of the barbed wire baseball bat he just punched into the upper spine of Ivan Stanislav.

The wordlessness amplifies the visceral roar that erupts from The Russian Bear as he uses his hands to prevent himself from faceplanting. His back surges as he pushes himself up to a knee again. But it’s useless.

Coming out of Chandler Tsonda’s mouth is just the palpable huffy exhale, as he corks back once again, and this time he brings the jagged teeth of and head of the bat into Stanislav’s lower back with a sickening THUD. This forces the proud Russian down to all fours. The blows, with all their pent up rage and hatred, would have obliterated a lesser man, but by all the gods is it hard to even get the legend this far down.

Tsonda is sweating, his black hair unkempt across his brow, and he’s breathing heavily. By his standards, he looks like a shit took a shit. His eyes, wild and ravenous, never leave Ivan.

The multiple-time Universal Champion swings wildly with a paw to his right, looking back over his shoulder, not even knowing where or what has happened to him. However, rotating sets off a painful chain reaction. He misses Chandler by a mile, and there is a moment of eye contact between the two men, the two legends stuck in this unending spiral of violence.

The bat comes down across the back of Ivan’s neck and sends him to the floor.

It comes down again, as if the Model Citizen swings with enough ferocity, he thinks he might reverse time and that Jasmine Jeong might not face down with the might of the Russian Army. Again and again he bludgeons The Russian Bear, who through sheer force of will and rage, repeatedly, stubbornly, and uselessly tries to push himself up again. Stanislav lets out a primal roar of anguish.

Under the Bear’s shirt, the barbed wire around the bat has torn several small holes, from which a small seep of blood materializes. With each pull back, it mulches parts of the shirt, tearing it free and exposing pale, bloody Russian skin beneath. With one final swing, Tsonda sends the bat crashing down across the back of the head of Stanislav, and the Bear finally goes down with a sickening, wet thud.

Tsonda, his work done, throws the bat down with a clang, long before any security can arrive. He snarls at Stanislav, before turning away to leave.

Chandler Tsonda: You fuck.

Vince Howard: The following match is a ladder match and is for the PRIME TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: I would expect this to be one of the more brutal matches we’ve seen in quite some time.

Richard Parker: Yes, I would say that’s an accurate assessment.

The arena lights cut out and strobing white lights shine from the floor near the entrance at the top of the ramp. An awful and untalented bass line booms from the PA system, followed by an overly dramatized Boston Irish accent.

“This one’s going out to all the scumbags, lowlifes, and outsiders.”

Fuck Your Tag Team appears at the top of the ramp, the white light shining from the floor behind them, casting vast shadows across the ring of their outlines. “Wasted Youth Crew” by Blood for Blood offends the ears of everyone in the arena.

“Fuck you

Fuck you

Fuck you

and fuck society too.”

Rob Williams and Anna Daniels look locked in, staring at the empty ring as they slowly make their way towards it, ignoring the jeers of the fans. Rob slaps the popcorn out of a fan’s hands before climbing into the ring.  Anna dances around avoiding every fan’s hand that goes to reach out for her before sliding under the bottom rope and slithering to her feet.

“Fuck you

fuck you

fuck you

and fuck the world.”

Vince Howard: Introducing first, at a combined weight of three hundred seventy five pounds… from Mount Perdition, Gallifrey – ANNNNNNNAAAAAAA DAAAAAANIELLLLLLSSSSS! From Decatur, Georgia… THE LEGEND RROOOBBBB WIIIIIIILLLLLLLLIIIIIIAAAAAAAMMMMSSSS! FUCK! YOUR! TAG! TEAM!

OHHHH FUUUUUUUUUCK THIS TAG TEAM!

OHHHHHH FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKK TTTHHHIIIIIISSSSS TTTAAAAGG TTTEEAAAMM!

This announcement brings the crowd to song in the style of Seven Nation Army, Anna’s eyes narrow and Williams responds by flipping the fans the bird in response. After a few rounds of the chorus, the fans pipe down momentarily, that is until…

We begin to hear the first few beats of a slowly-becoming-more-familiar melody. White lights pulse throughout the stadium.

“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

🎵

As the white lights continue to pulse, green and teal and orange beacons slowly swirl about the stage to reveal a very handsome cardboard cutout lineup of four gentlemen.

Cardsworth.

Hayesboard.

CardJoe.

FLAMBoard.

Each figure strikes a dangerously weird pose with the sort of wild unblinking gaze that can only be achieved from a print shop.

🎵

BUT YOU’VE GOT PARLIAMENTS FILLED WITH PARASITES, PLUS

MARQUEES WITH YOUR NAME IN LIGHTS

A STAR IS BORN AND THAT’S THE TRADE, FOR EVERYONE YOU KNOW

🎵

Teal and green sparks begin to fire off as CardJoe and FLAMBoard are violently kicked over by the very real Joe Fontaine and FLAMBERGE. They take a few steps forward, shoulder-to-shoulder, before turning and fistbumping Cardsworth and Hayesboard.

🎵

LET’S GO PAINT THE TOWN ON OUR WAY HOME

THE BLINKING LIGHTS ARE BREAKING BONES

CAST ALL YOUR SPELLS, AND THEN YOU HAVE

THAT GOOD OLD FASHIONED RAZZMATAZZ

🎵

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, introducing…at a combined height of 11 feet 9 inches…representing the GLUUUUUUUEMINATIIIIIIIII! JOOOOOOE FONTAIIIIIINE, AND FLAAAAMBERRRRGE!

The anticipation in the arena reaches a fever pitch as Joe Fontaine and FLAMBERGE begin their descent down the entrance ramp, but their confident swagger is short-lived. From the ring, Fuck Your Tag Team slips through the ropes and charges towards the champions like a pair of hunting wolves.

Richard Parker: Now THAT’S what I’m talking about! Why wait for the opening bell when you can take the fight to your opponents right here and now?

Nick Stuart: This is an absolute ambush, Richard! Anna Daniels and Rob Williams have completely blindsided their opponents before this match has even officially begun!

Richard Parker: It’s called strategy, Nick. You don’t give guys like Joe Fontaine time to pull out one of those ridiculous chairs from his “Jolf Bag” or let FLAMBERGE get his bearings. You strike first and you strike hard.

Williams barrels into FLAMBERGE like a freight train, immediately unloading with a vicious series of rapid-fire right hands that find their mark repeatedly against the French Phenom’s ribs and solar plexus. FLAMBERGE stumbles backward, his hands instinctively coming up to protect his face, but Williams is relentless in his assault. Meanwhile, Daniels closes the distance on Fontaine with the calculated precision of a seasoned fighter.

With FLAMBERGE reeling from the initial barrage, Rob Williams seizes the opportunity to showcase his raw power advantage. The Legend wraps his powerful arms around FLAMBERGE’s midsection and hoists him high into the air, the crowd gasping as the 206-pound Frenchman is lifted completely off his feet. Williams holds him there for a moment before bringing him down with devastating force, dropping him sternum-first across the unforgiving steel of the ringside barricade.

THWACK!

The impact reverberates throughout the arena as FLAMBERGE’s chest connects brutally with the metal barrier, his body folding over it like a broken accordion. The Neck Collector clutches at his ribs, gasping for air as the wind is driven completely from his body.

Nick Stuart: Good God! Rob Williams just drove FLAMBERGE sternum-first into that barricade with tremendous force! That could have broken ribs!

Richard Parker: Beautiful execution by The Legend! See, this is why I respect Rob Williams – he doesn’t waste time with fancy moves or flashy nonsense. He identifies his target and he destroys it methodically.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is in serious trouble here, and this match hasn’t even officially started yet! He’s clutching his chest and struggling to breathe after that devastating impact.

Not to be outdone by her partner’s brutality, Anna Daniels stalks Joe Fontaine like a predator closing in on wounded prey. The Prince of Jolf, still dazed from the surprise attack, barely has time to register the danger before Daniels explodes forward with a running clothesline that catches him flush across the throat. The impact is so forceful that Fontaine’s feet leave the ground momentarily before he crashes down hard onto the unforgiving metal entrance ramp.

CRACK!

Fontaine’s body hits the steel grating with a sickening thud, his signature cockiness replaced by genuine pain as he writhes on the cold metal surface. But Daniels isn’t finished with her assault – she reaches down and yanks Fontaine to his feet by his hair, ignoring his groans of protest.

Richard Parker: Anna Daniels showing no mercy whatsoever! I love the killer instinct she’s displaying here – this is exactly how you handle an attention-seeking brat like Joe Fontaine.

Nick Stuart: The Time Lord is absolutely manhandling Fontaine here! She just whipped him hard into the barricade and—OH MY!

Daniels grabs Fontaine by the wrist and whips him violently toward the ringside barricade. Fontaine’s back connects with the steel barrier with a resounding clang, but before he can even think about recovery, Daniels is already charging forward. She leaps and extends her arm, delivering a second devastating clothesline that sends Fontaine tumbling over the barricade and crashing into the front row of stunned PRIMEates.

CRASH!

LET’S GO AN-NA! LET’S GO AN-NA!

Richard Parker: Into the crowd goes Smooth Joe Cool! Not looking so smooth now, is he Nick?

Nick Stuart: This is absolute chaos! Both members of Joeberge have been decimated by this surprise attack, and Turnbull hasn’t even had a chance to call for the opening bell! Anna Daniels and Rob Williams have completely taken control of this situation!

With FLAMBERGE still gasping for air and struggling to recover from his brutal introduction to the ringside barricade, Rob Williams stalks his wounded prey with the cold calculation of a seasoned veteran. The Legend measures his target carefully before lifting his boot and driving it with vicious intent across FLAMBERGE’s face as the French Phenom lies helpless on the arena floor.

THUD!

The impact snaps FLAMBERGE’s head to the side, a thin trickle of blood beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. But Williams isn’t interested in giving his opponent any time to recover. He reaches down and grabs FLAMBERGE by the back of his neck, hauling the dazed wrestler to his feet with little regard for his well-being.

Richard Parker: That’s textbook dominance right there! Williams is treating FLAMBERGE like a ragdoll, and I’m here for every second of it.

Nick Stuart: This is getting difficult to watch, Richard. FLAMBERGE is being systematically destroyed here, and Rob Williams shows no signs of letting up on this assault.

Williams maintains his grip on FLAMBERGE and violently drives the Frenchman’s forehead into the steel barricade with a sickening impact. FLAMBERGE’s legs buckle momentarily, but Williams keeps him upright through sheer force. Without missing a beat, The Legend grabs FLAMBERGE by the wrist and whips him hard toward the ring apron.

CRACK!

FLAMBERGE’s back connects with the unforgiving edge of the ring apron, the impact causing him to arch his spine in agony as he slides down to a seated position against the ring’s base. The crowd winces collectively at the brutal sound of flesh meeting the hardest part of the ring.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE’s back just cracked against that ring apron! That edge is like a steel knife, and Williams just drove him into it with tremendous force!

Richard Parker: Beautiful ring awareness by Williams! He knows every inch of this ringside area can be used as a weapon, and he’s giving FLAMBERGE a comprehensive tour of each one.

