D. All of the Above

It’s the moments after the main event of ReVival 59.

Coral Avalon stood at the window of the Throne Room, having been enraptured by the last few minutes of the iron man contest between Brandon Youngblood and FLAMBERGE. The Universal championship slung on his shoulder. The lasting image of ReVival 59 as it went off the air was a true professional Universal champion holding up his championship, mouthing the words “bring it on” to a challenger that may be the face of PRIME’s ReVival era.

The cameras stopped rolling, and Avalon turned around with all smiles.

The rest of the eGG Bandits that were in the Throne Room with him, not so much.

Hessian, a man who often appeared very grim to begin with, looked like he’s the director of a funeral parlor preparing to handle services for a beloved local hero. Tony Gamble’s ever-present smile looked like it was actually drooping. Doozer. Bobby Dean - fresh off of his loss to Rob Williams earlier in the night - snored with grave concern on Avalon’s couch. And Jiles?

Well, let’s just be thankful that Coral insisted on no visible cables or sharp objects in his Throne Room, because Jiles would’ve used any and all of those things to KHS, if you know what we mean.

Coral’s smile dropped just a little at the lack of enthusiasm about his Colossus opponent.

Coral wanted a fight at Colossus for the Universal championship. He wished for a worthy opponent to challenge him for the prize that he’d fought for so long to once again make into the greatest championship in PRIME. Both Youngblood and FLAMBERGE fit that bill, but Youngblood’s victory gave him a whole entire month in advance to prepare.

And meanwhile many of the eGG Bandits in the room, from Jiles to Gamble to Cardboard Dan Ryan, had a much different reaction.

“What?”

“Crumblood.”

The words left Jiles’ mouth like he wished hot death on the man’s name with every syllable. Somewhere on the other side of the world, a man literally named Brandon Crumblood was getting out of bed ready to tackle the day. He’d take one step out of his bed and promptly crumble to dust, turned to ash from a distance from Jiles’ sheer petty venom. Local authorities would be very puzzled.

“Yeah.” Coral said. He never stopped smiling, as though he knew something that Jiles didn’t. “It’s pretty exciting, isn’t it?”

Jiiles didn’t answer. He just turned around, found the nearest wall, and bumped his head into it. On purpose. Several times. Don’t worry, Jiles was fine.

Avalon kept his smile as he moved to pick up his things.

“So, I’d love to hang around and do Bandit things, but I’ve got a plane to catch. I have a long first class flight to Japan to attend to.”

It was here that Lunchbox Lox interjected with an important observation. One that gave even Coral a bit of pause, “We have a jet, you know.”

He emphasized, “The jet.”

*.*

“I the fallen, begotten, and passed bye, Cancer Zionhansonwoodjiles, am absolutely fucking miserable. I am also a professional. I am also a Bandit. I will also do whatever is necessary to keep the carton whole. Well, almost. I’m still not ready to sit back down on the couch, but maybe one day I will be.” -- Zionhansonwoodjiles’ Journal, November 24th, 2024

What a day. What a week. What a month. What a year. From the highest of the highs, to the lowest of the lows. From Tommy Saxon and the Streets of Philadelphia, to fumbling the bag and being forever lost inside The Vast Expanse.

Aka the shadow cast by Coral’s forehead.

Better than his foreskin.

It’s been a hell of a ride, there’s no doubt about that. Throughout it all one thing has been and will always remain forever true -- nobody does botching better than King COOL. Nobody does pain, and suffering, and dropping the ball, and suffering, and misery, and loathing, and suffering bigger and better and more bold than King COOL.

No.

Body.

Now, however obvious and well known that prior knowledge may be, it seems the UNIVERSE has decided to make sure it remains eggceptionaly true this holiday season, and by that I mean Colossus, Night Two, MAIN EVENT.

The Captain and Crumblood. 

KILL.

ME.

Ded.

I never thought it would be possible for me to be down this bad, and Zeus knows I’ve been down bad before. See me walking around in a fucking blazer as exhibit A, getting folded by Ivan as exhibit b, and exhibits H, O, and W if you really want to get masochistic. In fact, and this is going to sound pretty crazy, but if you were to add up all the times I’ve fallen back down the mountain: bedshitting the first Almasy final, Hanlon pissing in my cereal, both Golden Ticket botches, Farthington upstaging me, losing every shred of dignity and pride I’ll ever have to the Captain.

