SEATTLE

A mess of paperwork laid scattered across the table. Random financial reports. Mundane proofs of purchase. Spreadsheets detailing unknown accounts.

“What is all this?”

Scott Hunter asked the question out of impatience. When he was called to Kerry Kuroyama’s mountainside lodge earlier that day, he was expecting a chillax evening of weight lifting, hot wing eating, and 80’s action flick watching.

The last thing he expected was being cooped up in the study, looking through a bunch of boring business papers.

“To be honest, Scott, I couldn’t tell you,” said Kuroyama, rifling through one page after the next. “When he gave me the file, Rocko implied that there might be a clue in here to figuring out what Raisin is cooking up for PRIME. But, I’m not seeing a pattern…”

Scott scratched his head, confused as to how his trusty Wingman could forget a very obvious truth.

“Yeah, but… it’s Raisin,” he said, quite reasonably. “Don’t his stupid plans always just blow up in his face?”

Kerry nodded. “In all likelihood, yes, that will happen. But there have been a few recent developments that require me to intervene and put a stop to this bullshit before it drags other people down into it.”

Again, Hunter looked at him in utter confusion.

“‘Recent developments’?” echoed the Maven of Miami. “What do you mean, dude?”

Scott’s question brought Kerry’s operation to a screeching halt. With a heavy sigh, he fell back into his seat and shut his eyes.

“I guess I should tell you about what happened at DEFCON…”

Sensing he was about to hear a story, Hunter set his elbow into the table between them and propped his head upon his knuckles as he leaned in to listen.

Kerry, meanwhile, pushed himself to his feet and made his way over to the desk, where his trusty tumbler and a freshly opened bottle of 12-year-old aged Yamazaki were waiting.

Pouring the first of his allotted two drink max for the evening, Kuroyama walked to the window, took the first sip, and stared out into the rolling valleys of the Cascade mountains.

“A change was certainly in the air that night...”

CHICAGO

But change is a sneaky bastard. 

It creeps up and hits when you least expect it. It overturns all your carefully laid plans. It leaves you stranded in the aftermath, where you’re stuck wondering how you couldn’t see it coming, all while looking back and realizing the signs were always there.

But there at DEFCON… I could sense big changes were coming.

Vae Victis came to Chicago and conquered all, both in ways that were expected, and in ways that were unexpected. When all was said and done, the FIST of DEFIANCE was now in the hands of our own co-consul Henry Keyes, and it was clear that the paradigm was shifting.

And with the Kraken standing at the top of the red and black brand, I was beginning to realize that it fell on me to repeat the standard over in the blue and white.

But at long last, with the big event was in the books, I was looking forward to rendezvousing with the crew for Henry’s afterparty.

Except he wasn’t the only big winner that night. And I had plenty of flowers to give.

So before heading out, I went looking for my cousin, Zack. To tell him congratulations. To tell him I was proud of him.

I found him in the locker room, bruises still fresh on his face, and buttoning himself up into a sharp-looking chocolate and gold Richard Bennet.

I asked him how it felt to be a champion.

He glanced over at his newly won tag team championship sitting on the bench, and said… 

“It’s a start.”

I had to laugh. Champ for barely an hour, and he’s already plotting to take over the world.

I thought to myself, who is this person, and what had he done with my dear cousin?

This was unquestionably the greatest night of his life, and yet here he was, acting all cool and collected. Hardly the loud-mouthed, hot-headed kid I helped bring into this business only a few short years ago.

Hardly the ten-year-old kid that laughed for hours after I gave him his first powerbomb on the backyard trampoline. Nor was he the fourteen-year-old one that cried when I gave him his first true bump in the old Dojo’s training ring.

He wasn’t my little cousin anymore. Zack Daymon had finally grown up and come into his own, and I realized that I was looking at a changed man. It felt like it came out of nowhere… 

…but then naturally, I realized that the signs were always there. Like I said… change is a sneaky bastard.

I told him I was proud that he completed the journey that I began when I debuted for the company ten years ago. Tagging alongside his father, those titles were our endgame. 

I knew deep down that wherever he was that night, Rocko was likely proud as well.

I wanted to tell him that. Really contemplated it.

But I also didn’t want to ruin his night by bringing up a sore subject.

So instead, he ruined mine.

“We need to talk.”

Words nobody ever wants to hear.

I steeled myself for what was to come.

Yeah, I said.

“Yeah…” he said back.

And then… a gun goes off in my ear.

“YYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

I nearly hit the floor as if I’d been slapped upside the head.