In the crowd, Anna Daniels surveys the scattered chairs and dazed PRIMEates around her with the cold efficiency of a battlefield commander. Joe Fontaine is struggling to get his bearings among the overturned furniture, his usual swagger completely absent as he tries to shake off the effects of being launched over the barricade. Daniels doesn’t give him the luxury of recovery time.

The Time Lord closes the distance quickly, grabbing Fontaine around the head and positioning herself behind him. With practiced precision, she snaps backward, executing a picture-perfect snapmare suplex that sends Fontaine crashing through a series of now-vacant chairs that the terrified fans had abandoned in their haste to escape the chaos.

CRASH! BANG! CLATTER!

Metal chairs fly in every direction as Fontaine’s body cuts a destructive path through the makeshift obstacle course, his limbs tangling with the twisted metal furniture. The Prince of Jolf comes to rest in a heap among the wreckage, groaning in pain as he tries to extract himself from the maze of bent steel.

Richard Parker: Now THAT’S how you make an impact! Anna Daniels just turned that section of the arena into her own personal demolition derby, with Joe Fontaine as the crash test dummy!

Nick Stuart: The carnage in the crowd is unbelievable! Fontaine just went through those chairs like a bowling ball through pins, and Anna Daniels isn’t done with him yet!

But Daniels is far from finished with her systematic destruction of Fontaine. She spots one of the few chairs still standing upright in the chaos and climbs onto it with the agility of a seasoned high-flyer. The crowd parts further as she perches on the unstable furniture, measuring the distance to her target with predatory focus.

Richard Parker: Look at this! The Muse is about to take flight!

Daniels launches herself from the chair, driving her elbow as she drops down toward the prone Fontaine. Her elbow finds its mark with devastating accuracy, driving deep into Fontaine’s chest with the full force of her body weight behind it.

THWACK!

The impact forces all the air from Fontaine’s lungs in a violent rush. Daniels rolls away from the impact, satisfied with her handiwork as Fontaine writhes in agony among the destruction that surrounds them.

Nick Stuart: Good Lord! Anna Daniels just drove that elbow right into Joe Fontaine’s sternum! He could have internal injuries after that devastating aerial attack!

Richard Parker: That’s what I call making a statement! Daniels is showing everyone in this arena that Fuck Your Tag Team didn’t come here to play games.

Back at ringside, FLAMBERGE remains slumped against the ring apron, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fights through the pain radiating from his battered ribs and spine. Rob Williams approaches with the confidence of a predator closing in for the kill, his hands already reaching out to continue his methodical dismantling of the French Phenom.

But desperation can make even the most wounded animal dangerous.

As Williams closes the gap, FLAMBERGE summons every ounce of fighting spirit he has left and drives his knee upward with surprising force, catching The Legend flush in the midsection. Williams doubles over from the unexpected impact, his breath escaping in a sharp gasp as the knee finds its mark.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE with a desperate counter! He caught Williams right in the breadbasket with that knee strike!

Richard Parker: Where the hell did that come from? I thought FLAMBERGE was out of this fight!

FLAMBERGE doesn’t waste the precious seconds his counter has bought him. Still using the ring apron for support, he pulls himself up and drives his forehead forward, connecting with a vicious headbutt that catches the still-doubled-over Williams square in the face. The impact produces a wet sound that makes the front row cringe, and Williams staggers backward, temporarily stunned by the unexpected brutality.

THUNK!

Seizing his moment, FLAMBERGE grabs Williams by the wrist and uses every bit of leverage he can muster to whip The Legend toward the steel ring steps positioned at the corner of the ring. Williams has no time to adjust his trajectory as he hurtles toward the unforgiving steel structure.

CRASH!

Williams’ knees collide with the steel steps with tremendous force, the impact so violent that it sends him tumbling up and over the heavy structure. His body crashes to the floor on the other side in a tangled heap, his legs twisted at an uncomfortable angle as he clutches at his damaged knees.

Nick Stuart: Williams just went knees-first into those steel steps! Those things weigh over 300 pounds, and the impact just launched him right over them!

Richard Parker: Now that’s what you call a momentum shift! FLAMBERGE just turned Rob Williams into a human projectile, and those steel steps don’t give an inch when you hit them wrong. Or the right way either.

Nick Stuart: This could be the opening that the Glueminati needs to get back into this fight!

Anna Daniels, hearing the sickening crash of her partner colliding with the steel steps, immediately abandons her assault on Joe Fontaine among the scattered chairs. The Time Lord sprints towards ringside in a hurry. She places her hands on the cold steel barrier and begins to climb over, desperate to help her fallen partner.

But FLAMBERGE has already spotted his opportunity for revenge.

The Neck Collector, still feeling the effects of his brutal beating but fueled by adrenaline and desperation, positions himself on the steel steps that had just claimed Rob Williams as a victim. With uncanny precision, FLAMBERGE launches himself through the air, his knee extended like a battering ram aimed directly at the climbing Daniels.

CRACK!

The flying knee connects flush with Daniels’ chest just as she’s straddling the barricade, the impact so forceful that it knocks her completely backward. She tumbles helplessly through the air, her arms windmilling frantically as gravity takes hold. But Joe Fontaine, having recovered just enough from the elbow drop, is perfectly positioned to catch his falling opponent.

Richard Parker: Holy hell! FLAMBERGE just turned himself into a human missile and caught Daniels right in the breadbasket!

Nick Stuart: What incredible awareness by Joe Fontaine! He caught Anna Daniels in mid-fall and—OH NO!

Fontaine secures his grip around Daniels’ waist and immediately bridges backward, executing a picture-perfect German suplex that drives the back of her head and shoulders into the concrete floor with devastating impact.

THUD!

The sound of flesh meeting concrete echoes throughout the arena as Daniels’ body goes limp, her limbs sprawling at awkward angles on the cold floor. The crowd gasps collectively at the brutal landing, many covering their eyes at the sickening impact.

Nick Stuart: Good God! Anna Daniels just got driven head-first into that concrete! That could be a concussion or worse!

Richard Parker: Now THAT’S what I call teamwork! Joeberge just turned the tables in spectacular fashion with some beautiful coordination!

Back at ringside, FLAMBERGE turns his attention to Rob Williams, who is groggily attempting to pull himself upright using the ring apron for support. The Legend’s knees are clearly bothering him after his violent introduction to the steel steps, but his pride won’t let him stay down. FLAMBERGE seizes the opportunity to press his advantage.

The French Phenom grabs Williams by the back of his skull, his fingers digging into The Legend’s hair as he violently drives his face into the ring apron. The impact creates a dull thudding sound as Williams’ features meet the unforgiving edge of the ring.

THUNK!

With Williams dazed and stunned, FLAMBERGE decides it’s time to escalate the violence. He drops to his knees and reaches underneath the ring, his hands searching frantically among the various implements stored beneath the squared circle. After a moment of rummaging, he begins to extract a steel ladder, the metal legs scraping against the arena floor as he pulls it into view.

Richard Parker: Oh, this is about to get interesting! FLAMBERGE’s bringing some furniture into this equation!

Nick Stuart: Well, this is a ladder match, it was only a matter of time. Though I think the idea was to climb the ladder to get the belts.

Richard Parker: Where’s the fun in that?

But Williams isn’t as stunned as FLAMBERGE believed. The Legend shakes off the cobwebs just in time to see his opponent focused on extracting the ladder. With lightning-quick reflexes, Williams strikes like a viper, his hand slicing through the air to deliver a knife-edge chop that catches FLAMBERGE flush across the chest.

SMACK!

The chop echoes throughout the arena and FLAMBERGE’s body convulses from the searing pain that radiates through his torso.

Nick Stuart: What a devastating chop by Rob Williams! You could hear that one in the cheap seats!

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE’s chest just got lit up like a Christmas tree! That’s going to leave a mark for weeks!

Enraged by the sudden counter-attack, FLAMBERGE charges forward with reckless abandon, his vision clouded by pain and fury. But Williams is ready for the desperate assault. As FLAMBERGE approaches, The Legend wraps his arms around his opponent’s midsection and hoists him high into the air before driving him down spine-first onto the steel ladder that lies waiting on the arena floor.

CRASH!

The ladder buckles slightly under the impact as FLAMBERGE’s back meets the unforgiving steel rungs. His spine arches in agony as he rolls off the twisted metal, his face contorted in a mask of pure anguish.

Nick Stuart: Spinebuster onto the steel ladder! FLAMBERGE’s spine just met about fifteen pounds of cold steel, and he is in serious trouble!

Richard Parker: That’s what happens when you let emotion override strategy! Williams just turned that ladder into FLAMBERGE’s personal torture device!

In the crowd area, Joe Fontaine surveys the motionless form of Anna Daniels sprawled on the concrete and decides it’s time to put the exclamation point on his assault. The Prince of Jolf reaches down and grabs Daniels by the hair, hauling her deadweight form back to a vertical base with considerable effort. Her legs are wobbly and unsteady, clearly still feeling the effects of the German suplex onto the concrete.

Fontaine takes a step back to create some distance, then spins around with fluid motion, his elbow whipping through the air in a perfect arc. The spinning back elbow catches Daniels flush on the side of her head, the impact snapping her neck to the side as she drops to one knee, her hands instinctively reaching up to protect her damaged skull.

CRACK!

But Fontaine isn’t finished with his systematic destruction of The Time Lord. He takes several measured steps backward, his eyes never leaving his kneeling target as he prepares for his signature finishing sequence. The crowd senses what’s coming as Fontaine begins his approach, building momentum with each stride.

Richard Parker: Oh, I know what’s coming next! Fontaine’s about to put Daniels to sleep with some Smooth Joe Cool magic!

Nick Stuart: Joe Fontaine is setting up for something big here! Anna Daniels is in perfect position and completely defenseless!

Fontaine leaps forward, his knee driving upward with devastating force as he executes a Shining Wizard. The knee connects perfectly with Daniels’ temple, the impact sending her crashing backward onto the concrete surface like a felled tree.

THUD!

Daniels’ body goes completely limp as she hits the floor.

Nick Stuart: Shining Wizard! Joe Fontaine just knocked Anna Daniels into next week with that devastating knee strike!

Richard Parker: Looks like Fontaine has finally woken up and decided to get into gear.

Back at ringside, Rob Williams rolls the barely conscious FLAMBERGE off the twisted ladder and grabs the steel tool with both hands. The Legend slides the ladder into the ring under the bottom rope, the metal scraping against the canvas as it disappears into the squared circle. Williams follows it in, rolling under the ropes as he begins to set up the ladder in the center of the ring, clearly having some aerial strategy in mind.

But Joe Fontaine, having left Anna Daniels as a crumpled heap on the concrete, spots Williams’ ladder-related activities and decides to crash the party. The Prince of Jolf vaults over the ringside barricade with surprising agility and slides into the ring, immediately making his way to the nearest corner.

Nick Stuart: Joe Fontaine has spotted Rob Williams setting up that ladder! What does the Prince of Jolf have in mind here?

Richard Parker: Whatever it is, I guarantee it’s going to be flashy and completely unnecessary! That’s just how this kid operates!

Turnbull, meanwhile, decides now is the time to start the match.