To name a few.

If you were to add up all those times up, and then sprinkle some of Mom walking across my soul with stilettos for good measure; the total -- nor the combination of her heels -- would even scratch the surface of how badly down I am.

Don’t let him fool ya, it took a group effort.

Honestly, for as COOL as I fancy myself, and I think it’s pretty well known I fancy myself as a COOL guy, I didn’t think I could ever get to a place like this. A place so decrepit that even the Gallows are afraid of it.

I guess I was wrong.

Who’d have thought the perilous rocks I’ve come to know throughout the years were merely a false bottom, and that it was possible to sink even further into despair and depravity?

Not me.

Me either.

The Captain and Crumblood.

One might think I’d be able to find some slice of solace in the fact that I’m going to get another golden opportunity to kick Crumblood in his face, let alone again at Colossus. One might also think I’d also be able to find some solace in the fact that I will once again be the one to ensure our Captain remains GOLDEN, and the Bandits reign supreme.

Yes, that’s called foreshadowing. Ironically enough that’s also the slang term Foredwellers use when referencing The Vast Expanse. Foredwellers being the name of those who live inside the shadow of Coral’s forehead. You’d be surprised how many of us there actually are.

Where else are all those fun characters supposed to go? 

Circling back to the Crumb Kick, not to be confused with Crumb Cake, though both are eaten so I could see how a person say of Scott Hunter’s intelligence might confuse them, I guess you could argue it was already a foregone conclusion that Crumblood was going to get served his dessert a year later given the circumstances.

Sweet and Salty.

Regardless, I digress. Neither of those things are enough to propel me from where I am. I could be standing atop ten Hessians, twelve Coral foreheads, a zillion phonebooks, and Bob’s cholesterol and I still wouldn’t be able to see a glimmer of sunshine from the new pit I find myself in.

Tis the season!

Which, I’m sure for everyone else, is just the greatest thing ever. Like, I’m sure that Jillian Bathtoy, Fast Teddy Ruxpin, Terry Bamboo, and the rest of the Octane’s Rat Pack are all sitting around drinking watermelon mojitos laughing it up at my expense.

“Finally! He’s gonna sing with us!” -- The Math Guy, probably

I bet Phil is rolling around like a pig in shit, Dirty Dick is STD free, and Mother Hen has pecked herself to sleep on multiple occasions.

The Captain and Crumblood.

They’ll call it the greatest match from any era. A clash of the Golden Gods, and not one of them is from COOLYMPUS.

Ouch.

Oh well. You reap what you sow, right? That’s the saying. That’s how it supposedly goes. If that is to be true, well then my misery, my state of being, my place on the sideline, it’s all my fault. I caused it. I put myself there. I have only myself to blame for the comforts of The Ivory Dumpster.

Poor Cancer J.

It’s not like I haven’t spent the better part of three years kicking whoever, whenever, however I wanted, and treating the PRIME roster like the lot of shoeshine boys I peg them for. It was inevitable I wound up breaking new ground so to speak.

Guy’s got a point. Just don’t ask what it is.

Now, I could very easily write off all my misery due to an insatiable, endless, damning desire to sit at the top of the mountain on a plush throne built upon the scorched remnants of my enemies. No one would question it. How could they? I have earned it as the boys and girls in the back say, and they’re right, too. I have earned it. I know I have, because none of them would even think to call themselves the hardest working man in PRIME.

Crumbs.

But that’s just not me, Jack.

I don’t choose suffering.

I run to it.

I am drawn to it like Terry Bamboo and number two pencils. And if I can’t live life to the fullest at the top, then everybody else will just have to live out the rest of their miserable existences at the bottom with me.

The Captain and Crumblood.

What’s next?

A poem from Timo before the pinnacle?

Ha.

I guess the only thing left to do is see how long it takes for me to make my new place a happy home. There’s no light down here where I am, where everything floats, so the fern is definitely out. Could always use a ladies touch I suppose, though I don’t know many women who’d want to decorate such a dark and desolate shit hole.

I can think of one.

Suppose I could always hang a hat somewhere, that might brighten things up some. Just need to get my hands on one first. Maybe one of my ReVival 60 opponents has one.