Because who else would sneak up and unexpectedly scream in my ear other than that obnoxious dipshit himself?

And while I was left blubbering there on the spot, wondering if I had suffered from a collapsed eardrum, Erik Black swooped in like the asshole he is, all fake smiles and gladhanding.

“THERE’S MY BOY! My CHAMPION! BEAUTIFUL WORK TONIGHT, young Zack! Absolutely BREATHTAKING PERFORMANCE! A NEW ERA of this sport is UPON US, and YOU, my boy, are going to be RIGHT AT THE FOREFRONT! YES, YOU! And that other guy, your partner… Leto? Larry? Whatever… HE’LL BE THERE TOO! And under MY CUNNING, GENIUS LEADERSHIP, I can PROMISE YOU, young Zack, will CLIMB to NEW HEIGHTS OF--!”

New heights of what, you may ask?

Guess we’ll never know. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

I imagine it might have had something to do with my hand squeezing his throat.

And while the wiry prick squirmed around in my grip like a fish on a hook, I sternly reminded them that the two of us were done working together.

But that’s when I felt the hand on my shoulder…

“Actually, Kay, that’s what we need to talk about…”

I’ve never been more disappointed to hear my cousin’s voice.

I turned to see if he was serious, and I could see in his face that he was.

Then Raisin slipped free from my hand…

“Oh, you haven’t TOLD HIM yet, HUH?? WOW, Kurry!! This must be SUPER AWKWARD for you! Allow me to just give you guys a few minutes of privacy so you can hash this out like gentlemen. Don’t mind me!”

The asshole proceeded to take a whopping two steps backward, and stood there guffawing at us.

Ignoring him, I asked Zack for an explanation.

He stood before me resolutely. Obstinate. Shoulders back, and arms folded. I can’t remember the kid ever bowing up on me like that.

“I don’t think anything needs to be explained, Kay,” he said. “Calling off this arrangement was your choice, not mine.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I told him that Erik has no actual intention of helping us. That he was only using us for his own personal gain.

“He owns the building, Kay,” said Zack. “And maybe it’s easy for you to walk away from it, but it’s not the same for me. Because I’m the one who’s been fixing up that place for the past few months. I’m the one who’s there day after day, working with the guys. You brought in a knife-wielding junkie off the street wanting to give him a ‘second chance’, and I’m the one that’s actually there, giving him that chance. And now that I’m making progress, you want me to abandon all this work and effort I’ve put into it?”

I stood there slightly dumbstruck, feeling both completely unprepared to have this conversation, and also suddenly guilty for somehow being the cause of it.

I tried to reason with him that if it’s a matter of keeping the building, we could find other options. I told him that Lindsay would be more than willing to help us out.

But then his face blossomed with rage, and he shook his head.

“Respectfully, Kay… fuck that,” he said. “Your friends have always treated me like shit, and frankly, I’m tired of pretending like my dignity doesn’t matter to any of them. Why the fuck would I want to indebt myself to someone who constantly disrespects me by only referring to me as ‘Rocko’s dipshit kid’?”

I honestly couldn’t answer that.

Because deep down, I knew the disdain was real on both sides.

I had long held onto the idea of eventually mending fences and bringing him and his tag partner Leo into the Vae Victis fold. But now, I could see that idea was a distant hope.

“I bought into this idea because it was meant to be our thing, Kay,” said Zack.

I told him that so long as the dipshit was involved, it would never really be ours. I told him it wasn’t worth selling his soul.

And then he exploded.

“My SOUL?!”

He punched the locker partition so hard, it cracked the wood.

“What was left of my ‘soul’ DIED when my piece of shit old man sold off the old school to feed his fucking dope addiction! This is the only way I know how to get it back!”

I was left grasping for words, but nothing came to me.

I don’t think there was anything that could be said at that moment to make the situation right.

By then, we realized that the locker room had grown quiet. The few remaining talents that lingered around were now awkwardly staring at us. 

I can see Zack turning red in the face as he quickly throws the last of his shit into his bag, and makes eyes for the exit.

“You want to know the real reason I’m still working with him, Kay?” he said. “It’s because he made me wake up to the inconvenient truth that so long as I’m with you, I’m always going to be beneath you. And I think you’ve known it was true the whole time, only you never had the sack to admit to yourself. But I don’t even care any more, because I don’t have to settle for being beneath you. In fact, I’m beginning to see a whole new truth…”

He grabbed his title belt last, gave it a lookover, then looked me in the eye as he put it over his shoulder.