DING DING

Fontaine ascends the turnbuckles with cat-like quickness, perching himself on the top rope as he measures the distance to his target. Williams is completely focused on positioning the ladder correctly, unaware that danger is approaching from above. Fontaine springs from his perch, his body rotating through the air as he extends both feet toward the steel ladder.

CRASH!

The missile dropkick connects perfectly with the ladder, sending the steel structure careening directly into Rob Williams’ face with tremendous force. The impact creates a sickening sound as metal meets flesh, and Williams crumples to the canvas like a demolished building, blood immediately beginning to flow from his nose.

Nick Stuart: MISSILE DROPKICK! Joe Fontaine just turned that ladder into a battering ram, and Rob Williams took it right in the face!

Richard Parker: Now THAT’S what I call making an entrance! Fontaine just turned Williams’ own weapon against him in spectacular fashion!

With Rob Williams laid out, blooding coming out of his nose, Joe Fontaine and FLAMBERGE seize the opportunity to finally work in tandem. The Prince of Jolf rolls out of the ring with renewed purpose, his movements now calculated and deliberate rather than his usual showboating antics. He drops to his knees at ringside and begins rummaging underneath the squared circle.

Meanwhile, FLAMBERGE shakes off the lingering effects of the spinebuster on the steel ladder and begins positioning the ladder that had just rearranged Williams’ facial features. The Neck Collector plants the base of the ladder firmly against the canvas and begins to extend it upward, his movements methodical despite the obvious pain radiating through his battered torso.

Richard Parker: Now this is interesting! Joeberge is actually working together like a real team instead of just throwing themselves at their opponents like wild animals!

Nick Stuart: The coordination between Fontaine and FLAMBERGE is suddenly on full display here, Richard. They’ve got something planned, and with Rob Williams down and Anna Daniels still recovering on the concrete, this could be a game-changer.

Fontaine emerges from beneath the ring with a second ladder, this one slightly shorter than its counterpart but equally capable of inflicting damage. The Prince of Jolf slides the ladder into the ring but doesn’t follow it inside. Instead, he begins positioning it in a most unusual manner, laying it horizontally so that one end rests on the middle rope while the other extends outward to rest on the ringside barricade.

The makeshift bridge spans the gap between ring and floor, creating a precarious steel pathway that gleams ominously under the arena lights. Fontaine tests the stability of his creation with a few experimental pushes, satisfied when the ladder remains firmly in place despite the unconventional positioning.

Nick Stuart: What in the world are they setting up here? That ladder is positioned like some kind of bridge between the ring and the barricade!

Richard Parker: I have no idea what they’re planning, but knowing these two, it’s going to be spectacular and, since Fontaine is involved, probably incredibly stupid at the same time!

The sound of metal clanging and the crowd’s growing anticipation is enough to rouse Anna Daniels from her concrete-induced stupor. The Time Lord’s eyes flutter open, her vision still blurry from the devastating Shining Wizard, but her fighting instincts override her body’s protests. She rolls onto her side, spitting blood onto the arena floor as she forces herself into a seated position.

Daniels surveys the carnage around her – the scattered chairs, the blood stains on the concrete, the unusual ladder configuration taking shape at ringside. Her analytical mind quickly processes the tactical situation, and she realizes that allowing Joeberge to continue their setup unimpeded would be a critical mistake.

With tremendous effort, Daniels pulls herself upright and staggers toward the ring, her legs still unsteady but her determination unwavering. She slides under the bottom rope just as FLAMBERGE is making final adjustments to the vertical ladder, completely focused on his task and unaware of the danger approaching from behind.

Richard Parker: Wait a minute – Anna Daniels is back on her feet! How the hell is she even conscious after what she just went through?

Nick Stuart: The resilience of Anna Daniels is absolutely incredible! She took a German suplex onto concrete and a Shining Wizard that would have put most wrestlers in the hospital, but she’s back in this fight!

Daniels doesn’t waste time with elaborate setups or dramatic flourishes. She drops low and sweeps her leg in a wide arc, catching FLAMBERGE’s ankles and sending The French Phenom crashing to the canvas in a heap. The vertical ladder wobbles dangerously but remains upright as FLAMBERGE hits the mat hard.

THUD!

Before FLAMBERGE can even think about recovering, Daniels is already on the attack. She unleashes a vicious barrage of kicks to his midsection, each strike finding its mark with surgical precision. Her right foot drives into his ribs, followed immediately by a left to the solar plexus, then another right that catches him just below the sternum.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

FLAMBERGE tries to cover up, but Daniels’ assault is relentless and methodical. She varies her targets and angles, keeping The Neck Collector off-balance and unable to mount any kind of defense. The crowd can hear the air being driven from his lungs with each devastating impact.

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels is unleashing pure fury on FLAMBERGE! Those kicks are finding their mark with pinpoint accuracy!

Richard Parker: She’s working that midsection like a heavy bag! FLAMBERGE can’t get his bearings with those shots just pounding into his ribs!

Daniels steps back slightly to create space, then rolls her shoulder and drives forward with a picture-perfect rolling elbow that catches FLAMBERGE flush on the side of his head. The impact snaps his neck to the side and sends him staggering backward toward the ropes, his legs rubbery and unsteady.

CRACK!

Nick Stuart: Rolling elbow connects! FLAMBERGE is in serious trouble now – that shot rocked him to his core!

Richard Parker: The Time Lord is showing why she’s one of the most dangerous strikers in PRIME! That elbow had bad intentions written all over it!

Rob Williams, having rolled out of the ring, begins to pull himself together. The Legend spots Joe Fontaine still fine-tuning his ladder bridge configuration, completely absorbed in his architectural endeavor. Williams’ lips curl into a bloodied sneer as he realizes that Smooth Joe Cool has no idea that death is approaching from behind.

Williams pulls himself upright using the ring apron, his knees still aching from their violent encounter with the steel steps, but adrenaline and rage override any physical discomfort. He begins building momentum, each step more forceful than the last as he charges toward his unsuspecting target.

Richard Parker: Uh oh! Rob Williams is back on his feet, and he looks like a man possessed! Joe Fontaine has no idea what’s coming!

Nick Stuart: Williams is a bloody mess, but that’s only made him more dangerous! He’s closing in on Joe Fontaine, who’s completely focused on that ladder setup!

Fontaine is making final adjustments to ensure the ladder bridge is perfectly stable when Williams explodes into frame like a freight train. Fontaine spins around on the ring apron at the last moment and is caught by surprise as Williams spears him off the apron and onto the ladder, crashing through it in the process.

SMACK!

Time seems to slow as Fontaine + Williams crashes through the steel structure, the ladder folding in around them.

CRASH! CLANG! THUD!

The sound of twisted metal and human flesh meeting concrete creates a symphony of destruction that silences the entire arena for a moment. Fontaine lies motionless in the wreckage of his own creation, Williams on top of him, with his body tangled among the bent steel rungs of the demolished ladder bridge.

Nick Stuart: GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY! Rob Williams just launched Joe Fontaine through that ladder bridge! The carnage is unbelievable!

Richard Parker: Holy hell! Fontaine just went through his own furniture like it was made of paper! That ladder is completely destroyed, and I’m not sure Joe is in much better shape!

Nick Stuart: The Prince of Jolf is not moving at all! That crash landing could have broken bones!

Back inside the ring, Anna Daniels maintains her aggressive assault on the staggered FLAMBERGE, who is still reeling from the devastating rolling elbow that rattled his skull. The Time Lord grabs The French Phenom by the wrist and prepares to whip him toward the nearest corner with authority, her grip firm and her intentions clear.

But FLAMBERGE’s veteran instincts kick in at the last possible moment. As Daniels begins her whip, The Neck Collector plants his feet and reverses the momentum, using her own force against her as he sends The Time Lord careening toward the turnbuckles instead.

THUD!

Daniels’ back collides with the unforgiving steel turnbuckles, the impact driving the air from her lungs as she finds herself trapped in the corner. FLAMBERGE, sensing an opportunity to regain control of the situation, immediately begins building momentum for a devastating corner attack.

Richard Parker: Beautiful reversal by FLAMBERGE! He just turned Daniels’ own offense against her, and now she’s sitting duck in that corner!

Nick Stuart: The Lizard King has Anna Daniels exactly where he wants her! This could be the opening he needs to turn this match around!

FLAMBERGE charges forward like a man possessed, his shoulder lowered as he prepares to drive every ounce of his 206-pound frame into Daniels’ midsection. But The Time Lord’s ring awareness and quick thinking serve her well in this desperate moment.

As FLAMBERGE approaches at full speed, Daniels lifts her boot and extends it outward, catching the charging Frenchman flush in the face with a perfectly timed defensive maneuver. The impact stops FLAMBERGE dead in his tracks, his head snapping backward as his momentum carries him stumbling away from the corner.

SMACK!

Without missing a beat, Daniels quickly ascends to the second turnbuckle, perching herself on the middle rope as she measures the distance to her stunned opponent. FLAMBERGE is wobbling on unsteady legs, his hands instinctively reaching up to check his nose for damage from the boot.

Nick Stuart: Counter by Anna Daniels! That boot caught FLAMBERGE right in the face and stopped his charge cold!

Richard Parker: The Time Lord showing that ring awareness that’s made her one of the most dangerous competitors in PRIME! She turned defense into offense in the blink of an eye!

Daniels launches herself from the second rope, extending her arm as she flies through the air toward the dazed FLAMBERGE. Her clothesline catches him perfectly across the throat, the impact driving him backward and down to the canvas with tremendous force.

THUD!

FLAMBERGE’s body hits the mat hard as the flying clothesline leaves him flat on his back and staring up at the arena lights. Daniels rolls through the impact and quickly gets back to her feet, surveying the vertical ladder that stands waiting in the center of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Flying clothesline connects! FLAMBERGE is down, and Anna Daniels has a clear path to those titles!

Richard Parker: That’s exactly the kind of smart thinking offense that wins championships! Daniels just grounded FLAMBERGE with authority!

With FLAMBERGE temporarily neutralized, Anna Daniels wastes no time in making her way toward the steel ladder that beckons from the center of the ring. The Time Lord places her hands on the cold metal rungs and begins her ascent, each step bringing her closer to the championship gold that hangs tantalizingly overhead.

The crowd’s excitement builds with each rung she climbs, the anticipation electric as Daniels reaches the halfway point of her climb. Her movements are deliberate and calculated, ensuring each step is secure before advancing to the next level.

But FLAMBERGE’s resilience proves to be a factor once again. The Neck Collector shakes off the effects of the flying clothesline and rolls onto his side, his vision clearing just in time to see Daniels approaching the ladder’s peak. Desperation fuels his recovery as he scrambles to his feet and lunges toward the opposite side of the ladder.

Richard Parker: Wait a minute! FLAMBERGE is back up, and he’s going after that ladder too!

Nick Stuart: The French Phenom is climbing the opposite side! We’re about to have a collision at the top of this ladder!

FLAMBERGE’s hands grip the steel rungs with white-knuckled intensity as he begins his own rapid ascent, taking the steps two at a time in his desperation to reach the summit. The ladder begins to sway slightly under the combined weight of both competitors, creating an ominous creaking sound that fills the arena.