...whoever they might be.

Ha.

Just kidding.

I know who they are.

I filled out a questionnaire.

Which of the following are true?

A. Clay Byrd ran away and never won the big one. B. Kerry is a girl’s name. C. Scott Hunter lacks originality. D. All of the above.

*.*

When you’re the Captain, every flight you’re on gets to be “Banidt One”.

In this case, though, we’re on the actual Bandit One, the eGG Bandits’ genuine private jet. The jet. And considering who was flying it, maybe I should actually remember Lunchbox League of Legends’ actual name before he decides to crash the damn thing into the ocean out of protest. I swear, it’s always on the tip of my tongue.

Larpy.

This flight’s taken a while, and I’m beginning to think that maybe - just maybe - bringing the eGG Bandits with me on a trip to Japan wasn’t the best move on my part. You know, just a little bit.

All I wanted to do was get there to cheer my best friend on and do a little cross promotion with my old stomping grounds. Instead, it’s the whole gang! Jiles! Gamble! Bobby! Hess! CBD! All of them! I think I even saw Doozer, though I’m not sure if that was an insanity-induced hallucination or what. After all, this many hours crammed into a flying sardine can with the Bandits for company wasn’t exactly a recipe for great mental health.

I expected to be able to take a nap to a bad De Niro film that I’d already seen six times. Instead, Jiles was monologuing to himself about something or another, Gamble was passed out in his seat until this bird (not Clay) is close to landing, Bobby spent most of the time in the bathroom and I don’t think the Pacific Ocean appreciated it, we have a bit of a Schrodinger’s Doozer situation going on, and Hessian…

…Actually, Hessian’s perfectly fine. I have no complaints about the big guy.

Smart man.

I’m not just saying that because I’m pretty sure he’s one wrong word away from throwing somebody out of the emergency door, and I don’t want to be the one who utters the wrong word. That guy scares me. Don’t tell him I said that, I think he can smell fear.

Point is, this is entirely too much time to be in the company of the Bandits. I think we drive each other insane. More insane than usual, I mean.

But you know, life’s not too bad, really.

I’m the Universal Champ, the belt’s nice and tucked away in luggage. I’m living that jet-setting life of non-stop motion from one place to the next, and I think Annie’s getting pretty weary of that. I somehow survived a creature who crawled out of a boiler room looking like Bizarro Captain Planet and smashed me so hard that I had to go to a hospital right after I won to make sure my vital organs still performed all their vital functions. The eGG Bandits are still the cream of PRIME.

I wonder how Vae Victis functions compared to us?

I admit I don’t spend a lot of time backstage as of late, what with the whole “throne room” thing I got going on. But do Lindsay and Henry have to herd cats like I do? Aside from Helen, no one herds Helen. Does Clay have it in him to trust in another team again? Is Kerry looking ahead to Colossus and Don Winters, and not paying attention to the speeding freight train heading his way? Is Scott Hunter… okay? Like, genuinely. I’m not sure he speaks the same English I do, someone should check up on him.

Well, I know I took something from VV recently. Maybe I should be concerned that they might want a little bit of payback for the Flynn Cup.

But really, I’m more concerned about Jiles.

I’m watching him make eyes at the emergency door like he’s going to throw himself out at any moment. He’d been real miserable since the whole UltraViolence debacle. I can understand. I wouldn’t want to be around me either after that. But really, maybe I should say something.

Eh.

I’m sure Jiles is fine. He is a professional after all. And if he isn’t?

I’m sure he will be.

Ha.

*.*

It’s quiet.

Considering the only thing down here is the luggage Cardboard Dan Ryan is currently taking inventory of on his Yolk tinted clip board, you wouldn't expect much in the way of conversation. The frown upon CBD’s face was a mirror image of the one the King of Cool was sporting earlier, if we didn't know any better we'd assume he copied and pasted a picture of it onto his face after he was told he wasn't allowed to pilot the jet.

Zing~!

As upset as he was, he understood the assignment – even if he didn't agree with it. Seriously, they trusted Lunchbox Llama to fly this thing, CBD was pretty damn sure he wrote the manual on flying planes once or twice in a past life.

Enough about that guy though, because let's face it, he's about as relevant as a birthday cake on Christmas when you consider what else is in the area.