“Maybe I’m better than you.”

He disappeared through the door, leaving me absolutely gutted and shook to my core.

And there, while I was practically on my knees, that bastard’s voice found my ear again…

“Now Kurry, I know you’re probably a tad upset with me right now… but I DID warn you that I had a contingency in place.”

Who else but that goddamn devil in white?

“That kid is two-hundred and twenty pounds of walking, talking, pure, wet, clay, just waiting to be shaped by the right set of hands. And I think we both know, Kyurry, in YOUR hands, he’d only be wasted.”

My hands, for the record, were balling up into fists.

“Fortunately for you, I am an extremely generous man. Which is why I’ve decided to give you ONE MORE WEEK to reconsider your stance in this partnership! Because with or with-OUT you, Kyurry, I’m going to GET what I WANT! So please, for the sake of your dear cousin, and all the promise his young, budding career holds… just make the EASY CHOICE, and stick with the winning side, yeah? YEAH??”

He wound himself up to unleash another  prolonged, ear-piercing “YEAH!!” upon the universe…

But then he thought better of it at the sight of me walking to him, with very clear intent to fold his scrawny ass in half.

“WHOA SHUCKS!!” he said, practically kicking up a cloud of dust scrambling out the door.

SEATTLE

“Okay, but dude… how is that your problem?”

Scott’s question pulled Kerry from the world of his memory and back into reality. He turned away from the window and looked at his Wingman for an elaboration.

“Hm?”

“Your cousin, Rocko’s dipshit kid, is basically Rocko’s dipshit adult now,” reasoned Scott. “Which means he should be capable of making his own decisions and accepting the consequences of his actions, whether they be good or bad, know what I mean? So, like, why should you get involved? If he goes down with Raisin, that’s pretty much his fault, isn’t it?”

Kuroyama shut his eyes and shook his head, polishing off the last of the Yamazaki in his tumbler with a final gulp.

How could he explain to his friend the complexity of the situation? Or of the promise he made to Zack’s father?

Sighing in defeat, he returned to the table and began gathering the papers together.

“Do me a favor for me…” he began. “Please don’t call him ‘Rocko’s dipshit kid’ anymore. But I’ll agree to your point, Scott. Besides, right now, I have other megalomaniac motherfuckers to worry about. Like Kael.”

The newly formed stack of papers found their home within the manilla folder from which they came, and Kuroyama set the mystery aside for another day.

Hunter continued to look confused

“But… why are you worried about kale? I thought that stuff was supposed to be good for you.”

Kuroyama facepalmed so hard he nearly fell to the floor.

“No, Scott, I’m not referring to the cruciferous leafy cabbage that is high in riboflavin…”

Kerry found the remote to the wallscreen and pressed a button. Briefly taking a moment to flicker to life, the unsettling visage of the Blackheart of PRIME grinned back at them.

“Kael,” Kerry clarified. “As in, Maximillian Wilhelm.”

Scott studied the screen inquisitively.

“He kinda looks like Walt Disney.”

Kuroyama nodded in agreement. “Poignant observation, Scott. But this is one star we wouldn’t want to ever wish upon. And, unlike dear Uncle Walt, Max here was actually successful in cheating death.”

Hunter once again thoughtfully scratched at his flowing mullet of golden brown hair. Like Kerry, he had lost a parent when he was young, and coming to terms with loss had been formative both in his growth as an athlete and as a human being.

The possibility that death could be “cheated” somehow doesn’t seem right to him.

“Max Kael is a survivor, if nothing else,” said Kerry. “And if this fresh version is even half as crazy as the one I fought alongside last year at Culture Shock, then I’d say I’m in for an interesting night over in Ottawa.”

Right then, the notes to Grieg’s “In the Hall of the Mountain King” resounded throughout the lodge in softened bell tones.

The telltale sign that someone was ringing at Kerry’s door.

“That must be the Doordasher with the wings!” exclaimed Scott, dashing out of the room.

Pouring out what would be his second and final helping of Yamazaki into the empty tumbler, the Emerald Apex positioned himself before the screen and studied the lean, predatory face of his next opponent.

Kael’s dark eyes stared back at him, dark and empty as a shark’s.

“But you’re about to find out, Max… I’m a survivor as well.”

As he took the first sip of whisky, he could feel the hungry rumble of the beast fluttering through his chest.

But its rise swiftly faded away with a sudden cry of terror.

“Oh no…” said Scott, aghast, somewhere further in the house. “Kerry… I THINK I’M DYING!!”