Daniels and FLAMBERGE reach the top of the ladder simultaneously, their faces mere inches apart as they both stretch upward toward the championship belts that dangle overhead. The proximity forces them into an inevitable confrontation, and neither competitor is willing to back down from the challenge.

Nick Stuart: They’re both at the top! Anna Daniels and FLAMBERGE are face-to-face at the summit of that ladder!

Richard Parker: This is it! Whoever can gain control here might just walk away with the gold!

Daniels throws the first punch, her right fist catching FLAMBERGE on the side of his jaw with a sharp crack. The French Phenom’s head snaps to the side, but he immediately retaliates with a haymaker of his own that finds its mark on Daniels’ temple.

CRACK! THUD!

The ladder sways dangerously beneath them as they trade blow after blow, each punch threatening to send one or both competitors plummeting to the canvas below. The steel structure groans under the stress of their battle, creating an atmosphere of impending catastrophe.

Nick Stuart: They’re trading bombs at the top of that ladder! One wrong move and both competitors could come crashing down!

Richard Parker: The ladder’s swaying like a tree in a hurricane!

Outside the ring, the twisted wreckage of the ladder bridge tells the story of Joe Fontaine’s devastating crash landing. Bent steel rungs lie scattered across the arena floor, intermingled with droplets of blood from both Fontaine and Williams. But The Prince of Jolf is nothing if not resilient, and the pain radiating through his battered body only serves to fuel his anger.

Fontaine slowly extricates himself from the metallic carnage, his movements deliberate as he assesses the damage to his body. His ribs ache with each breath, and a thin cut above his left eyebrow sends a trickle of blood down his face. But his eyes burn with the promise of retribution as he spots his salvation nearby.

The Jolf Bag sits undisturbed at ringside, its contents waiting patiently for their moment to shine. Fontaine crawls toward his custom collection of weaponized chairs, his fingers searching through the arsenal until they find exactly what he’s looking for.

Richard Parker: Oh no, Fontaine’s going to the Jolf Bag! This is about to get very ugly, very quickly!

Nick Stuart: Joe Fontaine is reaching for one of those custom chairs! We’ve heard horror stories about what’s in that collection!

Fontaine’s hand closes around the handle of the 6-iron, the steel chair that bears the scars of previous battles. Thumbtacks have been carefully glued to its surface, creating a medieval torture device disguised as furniture. The metallic points glint menacingly under the arena lights as Fontaine struggles to his feet, the weaponized chair clutched firmly in his grasp.

Rob Williams, still wiping blood from his face after the ladder-assisted facial reconstruction, spots Fontaine’s recovery and the deadly implement in his hands. The Legend’s survival instincts override his physical discomfort as he realizes the immediate danger posed by the thumbtack-adorned weapon.

Williams charges forward with the desperation of a man who knows that hesitation could result in permanent disfigurement. His powerful legs drive him toward Fontaine with surprising speed, given the punishment he’s already absorbed during this brutal encounter.

Nick Stuart: Rob Williams sees that thumbtack chair and he’s charging! The Legend knows he can’t let Fontaine get a clean shot with that weapon!

Richard Parker: Smart move by Williams! That 6-iron is bad news for anyone on the receiving end!

But Fontaine is ready for the charge. As Williams closes the distance, The Prince of Jolf swings the weaponized chair in a vicious arc, the thumbtack-studded surface whistling through the air as it seeks its target.

CRACK!

The chair connects with Williams’ ribs with devastating impact, the thumbtacks tearing through his shirt and finding flesh as The Legend’s momentum carries him into the weapon. Williams stumbles backward, his hands instinctively clutching at his damaged ribs as small droplets of blood begin to appear on his torso

THUD!

Williams’ backward momentum carries him into the ringside barricade, his back colliding with the steel structuren. His face contorts in agony as he examines the puncture wounds left by the thumbtacks, each small hole burning with sharp pain.

Nick Stuart: Good God! That thumbtack chair just shredded Rob Williams’ ribs! There’s blood seeping through his shirt from multiple puncture wounds!

Richard Parker: The 6-iron lives up to its reputation! Williams just got a taste of Joe Fontaine’s custom handiwork, and it’s not pretty!

Nick Stuart: This match has completely devolved into absolute chaos! We’ve got weapons, blood, and bodies scattered all around ringside!

Back inside the ring, Anna Daniels and FLAMBERGE continue their precarious exchange of punches. The ladder groans ominously beneath their combined weight, swaying with each impact as both competitors struggle to maintain their balance while reaching for the championship gold that dangles just out of reach.

Daniels, drawing upon her technical striking background, suddenly changes tactics. Instead of throwing another wild haymaker, she pulls her head back and drives it forward with vicious intent, catching FLAMBERGE flush in the nose with a devastating headbutt that echoes throughout the arena.

CRACK!

The impact sends FLAMBERGE’s head snapping backward, his grip on the ladder loosening momentarily as stars explode across his vision. A fresh trickle of blood begins to flow from his nose, mixing with the existing crimson mask that already adorns his features. His body sways dangerously as he fights to maintain his position on the unstable platform.

Nick Stuart: Headbutt by Anna Daniels! FLAMBERGE is rocked at the top of that ladder!

Richard Parker: The Time Lord just scrambled The Lizard King’s brain with that shot! She’s got a clear path to those titles now!

Seizing the opportunity created by her brutal headbutt, Daniels immediately reaches upward toward the championship belts, her fingertips nearly brushing against the cold metal as she stretches with everything she has. The crowd rises to their feet in anticipation, sensing that the end of this brutal encounter might finally be at hand.

But FLAMBERGE’s reputation as The Neck Collector isn’t built on surrender, even when facing seemingly insurmountable odds. Through sheer force of will, he shakes off the effects of the headbutt and focuses his vision on the stretching form of Anna Daniels above him.

With the desperation of a man who has nothing left to lose, FLAMBERGE wraps his arm around Daniels’ head and neck, securing her in a front facelock that sends a chill through the entire arena. The positioning is unmistakable – he’s setting up for a suplex from the very top of the ladder, a move that would change the trajectory of this match in a hurry.

Nick Stuart: Oh my God! FLAMBERGE’s got Anna Daniels locked up for a suplex! They’re twenty feet off the ground!

Richard Parker: This is insane! If he hits that suplex from up there, we’re going to need stretchers and possibly body bags!

The sight of his tag team partner locked in a potentially fatal embrace twenty feet above the canvas galvanizes Joe Fontaine into immediate action. The Prince of Jolf, still clutching his ribs from the punishment he’s absorbed throughout this brutal encounter, slides into the ring with urgency overriding his physical discomfort.

Fontaine doesn’t waste precious seconds calculating angles or planning elaborate maneuvers. Instead, he lunges directly at the base of the ladder and wraps his arms around FLAMBERGE’s legs, yanking The French Phenom downward with all the force he can muster.

THUD!

FLAMBERGE crashes to the canvas as Fontaine’s desperate intervention breaks up the suplex attempt, his body hitting the mat hard but avoiding the catastrophic fall that would have awaited him had the move been completed. The Neck Collector rolls across the ring, clutching his back from the impact.

But Fontaine isn’t finished with his rescue operation. With FLAMBERGE safely on the canvas, The Prince of Jolf turns his attention to Anna Daniels, who remains perched atop the swaying ladder with her arms still reaching desperately for the championship belts.

Richard Parker: Smart teamwork by Fontaine! He just saved his partner from what could have been a career-ending fall!

Nick Stuart: Joe Fontaine pulled FLAMBERGE to safety, but Anna Daniels is still up there! What’s he planning now?

Fontaine positions himself at the base of the ladder and places both hands against the steel structure. With a grunt of exertion, he shoves the ladder with tremendous force, sending the entire apparatus toppling sideways like a felled tree.

Daniels, caught completely off-guard by the sudden shift in her platform’s stability, has no time to adjust her position or prepare for the inevitable crash. The ladder carries her through the air as it falls, sending The Time Lord hurtling toward the ringside area in a terrifying arc.

CRASH!

Daniels crashes to the arena floor outside the ring with bone-jarring impact, her body colliding with the unforgiving concrete as the ladder lands beside her with a resounding clang. She lies motionless among the twisted metal, her limbs sprawled at uncomfortable angles as the crowd winces at the sickening sound of flesh meeting concrete.

With both of his opponents temporarily neutralized, Fontaine rises to his feet in the center of the ring and performs his signature dab, the obnoxious gesture drawing a thunderous chorus of boos from the PRIMEates who recognize the mockery inherent in the celebration.

Nick Stuart: GOOD GOD! Anna Daniels just took a twenty-foot fall to the arena floor! That could be life-threatening!

Richard Parker: And Joe Fontaine has the audacity to dab after potentially ending someone’s career! That’s cold-blooded even for a heel!

BOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: The crowd is letting Joe Fontaine know exactly what they think of what Fontaine did! This is absolutely despicable behavior!

The sound of Anna Daniels crashing to the concrete and the subsequent eruption of boos from the crowd serve as a clarion call for Rob Williams, who has been struggling to recover from his encounter with the thumbtack-adorned chair outside the ring. The Legend’s shirt is torn and blood-stained, small puncture wounds dotting his ribs like a grotesque connect-the-dots puzzle.

But Williams’ physical condition pales in comparison to his burning desire for retribution against the man responsible for his partner’s devastating fall. The Legend slides under the bottom rope with murder in his eyes, his gaze locked firmly on the still-dabbing form of Joe Fontaine.

Williams doesn’t bother with dramatic entrances or theatrical posturing. Instead, he charges directly at Fontaine like a wounded animal, his fists already cocked and ready for violence. The Prince of Jolf’s celebration is cut short as Williams’ right hand finds its mark on his jaw, followed immediately by a left hook that snaps his head to the side.

SMACK! CRACK!

Fontaine stumbles backward under the furious assault, his hands coming up defensively as Williams continues his relentless barrage of right hands. Each punch carries the weight of Williams’ fury behind it, driving Fontaine further and further backward until his back is against the ropes.

Richard Parker: Rob Williams is seeing red! He’s unloading everything he’s got on Joe Fontaine!

Nick Stuart: The Legend is absolutely furious about what happened to Anna Daniels! These punches have bad intentions written all over them!

Williams grabs Fontaine by the wrist and whips him toward the opposite ropes with tremendous force, the Prince of Jolf’s body stretching the cables to their limit before he ricochets back toward the center of the ring. Williams positions himself perfectly for the return journey, his powerful arms already extending upward in preparation for his next devastating maneuver.

As Fontaine approaches, Williams wraps his arms around the smaller wrestler’s torso and hoists him high above his head with surprising ease, showcasing the raw power advantage that has made him one of the most feared competitors in PRIME. Fontaine’s feet kick frantically in the air as he finds himself completely at Williams’ mercy.

SLAM!

Williams drives Fontaine down to the canvas with a thunderous gorilla press slam that shakes the entire ring structure. The impact is so forceful that Fontaine bounces slightly off the mat before settling into a motionless heap, his body contorted in obvious pain from the devastating power move.

Nick Stuart: GORILLA PRESS SLAM! Rob Williams just showcased his incredible power by launching Joe Fontaine like he was weightless!