That's right, for those of you in the know, you may have noticed a particular piece of furniture positioned next to the emerald green duffel bag Tony liked to keep his phone books in while traveling. The Stool known around the World for being the star of the show, the true main event, and the only conqueror we should be at the mercy of has finally graced us with his presence.

Universal champion Coral Avalon…take away his forehead and what are you left with?

Ten more foreheads of course.

Former Universal champion, Former Golden Ticket holder, Former Captain of the eGG Bandits Cancer Jiles…take away his…is there even anything left to take away?

No. Well, the T-shades, but let’s be honest they’ve lost most of their luster.

Either way, the point is – much like Vae Victis –  they're not relevant anymore. At least not while The Stool is here. Luckily, the eGG Bandits aren't Troy's little lackeys placed among our ranks because of who they know, so there's hope for them yet.

“So we get the B team,” Tony Gamble acknowledged Cardboard Dan Ryan's presence with a slight nod of his head as he made his way over to The Stool. “If there is a name other than The Grin more known in our industry, it would be the eGG Bandits, but in small circles of people that really aren't important you might hear a whisper about Vae Victis.”

A beat.

A chuckle.

“It's usually about them having a tiger,” Tony climbed onto The Stool. “But, to their credit, we have heard of them, and now they have a presence here in PRIME.”

Cardboard Dan clearly isn't impressed, neither is The Stool.

“I have to say I'm kind of disappointed, because I was expecting something better.”

The Stool felt the same way when Tony first showed up, they are still disappointed.

“I remember Clay from when he was running around our tag division with Henry back during the ReVolution era. Good to see he finally took off that ridiculous Killer Klown costume and Keyes stopped going by the name Jack. That's before there even was a Vae Victis, but I'm sure that's when the seeds were planted. You could tell back then that Lindsay had a thing for Ol’ Captain Jack, but that is a story for another time because I don't really want to gloss over the challenge I have before me at the next ReVival.”

That trademark grin.

“You see, unlike Nate Colton, I don't have a translator by my side when I'm not around Coral.

A beat.

“I'm kidding of course,” Tony pauses. “Well about that being the challenge, I seriously don't have a personal translator.”

The Stool wished Cardboard Dan would come over and pull them out from under Tony right now, but it never happened.

“There I go again, forgetting about the challenge that is trying its best to be considered a threat,” a soft chuckle escaped through slightly parted lips as the Permascar Superstar shook his head. “When you have the best the eGG Bandits have to offer and me standing across the ring from Helen's poop troop it's hard to take things seriously. I'm going to try though, and I think if I look at things from a different perspective it may help me take you guys a little more seriously.”

He lifts his hand and extends his index finger.

“Clay Byrd has been in some pretty high profile matches since arriving in PRIME, taking down Youngblood, Farthington, and Han,” he stopped before finishing Hayes’ last name. “You know what, we have Cancer so they pretty much cancel each other out.”

Tony allowed his middle finger to accompany its neighbor.

“Then you have what, Kerry Kuroyama running around with the Alias title so long he,” his eyes closed tight as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his opposite hand. “Coral, yeah, Coral did that too so it's a wash.”

A third finger stood up alongside the other two, but as soon as it did his heart sank and he lowered his hand.

“You know what, we might be screwed,” he hopped off The Stool. “What do you say we make this four versus four? You guys can add Ria to your team and we'll add Hessian, since Bobby had matches two weeks in a row and all.”

Gamble turned toward Cardboard Dan Ryan.

“No, you can't take my spot,” he tucked chin to chest, a few more words said under his breath as he walked away. “I don't care if you can mimic Scott's every move.”

*.*

Inside of a room a fly rests on the wall. Also inside that same room is a man with delicious looking hair and mirrors covering his eyes. This man also happens to be on the phone, and appears to be having a friendly conversation with whoever is on the other end of the line. Then, without breaking the conversation’s stride, the mirror man reaches out and kills the fly.

Splat.

He says, “I told you they’d fall for it. He was the perfect patsy. No one suspects a thing. We're free and clear, babe. I got the tickets already bought and paid for. While these clowns are busy being colossal crumbs, me and you will be in Maui swimming with the dolphins. See you soon.”

The simmering man hangs up and starts to laugh.

Manically.

At what?

Who knows?