More curious than actually concerned, Kuroyama left his study, passed through the hallway, and found his Wingman standing frozen and agape at the sight of what stood beyond the opened front door.

“I-i-it’s the G-G-GRIM REAPER!” said Scott in fright. “He’s come to take my SOUL!”

While it was true that the figure standing on his doorstep wore a cowl and cape, and bore the deathlike visage of a skull, the glowing green eyes were a dead giveaway.

“No, Scott, that’s not the Grim Reaper,” he said, calming his friend with a pat on the shoulder. “That’s just Green Reaper. This guy couldn’t harm a fly even if he tried.”

Through the voice modulator of his viridian skull mask, Green Reaper unleashed a digitized groan. Then, he extended his hand…

Kerry arched an eyebrow as he leaned in and looked down at the unusual object. A small, sleek black box, fixed with what appeared to be a small speaker and a glowing LED indicator. A transmitter of strange, unrecognizable design.

“What’s that?”

The moment he asked the question, he immediately realized his mistake.

“...no no, wait, I--”

“This…”

“You don’t have to--”

“IS…”

“Please do not--”

“A MESSAGE!!”

Kuroyama groaned in agony, clutching his chest and grabbing hold of the doorframe to keep himself from collapsing. Those fateful four words never failed to dredge forth a wave of unpleasant and downright embarrassing memories from his years in DEFIANCE.

Unphased by this complete overreaction, the Reaper pressed a button on the device. Heralded by a burst of static, a loud and frantic voice suddenly squawked forth from the speaker…

“KERRY! HEY!! HEY!! LOOK, IF YOU’RE HEARIN’ THIS TRANSMISSION, THEN I NEED YA TO LISTEN CLOSE! MY STONERSOUL IS STILL TRAPPED HERE ON THE MOTHERSHIP, AND I NEED YA TO HELP ME OUT OF HERE, OR MY EVIL DOPPLEGANGER WILL TAKE OVER PRIME!! NOW GRAB A PAPER AND A PEN CAUSE I NEED YA TO WRITE THIS DOWN--”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

With a simple and smooth over-the-shoulder toss, Kerry sent the transmitter arcing over into the nearest wastebasket.

“I don’t know what that’s about, but I ain’t fucking with it,” he said, assertively. “Now, where’s our wings?”

With a digitized sigh, the Reaper offered from his other hand the plastic bag of steaming styrofoam takeout containers, with the piercing and familiar fragrance of Buffalo sauce radiating from within.

“Remember to leave your dasher a review…” said the masked figure, begrudgingly.

Kerry swiped the bag from his hand and slammed the door on his face.

“Fucking weirdos…”

OTTAWA

Welcome back, Max. 

It’s been a while.

I’ll admit, I feel slightly guilty for not making a better effort to keep in touch after the debacle that was last year’s Culture Shock. 

But I feel the both of us know, being creatures of entirely separate worlds, that staying acquainted was always going to be a longshot.

Anyway… you’re back. Still alive, new, and improved.

A bonafide “Crimson Kael”. Equipped with a new, shiny crown to communicate to the laymen fans the tried and true “Thanos gauntlet” trope of progression.

And here before you stands a shiny EMERALD to add to your collection.

Heh…

I gotta hand it to you, Max… when you jump, you JUMP.

That shark never stood a chance.

The fact that you commit to your own absurdity as well as you do is probably the one and only thing I truly admire about you, Kael. And, possibly, the only reason why I can tolerate the first ten minutes of every single ReVival being dedicated to your masturbatory ego-trip of a “news” show.

It’s just Max being Max, I tell myself.

I don’t have to understand it. Because, as a wrestler, all I have to do is recognize the monster you are between the ropes.

I only hope that you recognize, Max… the monster that you’re set meet in the ring.

Because this beast doesn’t fight to collect jewels… even though a part of me thinks your incomplete crown would look mighty fine beside the rhinestone cowboy hat hanging over my mantle.

But if there’s anything I want to get across to you through this match, Max, it’s that YOU are not PRIME’s apex predator. 

All you are is a creature of instinct.  consuming any and every morsel that drifts in your path. 

What I am is the beast that fucks you up for being stupid enough to wander into my territory.

Not Kerry Kuroyama version two or three.

The first. The OG. The ONLY.

The same sleeping giant that’s only been pinned once for the better part of the last year.

This beast wants to send a message to the world, Max. And a cruel, bloodthirsty sonofabitch like you just happens to be the perfect way to send it.

Colossus was not the end to my climb.

Only a beginning.