Richard Parker: That’s what 240 pounds of angry wrestler can do to you! Fontaine just got a physics lesson courtesy of The Legend!

With Fontaine temporarily incapacitated, Williams turns his attention to the fallen ladder that lies nearby. Despite the blood loss and the puncture wounds decorating his torso, The Legend begins the laborious process of setting up the steel structure once again, his movements deliberate and methodical as he positions it in the center of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Rob Williams is setting up that ladder again! He’s determined to reach those championship belts despite everything he’s been through tonight!

Richard Parker: The man’s a warrior, I’ll give him that! Most people would be in the hospital after what Williams has endured, but he’s still fighting for those titles!

While Rob Williams focuses intently on positioning the ladder for his championship ascent, FLAMBERGE finally shakes off the effects of the throbbing pain he’s feeling. The Neck Collector pulls himself to his feet with careful deliberation, his body aching from the impact with the canvas but his mind sharp and calculating as he spots an opportunity.

Williams, completely absorbed in his ladder setup and still dealing with the lingering effects of the thumbtack puncture wounds, presents an inviting target as he bends over to adjust the ladder’s position. FLAMBERGE moves with the stealth of a predator, closing the distance between himself and The Legend without making a sound.

With explosive precision, FLAMBERGE shoots forward and wraps his arms around Williams’ legs, executing a textbook double leg takedown that sends the bigger man crashing to the canvas with surprising force. Williams’ head bounces off the mat as his body hits hard, momentarily stunning him as FLAMBERGE immediately transitions into a dominant position.

THUD!

Richard Parker: Beautiful takedown by FLAMBERGE! He just grounded Williams when The Legend least expected it!

Nick Stuart: The French Phenom showing those MMA skills! That was a picture-perfect double leg that caught Williams completely off-guard!

FLAMBERGE wastes no time in capitalizing on his advantageous position. He straddles Williams’ torso and begins raining down a series of devastating 12-6 elbow strikes, each blow aimed with surgical precision at The Legend’s already damaged face and head. The sound of bone meeting flesh echoes throughout the arena as FLAMBERGE unleashes his ground-and-pound assault.

THWACK! CRACK! THUD!

Williams tries to cover up defensively, but FLAMBERGE’s elbows find their targets with relentless accuracy. Blood begins to flow more freely from Williams’ nose and mouth as the French Phenom’s strikes open up existing wounds and create new ones. The canvas beneath them starts to show crimson stains as the punishment continues.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is absolutely punishing Rob Williams with those elbow strikes! This is like watching a mixed martial arts bout!

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE is showing why they call him The Neck Collector! He’s systematically destroying Williams piece by piece!

Sensing that Williams is sufficiently softened up, FLAMBERGE decides to go for a submission finish. He slides his leg across Williams’ throat and begins to work his way into position for his signature triangle choke, his movements fluid and practiced as he secures the hold that has claimed countless victims throughout his career.

FLAMBERGE locks in the triangle choke with technical precision, his legs forming a vice-like grip around Williams’ head and arm while he pulls down on the back of The Legend’s neck. Williams’ face immediately begins to turn red as the blood flow to his brain is restricted, his free hand clawing desperately at FLAMBERGE’s leg as he struggles to escape.

Nick Stuart: Triangle choke! FLAMBERGE’s got it locked in tight! Williams could pass out within seconds!

Richard Parker: This is it! The Marie Antoinette! Williams is trapped, and there’s nowhere for him to go!

But Rob Williams didn’t earn his reputation as The Legend by giving up when faced with adversity. Despite the choke cutting off his air supply and the room beginning to spin around him, Williams digs deep into his reserves of strength and determination. Using his powerful legs, he begins to push himself upright, lifting both his own body weight and FLAMBERGE’s off the canvas.

The crowd gasps in amazement as Williams rises to his feet with FLAMBERGE still clinging to his neck like a human backpack, the triangle choke still locked in but now elevated high above the ring. Williams’ face is purple from the lack of oxygen, but his resolve remains unbroken as he positions himself directly over the steel ladder.

Nick Stuart: Incredible! Rob Williams is standing up with FLAMBERGE still applying that choke! The power of The Legend is on full display!

Richard Parker: How the hell is he doing that? Most men would be unconscious by now!

With what might be his final burst of energy before losing consciousness, Williams drives both himself and FLAMBERGE downward with tremendous force, executing a makeshift powerbomb that sends The French Phenom crashing spine-first onto the unforgiving steel ladder below.

CRASH!

The impact is devastating, with FLAMBERGE’s back meeting the hard steel rungs with sickening force. The triangle choke is immediately broken as FLAMBERGE’s body convulses in agony, his grip loosening as waves of pain shoot through his spine. Both men lie motionless for several moments, the toll of their brutal encounter clearly evident.

Nick Stuart: POWERBOMB ONTO THE LADDER! Rob Williams just broke that submission hold in the most devastating way possible!

Richard Parker: What a counter! Williams turned certain defeat into a spine-shattering offensive maneuver! Both men are down now!

Outside the ring, Anna Daniels slowly begins to stir among the wreckage of her catastrophic fall from the ladder. The Time Lord’s body aches with each movement, her ribs protesting as she struggles to assess the damage from her twenty-foot plummet to the concrete floor. Blood trickles from a cut on her forehead, and her left shoulder hangs at an uncomfortable angle.

But The Time Lord’s reputation for resilience isn’t built on surrender, and the sight of Joe Fontaine celebrating his interference while her partner suffers inside the ring ignites a fire within her that overrides all physical discomfort. Daniels grits her teeth and begins the painful process of pulling herself upright.

Using the ring apron for support, Daniels hauls herself to her feet with tremendous effort, her legs shaky and unsteady but her determination unwavering. She takes a moment to clear her vision and assess the situation inside the ring, where both FLAMBERGE and Williams lie motionless after their devastating exchange.

Richard Parker: Wait a minute – Anna Daniels is moving! How is she even conscious after that fall?

Nick Stuart: The heart and determination of Anna Daniels is absolutely incredible! She should be in a hospital, not trying to get back into this match!

Daniels slides under the bottom rope with careful deliberation, her movements slower than usual but still purposeful as she enters the ring. She spots Joe Fontaine near the ropes, his back turned to her as he continues his obnoxious taunting of the crowd, completely unaware that his previous victim has returned to haunt him.

Fontaine raises his arms mockingly toward the booing PRIMEates, his signature arrogance on full display as he revels in the chaos he’s helped create. His attention is so focused on antagonizing the crowd that he fails to notice the approaching danger behind him.

Nick Stuart: Joe Fontaine has no idea that Anna Daniels is back in the ring! He’s too busy showing off for the crowd!

Richard Parker: The Prince of Jolf is about to get a very unpleasant surprise!

Daniels drops low and sweeps her leg in a wide arc, catching Fontaine’s ankles and sending him crashing to the canvas face-first. The sudden impact cuts his taunting short as his body hits the mat hard, his hands instinctively reaching up to protect his face from further damage.

THUD!

Before Fontaine can even think about recovering, Daniels is already on the attack. She grabs him by the hair and hauls him to his knees, then begins unleashing a systematic assault on his midsection with her trademark knee strikes. Each knee finds its mark with devastating accuracy, driving deep into Fontaine’s ribs and solar plexus.

THWACK! CRACK! THUD!

Fontaine’s body convulses with each impact, the air being driven from his lungs as Daniels works his midsection like a heavy bag. His attempts to cover up are futile against the technical precision of The Time Lord’s striking attack.

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels is unleashing pure fury on Joe Fontaine! Those knee strikes are finding their mark with surgical precision!

Richard Parker: The Time Lord is making Fontaine pay for that interference! She’s working that midsection with bad intentions!

After softening up her target with the knee strikes, Daniels secures Fontaine in a front facelock and begins to spin, building momentum for her signature flowing DDT. The rotation creates a dizzying effect as both wrestlers spiral through the air before Daniels drives Fontaine’s head into the canvas with devastating force.

SLAM!

Fontaine’s face meets the mat with sickening impact, his body going limp as the flowing DDT plants him face-first into the unforgiving canvas. He lies motionless with his arms spread wide, a thin trickle of blood beginning to form beneath his face.

Nick Stuart: Flowing DDT! Anna Daniels just planted Joe Fontaine face-first into that canvas!

Richard Parker: The Prince of Jolf just got a taste of his own medicine! That DDT was executed to perfection!

With FLAMBERGE slowly beginning to stir from his powerbomb encounter with the steel ladder, Rob Williams sees his opportunity to finally claim the championship gold. The Legend pulls himself to his feet with considerable effort, his body battered and bloodied but his resolve undiminished as he approaches the vertical ladder in the center of the ring.

Williams places his hands on the cold steel rungs and begins his ascent, each step bringing him closer to the championship belts that have remained tantalizingly out of reach throughout this brutal encounter. His movements are deliberate despite his injuries, ensuring each step is secure before advancing to the next level.

But FLAMBERGE, despite the punishment he’s absorbed, isn’t ready to concede defeat. The Neck Collector spots Williams beginning his climb and realizes that desperate times call for desperate measures. Instead of trying to climb the same ladder, FLAMBERGE rolls out of the ring with purpose.

Nick Stuart: Rob Williams is climbing for those titles! This could finally be it!

Richard Parker: Wait – FLAMBERGE’s rolling out of the ring! What’s he planning now?

FLAMBERGE drops to his knees at ringside and begins rummaging underneath the ring once again, his hands searching frantically among the various implements stored beneath the squared circle. After a moment of searching, he locates another steel ladder and begins the process of extracting it from its hiding place. With tremendous effort, he slides the additional ladder into the ring under the bottom rope, creating the potential for an even more chaotic climbing scenario.

Richard Parker: Smart strategy by FLAMBERGE! If you can’t beat them on one ladder, bring in reinforcements!

Nick Stuart: Now we’ve got two ladders in play! This situation is about to become even more dangerous!

Joe Fontaine, despite the punishment he’s received from Anna Daniels’ flowing DDT, manages to shake off the cobwebs just in time to see his tag team partner’s strategy unfold. The Prince of Jolf crawls toward the newly introduced ladder and begins helping FLAMBERGE position it alongside the first one.

But Anna Daniels, her striking instincts still sharp despite her accumulated damage, immediately recognizes the threat posed by a second ladder setup. The Time Lord launches herself at Fontaine with renewed aggression, her leg whipping through the air to catch him with a series of rapid-fire kicks.

THWACK! CRACK! THUD!

Each kick finds its mark on Fontaine’s torso and legs, disrupting his attempts to help position the second ladder. The Prince of Jolf stumbles backward under the assault, his grip on the ladder loosening as Daniels’ strikes throw off his balance and coordination.

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels is not going to let them set up that second ladder! She’s unleashing everything she’s got on Joe Fontaine!

Richard Parker: The Time Lord knows that two ladders means double the danger! She’s trying to prevent Joeberge from gaining that tactical advantage!

Nick Stuart: This match has become an all-out war! Bodies are broken, blood is flowing, and we still have two ladders and four determined competitors all fighting for championship gold!

Despite Anna Daniels’ relentless assault on Joe Fontaine, FLAMBERGE’s determination and ring awareness allow him to continue working on positioning the second ladder. The Neck Collector grits his teeth through the pain radiating from his spine after the devastating powerbomb onto the first ladder, using pure adrenaline and desperation to fuel his efforts.

With tremendous effort, FLAMBERGE manages to get the second ladder partially erected, creating an unstable but functional climbing apparatus alongside the original ladder. The steel structure wavers slightly as he adjusts its position, but it holds firm enough to support a climber’s weight.

The Time Lord recognizes the immediate threat posed by the dual ladder setup and knows she must act decisively to prevent both members of Joeberge from ascending simultaneously. Her analytical mind processes the tactical situation in milliseconds, identifying FLAMBERGE as the more immediate threat due to his proximity to the now-functional second ladder.

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE’s got that second ladder up! This changes everything – now both teams can climb at the same time!

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels is caught between two opponents! She’s got to make a choice about who to target first!

Daniels spins toward FLAMBERGE with fluid motion, her body rotating as she builds momentum for one of her signature strikes. Her elbow whips through the air in a perfect arc, catching The French Phenom flush on the side of his head just as he steps back to admire his ladder positioning handiwork.

CRACK!

The rolling elbow connects with devastating impact, sending FLAMBERGE staggering sideways as stars explode across his vision. His legs wobble beneath him as he struggles to maintain his balance, the accumulated punishment from throughout the match finally beginning to take its toll on his battered body.

But Daniels doesn’t have the luxury of following up on her attack against FLAMBERGE. Joe Fontaine is already beginning to stir from the effects of her flowing DDT, and she knows that allowing him to recover fully would create an insurmountable two-on-one disadvantage.

Without missing a beat, The Time Lord pivots toward the rising Fontaine and drops low, sweeping her leg in a wide arc that catches The Prince of Jolf’s ankles just as he’s attempting to regain his vertical base.

THUD!

Fontaine crashes back to the canvas with authority, his head bouncing off the mat as the unexpected leg sweep sends him sprawling across the ring. His attempts to coordinate the dual ladder strategy are momentarily thwarted as he finds himself flat on his back once again.

Nick Stuart: What incredible ring awareness by Anna Daniels! She just neutralized both members of Joeberge with picture-perfect strikes!

Richard Parker: The Time Lord is fighting like a woman possessed! She’s taking on two men at once and holding her own!

From his position high above the ring action, Rob Williams observes the chaos unfolding below with a mixture of admiration and tactical awareness. The Legend can see his partner Anna Daniels valiantly holding off both members of Joeberge, buying him precious time to complete his championship ascent.

Williams continues his methodical climb up the original ladder, each rung bringing him closer to the golden prize that has eluded both teams throughout this brutal encounter. His bloodied hands grip the cold steel with white-knuckled determination, the puncture wounds from the thumbtack chair serving as a constant reminder of the punishment he’s endured.

The championship belts dangle tantalizingly close now, their metal surfaces reflecting the arena lights as they sway gently overhead. Williams can almost taste victory as he reaches upward, his fingertips nearly brushing against the cold metal that represents championship glory.

Richard Parker: Rob Williams is so close to those titles! Anna Daniels is giving him exactly the time he needs down below!

Nick Stuart: The Legend is just a few rungs away from championship gold! This could finally be the end of this brutal encounter!

But FLAMBERGE, despite the ringing in his ears from Daniels’ rolling elbow, spots the immediate danger posed by Williams’ proximity to the titles. The Neck Collector shakes off his disorientation and focuses on the tactical situation at hand, realizing that desperate times call for desperate measures.

Drawing upon his judo background, FLAMBERGE moves with surprising speed and technique. He steps behind Anna Daniels as she continues to focus on the recovering Fontaine, wrapping his arms around her waist as he positions himself for a textbook hip toss.

WHOOSH!

FLAMBERGE executes the judo throw with technical precision, using Daniels’ own momentum against her as he sends The Time Lord flying through the air. Her body arcs gracefully before crashing to the canvas with tremendous force, the impact driving the air from her lungs as she rolls across the ring.

Nick Stuart: Judo throw by FLAMBERGE! He just launched Anna Daniels across the ring!

Richard Parker: Beautiful technique by The Lizard King! He used her own aggression against her!

With Daniels temporarily neutralized, Joe Fontaine seizes the opportunity to spring back into action. The Prince of Jolf scrambles to his feet with renewed purpose, his eyes immediately locking onto the second ladder that FLAMBERGE had positioned nearby.

Fontaine approaches the steel structure with determination, placing his hands on the rungs as he begins his own ascent toward championship glory. The ladder creaks slightly under his weight, but holds firm as he starts climbing with surprising speed for someone who has absorbed such tremendous punishment.

Nick Stuart: Joe Fontaine is climbing the second ladder! Now we’ve got both Williams and Fontaine racing toward those titles!

Richard Parker: This is it! Two ladders, two climbers, and only one set of championship belts! Something’s got to give!

The arena reaches a fever pitch as both Rob Williams and Joe Fontaine climb their respective ladders with championship gold within reach. The crowd rises to their feet in anticipation, sensing that the climax of this brutal encounter is finally at hand.

Williams maintains his slight lead, having started his climb earlier, but Fontaine’s lighter frame allows him to ascend with greater speed. The gap between them narrows with each passing second as both men push their battered bodies to their absolute limits.

As they near the summit of their respective ladders, the championship belts hang between them like a golden bridge spanning the gap. Both men reach upward simultaneously, their fingertips stretching desperately toward the prize that has remained tantalizingly out of reach throughout this war.

Richard Parker: They’re both at the top! This is as close as it gets!

Nick Stuart: Rob Williams and Joe Fontaine are both reaching for those titles! Who’s going to get there first?

The proximity forces them into direct confrontation, and neither competitor is willing to concede victory when they’re this close to championship glory. Williams throws the first punch, his massive right hand whistling through the air toward Fontaine’s head.

But The Prince of Jolf ducks under the haymaker and retaliates with a quick jab that catches Williams on the jaw. The impact isn’t devastating, but it’s enough to rock The Legend slightly on his precarious perch atop the swaying ladder.

SMACK! CRACK!

The two warriors trade blow after blow while balanced precariously twenty feet above the canvas, each punch carrying the potential to send one or both men plummeting to the ring below. The ladders sway ominously beneath them as their battle intensifies, creating an atmosphere of impending catastrophe.

Nick Stuart: They’re trading punches at the top of those ladders! One wrong move and both men could come crashing down!

Richard Parker: This is absolutely insane! They’re fighting for their lives up there!

Fontaine, realizing that Williams’ size and power advantage could prove decisive in a prolonged striking exchange, decides to employ more underhanded tactics. As Williams cocks his right hand for another devastating punch, The Prince of Jolf suddenly shoots his thumb forward, jabbing it directly into The Legend’s eye.

POKE!

Williams immediately recoils from the cheap shot, his hand instinctively flying to his damaged eye as he struggles to maintain his balance on the ladder. His vision becomes blurred and tears begin streaming down his face as he blinks furiously, trying to clear his sight.

Nick Stuart: Thumb to the eye! Joe Fontaine just poked Rob Williams in the eye!

Richard Parker: That’s vintage Joe Fontaine right there! When in doubt, fight dirty!

With Williams temporarily blinded and off-balance, Fontaine sees his opportunity to end this encounter in spectacular fashion. The Prince of Jolf positions himself on his ladder and measures the distance to Williams’ ladder, his mind already calculating the trajectory needed for his audacious plan.

Taking a deep breath, Fontaine launches himself through the air in a death-defying leap, his body flying across the gap between the two ladders as he attempts to crash into Williams and knock The Legend from his perch.

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD! Joe Fontaine is leaping from one ladder to the other! This is absolutely insane!

Richard Parker: The Prince of Jolf has completely lost his mind! He’s flying through the air like a human missile!

Joe Fontaine’s death-defying leap between the two ladders connects with devastating impact, his body slamming into Rob Williams with the full force of his 185-pound frame. The collision is so violent that both men are immediately knocked from their precarious perches, their bodies becoming entangled as they plummet toward the canvas below.

CRASH!

The arena falls silent for a moment as both wrestlers hit the mat with bone-jarring impact, their limbs twisted together in a heap of human wreckage. Neither man moves immediately after the landing, the accumulated punishment from throughout the match finally taking its toll as they lie motionless in the center of the ring.

Williams’ already damaged ribs scream in protest as Fontaine’s weight crushes down on top of him, while The Prince of Jolf’s own body contorts awkwardly from the impact. Blood from Williams’ earlier injuries spreads across the canvas, creating a crimson pool beneath the tangled wrestlers.

Nick Stuart: Both men are down! That collision just took out both Rob Williams and Joe Fontaine!

Richard Parker: What a calculated risk by Fontaine! He sacrificed his own body to take Williams out of the equation!

Meanwhile, across the ring, Anna Daniels uses the distraction caused by the spectacular crash to break free from FLAMBERGE’s grasp. The Time Lord’s technical training kicks in as she recognizes her opportunity to regain control of the situation.

Daniels immediately goes on the offensive, targeting FLAMBERGE’s foundation with surgical precision. Her right leg whips through the air, connecting with The Neck Collector’s left shin with a sharp crack that echoes throughout the arena.

THWACK!

Before FLAMBERGE can react to the first strike, Daniels is already launching her second attack. A vicious kick to his right thigh causes his leg to buckle momentarily, followed immediately by a knee strike that drives deep into his midsection and doubles him over in pain.

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels is systematically chopping down FLAMBERGE! She’s working those legs like a lumberjack!

Richard Parker: Smart strategy by The Time Lord! Take out the foundation and the whole structure comes tumbling down!

Daniels continues her leg assault with methodical precision, each kick finding its mark as she weakens FLAMBERGE’s base. A sweep kick to his ankle nearly sends him toppling, followed by another brutal shin kick that leaves The French Phenom grimacing in obvious discomfort.

With both members of FYTT temporarily neutralized by the crash from the ladders, Anna Daniels spots her golden opportunity. The Time Lord breaks off her assault on FLAMBERGE and sprints toward the nearest ladder, her hands finding the cold steel rungs as she begins her ascent with renewed determination.

Daniels climbs with urgency, knowing that her window of opportunity may be brief. Each rung brings her closer to the championship gold that has remained tantalizingly out of reach throughout this brutal encounter, and she can almost taste victory as she approaches the halfway point.

Richard Parker: Anna Daniels has a clear path to those titles! This could be it!

Nick Stuart: The Time Lord is climbing with purpose! She’s got a significant head start!

But FLAMBERGE refuses to concede defeat when championship glory hangs in the balance. The Neck Collector grits his teeth through the pain and begins his own desperate climb up the second ladder, his movements more labored than usual but still determined.

FLAMBERGE’s longer reach and upper body strength allow him to close the gap between himself and Daniels with surprising speed. As The Time Lord nears the three-quarter mark of her climb, FLAMBERGE extends his arm and manages to wrap his fingers around her ankle.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE’s got Anna Daniels by the ankle! He’s trying to pull her down!

Richard Parker: The Lizard King’s using that reach advantage! Daniels is in trouble!

With a powerful yank, FLAMBERGE pulls Daniels from her ladder, sending The Time Lord crashing to the canvas below with tremendous force. Her body hits the mat hard, and she rolls across the ring clutching her back from the impact of the unexpected fall.

THUD!

The arena erupts as Daniels’ championship dreams are literally pulled out from under her, leaving FLAMBERGE as the only competitor in position to reach the titles. But The Neck Collector’s own injuries prevent him from immediately capitalizing on his advantage.

With an eye towards the ladder, FLAMBERGE starts to stir, while Anna Daniels struggles to her feet with determination burning in her eyes. The Time Lord knows she must act quickly to prevent The French Phenom from completing his championship ascent.

FLAMBERGE approaches the risen Daniels with predatory intent, his hands already moving into position for his signature submission hold. The Neck Collector reaches for Daniels’ head, attempting to secure the front facelock that would set up his devastating Marie Antoinette guillotine choke.

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE’s going for the Marie Antoinette! If he locks this in, it’s over!

Nick Stuart: The Neck Collector is looking to add Anna Daniels to his collection!

But Daniels’ technical background serves her well in this desperate moment. As FLAMBERGE’s arm slides around her neck, The Time Lord suddenly drops to one knee and drives her elbow backward with tremendous force, catching The French Phenom flush in the small of his back.

CRACK!

The back stabber connects perfectly, causing FLAMBERGE’s grip to loosen immediately as waves of pain shoot through his already damaged spine. He staggers backward, clutching at his lower back as Daniels quickly spins to face him.

Nick Stuart: Back stabber! Anna Daniels just broke free from that choke attempt!

Richard Parker: Beautiful counter by The Time Lord! She turned defense into offense in the blink of an eye!

Without missing a beat, Daniels shoots forward and secures FLAMBERGE in her own submission hold. She wraps her arms around his head and applies the Purple People Breaker, a stretch plum submission that immediately puts tremendous pressure on The Neck Collector’s already compromised spine and neck.

FLAMBERGE’s face contorts in agony as the submission hold takes effect, his hands clawing desperately at Daniels’ arms as she cranks back on the hold with technical precision. The crowd senses that the end might be near as The French Phenom’s resistance begins to weaken.

Nick Stuart: Purple People Breaker! Anna Daniels has FLAMBERGE trapped in that stretch plum!

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE’s in serious trouble! That submission is putting tremendous pressure on his neck and spine!

But just as it appears that Daniels might put FLAMBERGE out of commission, Joe Fontaine emerges from the wreckage of his collision with Rob Williams. The Prince of Jolf, despite his own accumulated damage, spots his partner in immediate danger and springs into action.

Fontaine measures his distance carefully before exploding forward, his leg whipping through the air in a perfect arc. His superkick catches Anna Daniels flush on the side of her head with devastating impact, the sharp crack echoing throughout the arena.

CRACK!

The superkick connects with such force that Daniels immediately releases the submission hold and crumples to the canvas, her body going limp as the devastating strike renders her unconscious. FLAMBERGE gasps for air as he’s suddenly freed from the painful submission.

Nick Stuart: SUPERKICK! Joe Fontaine just knocked Anna Daniels into next week!

Richard Parker: The Prince of Jolf saved his partner just in the nick of time! That superkick was picture-perfect!

With Anna Daniels laid out cold from the superkick and Rob Williams still struggling to recover from their catastrophic collision, FLAMBERGE and Joe Fontaine suddenly find themselves with a tactical advantage. The Neck Collector shakes off the lingering effects of the submission hold and surveys the championship opportunity before him.

FLAMBERGE approaches the nearest ladder with renewed purpose, his hands finding the steel rungs as he begins what could be his final climb toward championship glory. Despite the punishment his body has absorbed throughout this brutal encounter, adrenaline and determination fuel his ascent.

Richard Parker: FLAMBERGE’s climbing again! This could finally be Joeberge’s moment!

Nick Stuart: The Neck Collector has a clear path to those titles with both members of FYTT down!

Joe Fontaine, recognizing the critical nature of this moment, positions himself strategically at the base of the ladder. The Prince of Jolf plants his feet firmly and keeps his eyes trained on both fallen members of FYTT, ready to intercept any potential interference that might threaten his partner’s championship ascent.

Fontaine’s role as guardian becomes crucial as FLAMBERGE continues his methodical climb, each rung bringing The French Phenom closer to the golden prize that has eluded both teams throughout this war. The crowd’s anticipation builds with each step as championship glory appears to be within Joeberge’s grasp.

Nick Stuart: Joe Fontaine is playing sentinel at the base of that ladder! He’s making sure nobody interferes with FLAMBERGE’s climb!

Richard Parker: Smart teamwork by Joeberge! They’ve got both opponents neutralized and a clear path to victory!

FLAMBERGE reaches the halfway point of his climb and pauses momentarily to check on the status of his opponents below. Rob Williams remains motionless from their earlier collision, while Anna Daniels shows no signs of stirring after the devastating superkick. With the coast apparently clear, The Neck Collector continues his ascent toward championship destiny.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is getting closer to those titles! Williams is still down from that crash, and Daniels is out cold from the superkick!

Richard Parker: This might be it! Joeberge might retain those championship belts after this absolute war!

Just as FLAMBERGE reaches the three-quarter mark of his climb and championship glory appears to be within his grasp, Rob Williams begins to stir from the wreckage of his collision with Joe Fontaine. The Legend’s eyes flutter open, his vision initially blurry as he struggles to assess his surroundings through the haze of pain and disorientation.

The sight of FLAMBERGE ascending toward the championship belts cuts through Williams’ confusion like a lightning bolt, igniting a surge of adrenaline that overrides all physical discomfort. The Legend realizes that precious seconds remain before The Neck Collector reaches the summit, and desperation fuels his sudden revival.

Williams spots Joe Fontaine standing guard at the base of the ladder, completely focused on watching Anna Daniels’ motionless form and unaware that The Legend has regained consciousness. The tactical error proves costly as Williams silently pulls himself to his feet, his movements deliberate and predatory.

Nick Stuart: Wait a minute! Rob Williams is getting up! Joe Fontaine doesn’t see him!

Richard Parker: Oh no! The Legend’s back on his feet, and Fontaine has no idea what’s coming!

With the fury of a man who has been pushed beyond his breaking point, Williams explodes forward like a human missile. His 240-pound frame builds tremendous momentum as he charges across the ring, his target clearly identified and his intentions unmistakably violent.

The tackle connects with devastating impact as Williams drives his shoulder into Fontaine’s midsection, sending The Prince of Jolf flying backward into the steel ladder with bone-jarring force. The collision creates a thunderous crash that reverberates throughout the arena as both the ladder and Fontaine absorb the tremendous impact.

CRASH!

The ladder shudders violently from the collision, creating a seismic tremor that travels up the steel structure to where FLAMBERGE continues his climb. The Neck Collector’s grip on the rungs loosens as the sudden movement throws off his balance, and he finds himself fighting to maintain his position as the ladder sways dangerously beneath him.

But the momentum proves too much for FLAMBERGE to overcome. The violent shaking of the ladder combined with his precarious positioning sends The French Phenom tumbling from his perch, his body careening through the air before crashing into the ring ropes with devastating force.

THUD!

FLAMBERGE’s body connects with the ring ropes, which acts like a rubber band before he hits the canvas hard and rolls across the mat, clutching his back in obvious agony.

Nick Stuart: Good God! Rob Williams just tackled Joe Fontaine into that ladder and knocked FLAMBERGE right off of it!

Richard Parker: The Legend came out of nowhere! One second Joeberge was about to win the titles, and the next second both men are down!

Nick Stuart: What incredible awareness by Rob Williams! He waited for the perfect moment and struck like a viper!

With FLAMBERGE neutralized and sprawled across the ring, Rob Williams turns his full attention to Joe Fontaine, who lies stunned against the base of the steel ladder. The Legend’s face is a mask of blood and rage, the accumulated punishment from throughout the match having transformed him into something primal and dangerous.

Williams reaches down and grabs Fontaine by the hair, his powerful hands finding purchase despite The Prince of Jolf’s attempts to protect himself. With tremendous force, The Legend hauls Fontaine to his feet and positions him directly in front of the unforgiving steel ladder.

Richard Parker: This doesn’t look good for Joe Fontaine! Williams has that look in his eyes that says somebody’s about to get hurt badly!

Nick Stuart: Rob Williams has been pushed to his absolute limit! The Legend is running on pure rage at this point!

Williams secures his grip on the back of Fontaine’s skull, his fingers digging into The Prince of Jolf’s hair as he measures the distance to the steel rungs that await just inches away. The crowd senses what’s coming and collectively holds its breath in anticipation of the impending violence.

With explosive force, Williams drives Fontaine’s head forward, sending his skull crashing into the steel ladder with a sickening impact that echoes throughout the arena. The sound of flesh and bone meeting unforgiving metal creates a nauseating symphony that makes even the hardest fans in attendance cringe.

CLANG!

But Williams isn’t satisfied with a single impact. The Legend maintains his grip on Fontaine’s hair and immediately pulls his head back, only to drive it forward again with even more force than before. The second impact creates an even more disturbing sound as Fontaine’s skull meets the steel ladder once again.

CLANG!

Fontaine’s legs begin to wobble beneath him as the repeated impacts take their toll, a thin trickle of blood beginning to form on his forehead where it has connected with the unforgiving steel. His hands reach up weakly to try and protect himself, but Williams’ superior strength makes resistance futile.

Nick Stuart: Rob Williams is absolutely destroying Joe Fontaine! He’s using that ladder like a medieval torture device!

Richard Parker: This is getting hard to watch! Fontaine’s skull is being turned into hamburger meat against that steel!

Williams pulls Fontaine’s head back for a third devastating impact, his own bloodied face twisted into a mask of pure vengeance. The Legend’s breathing is heavy and labored, but his determination to punish The Prince of Jolf for his interference remains undiminished.

CLANG!

The third impact is the most devastating yet, sending a spray of blood across the steel ladder as Fontaine’s forehead opens up from the repeated trauma. His body goes limp in Williams’ grasp, held upright only by The Legend’s iron grip on his hair.

But Williams still isn’t finished. The accumulated rage from throughout this brutal encounter demands more retribution, and The Legend seems intent on making Joe Fontaine pay for every cheap shot, every interference, and every moment of disrespect he’s shown.

CLANG!

A fourth impact drives Fontaine’s skull into the ladder with such force that the entire structure shudders from the collision. Blood now flows freely from multiple cuts on The Prince of Jolf’s forehead, painting a crimson mask across his features as his consciousness begins to fade.

Nick Stuart: Somebody needs to stop this! Rob Williams is going to cause permanent damage to Joe Fontaine!

Richard Parker: The Legend has completely snapped! This is the kind of violence that ends careers!

Nick Stuart: Joe Fontaine is bleeding profusely! His skull has been turned into a weapon against that steel ladder!

While Rob Williams continues his systematic destruction of Joe Fontaine against the steel ladder, FLAMBERGE slowly begins to recover from his painful encounter with the ring ropes. The Neck Collector pulls himself to his feet with considerable effort, his spine aching from the impact but his mind sharp enough to recognize the immediate danger his tag team partner faces.

FLAMBERGE spots the second ladder lying nearby, abandoned from the earlier chaos, and his tactical instincts immediately kick into high gear. The French Phenom approaches the steel structure with predatory intent, wrapping his hands around the cold metal as he hefts it from the canvas.

Williams, completely absorbed in his brutal assault on Fontaine, fails to notice FLAMBERGE’s recovery and approach. The Legend’s tunnel vision proves costly as he continues slamming Fontaine’s skull into the ladder, unaware that retribution is approaching from behind.

Richard Parker: Wait a minute! FLAMBERGE’s back on his feet, and he’s got that second ladder!

Nick Stuart: Rob Williams has no idea what’s coming! He’s too focused on destroying Joe Fontaine!

FLAMBERGE raises the ladder high above his head and brings it crashing down across Rob Williams’ back with tremendous force. The impact creates a thunderous crash that echoes throughout the arena as the steel structure connects with The Legend’s spine.

CRASH!

Williams immediately releases his grip on Fontaine and arches his back in agony, his hands instinctively reaching behind him to clutch at the source of the searing pain. The sudden attack completely disrupts his assault on The Prince of Jolf, who collapses to his knees in a bloodied heap.

But FLAMBERGE isn’t finished with his retribution. The Neck Collector adjusts his grip on the ladder and swings it in a wide arc, catching the turning Williams flush across the face with devastating impact. The steel structure connects with Williams’ already damaged features, sending a spray of blood across the ringside area.

CLANG!

The facial impact sends Williams stumbling backward, his legs rubbery and unsteady as stars explode across his vision. Blood flows freely from his nose and mouth as he struggles to maintain his balance, the accumulated punishment finally taking its toll on The Legend’s legendary toughness.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE just leveled Rob Williams with that ladder! The Legend is in serious trouble!

Richard Parker: What a turnaround! One minute Williams was in complete control, and the next he’s eating steel courtesy of The Lizard King!

Anna Daniels begins to stir from her superkick-induced unconsciousness, her vision blurry and her head pounding as she struggles to assess the chaotic situation around her. The Time Lord spots her partner Rob Williams staggering around the ring with blood streaming down his face, and her protective instincts immediately override her physical discomfort.

Despite the lingering effects of Joe Fontaine’s devastating superkick, Daniels forces herself to her feet with tremendous effort. Her legs are unsteady and her balance questionable, but her determination to help her partner drives her forward toward the action.

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels is getting back up! The Time Lord is trying to help her partner!

Richard Parker: She’s still feeling the effects of that superkick, but she’s not going to abandon Williams!

Daniels approaches FLAMBERGE from behind, hoping to catch The French Phenom off-guard and create an opening for Williams to recover. But The Neck Collector’s ring awareness serves him well, and he spots her approach in his peripheral vision.

FLAMBERGE spins around with the ladder still clutched firmly in his grasp, and before Daniels can mount any kind of offensive attack, he swings the steel structure directly at her midsection. The ladder catches The Time Lord flush in the ribs, doubling her over as the air is driven violently from her lungs.

THWACK!

Daniels staggers backward, clutching her ribs as waves of pain shoot through her torso. But FLAMBERGE presses his advantage immediately, raising the ladder overhead and bringing it crashing down across her back with tremendous force.

CRASH!

The impact sends Daniels crashing to the canvas face-first, her body going limp as the steel ladder delivers its devastating message. She lies motionless on the mat, the fight temporarily knocked out of her by FLAMBERGE’s ruthless assault.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE just demolished Anna Daniels with that ladder! She’s down and not moving!

Richard Parker: The Neck Collector is using that ladder like a medieval weapon! Both members of FYTT are in serious trouble!

With Daniels neutralized, FLAMBERGE seizes the opportunity to apply his signature submission hold. He tosses the ladder aside and grabs the motionless Time Lord, positioning her carefully as he secures his deadly Marie Antoinette guillotine choke.

But The French Phenom adds a diabolical twist to his finishing maneuver. Instead of applying the choke in the traditional manner, FLAMBERGE drags the fallen ladder back into position and uses it to create additional leverage for his submission hold, placing Daniels’ throat across the steel rung while he applies pressure from above.

Richard Parker: That’s brilliant! FLAMBERGE’s using that ladder to make the Marie Antoinette even more devastating!

Nick Stuart: This is absolutely diabolical! He’s choking Anna Daniels against that steel ladder!

The modified submission hold takes effect immediately, with the steel ladder amplifying the pressure on Daniels’ throat and cutting off her air supply with terrifying efficiency. Her face begins to turn red, then purple, as consciousness rapidly fades from her eyes.

Within seconds, The Time Lord goes completely limp in FLAMBERGE’s grasp, her body offering no resistance as the devastating submission hold claims another victim. FLAMBERGE maintains the hold for several additional seconds to ensure complete unconsciousness before finally releasing his grip.

With both members of FYTT lying unconscious and Joe Fontaine still struggling to recover from his brutal beating, FLAMBERGE surveys the ring and realizes that championship destiny finally lies within his grasp. The Neck Collector pulls himself to his feet and approaches the ladder that will serve as his pathway to glory.

FLAMBERGE positions the steel structure in the center of the ring with methodical precision, ensuring that it’s perfectly aligned beneath the championship belts that have remained tantalizingly out of reach throughout this brutal war. His movements are deliberate despite his accumulated injuries, each adjustment bringing him closer to his ultimate goal.

Richard Parker: This is it! FLAMBERGE has a clear path to those titles!

Nick Stuart: The Neck Collector has both members of FYTT down and out! Nothing stands between him and championship gold!

With his opponents neutralized and his partner slowly beginning to stir from his own punishment, FLAMBERGE begins his final ascent toward championship glory. Each rung brings him closer to the golden prize that has eluded both teams throughout this absolutely brutal encounter.

The arena falls into a hushed silence as FLAMBERGE climbs steadily upward, the championship belts growing larger with each step. Rob Williams remains motionless on the canvas, blood pooling beneath his battered face, while Anna Daniels shows no signs of consciousness after the ladder-assisted Marie Antoinette.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is climbing toward those titles! After everything we’ve witnessed tonight, The Neck Collector might finally capture championship gold!

Richard Parker: What an absolute war this has been! Bodies are broken, blood has been spilled, and now we’re about to crown new champions!

FLAMBERGE reaches the summit of the ladder and extends his hands upward, his fingers closing around the cold metal of the championship belts. The crowd erupts as he unhooks the titles from their suspension, holding them aloft in triumph as the culmination of this brutal encounter finally arrives.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: It’s over! FLAMBERGE has done it! The Neck Collector has captured the championship belts!

Richard Parker: What an incredible victory! After everything these four warriors put each other through, it’s FLAMBERGE and Joe Fontaine who retain their championships!

FLAMBERGE clutches the championship belts to his chest as he carefully descends the ladder, his face a mixture of exhaustion, pain, and pure elation. Around the ring, the carnage tells the story of one of the most brutal championship matches in PRIME history, with all four competitors having pushed their bodies to the absolute limit in pursuit of glory.

The Neck Collector helps Fontaine up who is out of it, but holds onto the title with glee on his face before he dabs and then falls flat on his face from the loss of blood.

Richard Parker: That tracks.

Nick Stuart: That it does.

Turnbull calls for medical attention… for everyone.

FLAMBERGE kneels down to his tag partner as we…

FADE.

TO.

ALMOST.

Cut to elsewhere, backstage.

Moreover, cut to them Glueboys, inside of the sanctity of The Glue Den.

Or whatever they call it.

Definitely not something corny like Den.

There’s the Champ, Lord Cecilworth Farthington the 97th. There’s the former Champ, Phil Atken, still a shell of his former self.

Sadly.

There’s also spokesman and storyteller to the stars, Dirk Dickwood, and lastly the always lovely Hank. As for the rest of The Glue Sticks up their butt, it’s safe to assume they are busy figuring out if Hayes Hanlon ages the same in dog years.

Right align me!

Cecilworth Farthington: Tell me, what does the note read again?

Dirk Dickwood: You’ll always remember your 69th…

Dirk flips the card over.

Dirk Dickwood: …because it will be the last ReVival you were Universal Champion. See you on the boat. Best Regards, Big C.

All four nod collectively.

Or begrudgingly.

Or bothingly.

Cecilworth Fartington: Well, safe to assume it’s not Bobby in there. There’d be nothing left if it was.

What Cecilworth is referring to is a very large, but not too large, but still large, beautifully baked, yellow page layer cake with Fraggle Rock sprinkles sitting inside the Glue Lair.

The one that came with the card.

Cecilworth Farthington: Tony hides under the ring and not inside cakes so he’s also out. Ian is too big, so he’s out. Doozer isn’t important enough and would probably just fall asleep inside there and botch the spot, so he’s out.

Dirk Dickwood: So you think it’s Fuse in there then? No way it could be Jiles, could it?

Phil Atken: No way.

Cecilworth Farthington: After further inspection there’s no LAN line and I imagine the wifi signal is horrible from inside the cake. Which means…

Dirk Dickwood: Which means what? That it’s Jiles? Or that it’s just a cake and the whole point of this was just for him to be a jerk off?

Suddenly, a deep, contemplating silence comes over the room.

Cecilworth Farthington: Sometimes the most obvious answer is the correct one. So yeah, maybe it’s just a cake. There is one way to find out.

Dirk Dickwood: Go on, the note was addressed to you.

There is a friendly, albeit brief chuckle that lasts for all of a second. NAY, for a split second. The reason why, during said split second, those in attendance let their guard down. Not all the way.

But, just enough.

KABOOM GOES THE VALKYRIE!

Cake and, well I suppose more cake goes flying everywhere inside the Glue Den. There is an accompanying loud bang to go along with the tasty eruption, but instead of it being an actual BANG it’s the shrill WAR CRY of THE QUEEN OF COOLYMPUS.

Vickie Hall: GYFGSHDKNKSNJAKAJLMKILLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Poor Dirk instantly goes rigid in and winds up passing out from the shock. Hank, maybe disarmed or discombobulated from the WAR CRY, is a hair too late responding. Vickie, her mischievous ways, and her ice-pick like, violently flexed index finger with a sharpened prison fang fingernail, fresh off of getting a manicure at Hadesaloon, is set to strike. The Valerian Valkyrie reaches out, extends, and comes within a millimeter of giving Cecilworth a reason to wear an eye patch for the rest of his life.

What stops her?

Not what, but who?

Phil Atken: NOT TODAY YE SPOOKY BITCH!

The former Champion bravely(SURPRISINGLY) stands from his chair and utterly refuses the past’s will to repeat itself. He reaches out, and right before The Best joke can come true, grabs Vickie’s wrist from out of thin air; stopping her and her attack dead in its tracks.

Cecilworth Farthington: Before we let you go I want you to listen, and listen real good.

The fearless Champion millimeters his way even closer to the Fang of Love, daring and tempting fate all in the same breath.

Cecilworth Farthington: Tell the hunter if he wishes to trap big game he’s going to need fresher, better, and… bigger bait.

Is it weird Cecil tapped Vickie on the forehead after telling her that?

Ha.

FADE.

TO.

AVALON.